When there are hateful acts that attack a community’s values, togetherness and unity are of paramount necessity. Once they’ve reflected and began discussion, the community generally moves on to identify a problem and subsequently takes action. Unguided anger and accusations — legitimate or not — merely divide a community and challenge true tolerance and respect for one another. While these seem like relatively obvious ideas, unfortunately the latter has dominated the campus dialogue over the past week.

Canceling classes to unite the community was important; however, I think the focus of the day was not sufficiently thought through and may have even back- fired. I applaud the Multicultural Resource Center, the Afrikana Community and all others involved for their tireless efforts to provide support, unite the community, and ignite discussion. Emotions ran high and people needed to reflect and be together. The initial unity and spirit was beautiful and made me proud to be an Obie. But as the day continued, the focus shifted and became increasingly an outlet for a more active volatile expression of anger. I don’t think any of us had nearly come close to processing the complex, confusing feelings by the time of the rally or convocation. Many of us were still incredibly scared and weren’t sure what we were chanting or why.

Then the blame-game started: The administration hadn’t done enough, the community wasn’t sufficiently educated on privilege, the people attacking the administration were tactless, etc. The administration can provide more programs to combat institutionalized racism and whatnot, but they have very little, if any, control over unfortunate incidences perpetrated by a very small minority. It’s easy to understand why we want to blame someone because it’s a disturbing, confusing occurrence. But those are inevitable feelings we must grapple with in times such as these, and there is no quick remedy.

For the majority of my childhood, I grew up in Lexington, MA, arguably one of the most liberal and intellectual enclaves in the country. I feel so grateful and privileged to have grown up in a community that, though flawed, was hugely accepting and safe. That being said, I definitely encountered a decent amount of homophobic attacks, verbal and written, toward myself and my peers starting in elementary school and continuing through high school. At one point in high school, a group of guys (guys I vaguely recognized as Lexington High School students) began to throw snow and ice at a friend (who was dressed in drag) and me while shouