Dollars today for enslavement long ago? Georgetown students say yes.
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Stacy Teicher Khadaroo Staff writer
They aren鈥檛 just a list of enslaved people. They have stories, and descendants, and names: Polly, Revidy, Noble, Minty, Mary Jane, Michael, Sally Anne.
Buttons bearing these names were worn by 鈥渧ote yes鈥� students as they campaigned at Georgetown University this spring. They wanted undergraduates to pay a 鈥渞econciliation contribution鈥� of $27.20 each semester. The funds would benefit descendants of people enslaved by Maryland Jesuits, including the 鈥淕U272鈥� 鈥� a group sold in 1838 to help keep Georgetown afloat.
At this elite university in the capital of the United States, the invisibility cloak that shrouds institutional entanglement with slavery has been stripped away. In the wake of student and alumni pressure, college and Jesuit leaders have renamed campus buildings, participated in ceremonial repentance, and offered legacy admission preferences to descendants.
Why We Wrote This
As the national dialogue over 鈥渞eparations鈥� heats up, some say financial support for projects that help descendants of slavery is one way to start a much longer journey of racial reconciliation.
But four years of slowly evolving dialogue can try the patience of students seeking bold action. So Georgetown鈥檚 undergraduates made their own history in April, with a two-thirds majority vote in favor of the referendum.
Although many American universities exploited slaves, 鈥渢his is the first time we鈥檝e seen a particular group taking the responsibility 鈥� not only with an apology, not only with a symbolic gesture, but by taking financial responsibility,鈥� says Ana Lucia Araujo, a Howard University history professor who has researched the public memory of the slave trade.
The story of what happened before the vote 鈥� and what hasn鈥檛 happened since (namely, any commitment from Georgetown officials to implement the non-binding referendum) 鈥� is a parable of sorts about a nation wrestling with inhumanity at its very foundation.
Even the word 鈥渞eparations鈥� 鈥� popping up most recently thanks to a bill in Congress and the Democratic presidential primary race 鈥� carries a wide range of definitions. Where people stand on the matter can鈥檛 be assumed based on skin color or their own family history related to slavery. A House Judiciary subcommittee held a hearing on HR40, a bill that would set up a commission to study and recommend reparations proposals, on .
The hearing coincides with Juneteenth, a day that since 1865 has commemorated the end of the enslavement of black people in the United States. Supporters of the bill, including actor Danny Glover and writer Ta-Nehisi Coates, were among those who testified,聽alongside those who oppose it, such as writer Coleman Hughes.聽聽
鈥淸W]hile emancipation deadbolted the door against the bandits of America, Jim Crow wedged the windows wide open,鈥� said Mr. Coates.聽鈥淭he matter of reparations is one of making amends, indirect redress. But it also a question of citizenship,鈥� he said, urging lawmakers to 鈥渞eject fair-weather patriotism, to say that a nation is both its credits and its debits, that if Thomas Jefferson matters, so does Sally Hemings. ... The question really is not whether we will be tied to the somethings of our past but whether we are courageous enough to be tied to the whole of them.鈥�
Georgetown鈥檚 experience is one part of聽a national dialogue that鈥檚 still聽finding its way, with some Americans saying it鈥檚 time to push for long overdue justice while others argue to let bygones be bygones.聽聽
Shift in thought
The campus town hall event in April was packed. When Javon Price saw that everyone vocally opposing the referendum was white, he stood to add his voice: 鈥淎s a black student, why should I have to contribute to this reconciliation fee? I don鈥檛 see how that makes sense,鈥� he recalls saying at the forum.
A conservative Republican who had recently returned from a tour with the Air Force Reserve, he had been working to get fellow students to vote no.
Right in front of him sat , a descendant who had taken the school up on its invitation to apply for admission with a legacy preference.
Her answer: 鈥淲e all come to Georgetown University, including myself today, voluntarily 鈥� believing that there is something here for each of us to receive鈥� and leverage to help others. Ms. Short-Colomb recounts: In 1838, people 鈥渨ere gathered up and they were sold to the deepest, most racist concentrated labor camps. ... They didn鈥檛 volunteer. ... This place exists today because of them.鈥�
Mr. Price sat down.
鈥淎t that moment, I kinda just shut my mouth and allowed myself to receive the information that I had been rejecting,鈥� he says. 鈥淲hen she speaks, there鈥檚 this gravitas. ... For a moment it felt as if my grandmother was speaking to me,鈥� he says of the 65-year-old Ms. Short-Colomb, who can trace her lineage to two GU272 families, the Queens and the Mahoneys.
He voted yes. The word 鈥渞eparations鈥� is still problematic in his view, Mr. Price says, partly because it implies giving a one-time payment and being done.
But as he came to understand this student-generated effort, the word they used 鈥� reconciliation 鈥� was indeed a better fit.
The intent is for a group of student and descendant representatives to consider proposals that would benefit descendant communities with the roughly $400,000 to be raised each year.
鈥淩econciliation is a process, a marathon; it鈥檚 not a sprint,鈥� he says.
Plenty of Georgetown students still objected. Some argued that none of them were slaves or owned slaves, so none should be forced to pay more on top of already steep fees. Others favored a financial commitment, but felt strongly that the university should commit the dollars, not the students.
Who should decide?
Even among the descendants, there鈥檚 no consensus about what form, if any, reparations or reconciliation should take.
Jessica Tilson 鈥� a descendant who lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana 鈥� raised multiple objections. She thought the student聽advocates should have polled the 4,000-plus descendants, rather than letting the few who are Georgetown students hold sway.
When the advocates said they鈥檇 consider directing money toward things like boosting education or internet access for descendant communities like Maringouin, Louisiana, where Ms. Tilson has roots 鈥� they 鈥渕ade us look like country bumpkins,鈥� she says.
She told them, 鈥淲hat do you mean you are more privileged than me?... You鈥檙e going to have student loan debt just like me,鈥� says Ms. Tilson, who earned a bachelor鈥檚 degree from Southern University and A&M College.
She especially disagreed with students being forced to pay, saying she would never want to receive something that wasn鈥檛 given willingly. She says she told some of the on-campus descendants, 鈥淵鈥檃ll guilt-tripping those white kids there.鈥�
But some supporters of the referendum say it purposely avoided the narrative of shame.
鈥淭his is not being framed as a matter of collective guilt. This is being framed as an act of collective generosity,鈥� says Richard Cellini, an alumnus and founder of , the nonprofit that has helped identify 8,425 descendants, half of whom are still living. 聽
It鈥檚 really an expression of gratitude, he says. The students are 鈥渟aying of the Georgetown slaves: Their story is our story, and we want to share our resources with the families that made our university possible.鈥�
Awaiting approval聽
The collection of the $27.20 fee won鈥檛 happen without approval from Georgetown鈥檚 board of directors, which has met with some student leaders but did not vote on the reconciliation fee at its June 5-6 meeting.
鈥淕eorgetown University values the perspectives and engagement of our students in grappling with the history and ongoing legacy of slavery in our community,鈥� spokesperson Meghan Dubyak said in an email to the Monitor. 鈥淲e are working to contribute to a vital national conversation about the need to promote racial justice. ... The referendum provides valuable insight into student perspectives.鈥�
The board is planning more discussions and will meet again this fall, she added.
If the Georgetown administration doesn鈥檛 implement the students鈥� plan, 鈥渋t would be an abdication of responsibility on an historic scale,鈥� Mr. Cellini says.
Ms. Short-Colomb became a student at Georgetown in August 2017, just one year after discovering that her ancestors had been part of the 1838 sale.
Since her own family had been among 鈥渢he involuntary founders of Georgetown University, who have been left out of the history,鈥� she wanted to understand the institution up close. 鈥淚 went out on a big limb for myself 鈥� and I think the administration went out on a limb with me as well. ... It鈥檚 been wonderful,鈥� she says.
After the highest voter turnout in student government history, the results of the April 11 vote were announced online around 1 a.m. A giddy phone call from her fellow student advocates awoke Ms. Short-Colomb. They said they were coming over to celebrate, 鈥渁nd I said, 鈥楴o, no, no. Thank you. I love you all. Goodnight, I鈥檓 going back to sleep,鈥欌�� she says.
She laughs about it now, but as the news sank in that morning, she says, 鈥淚 cried a little bit. I thanked the ancestors. Because this is really for them, you know?鈥�
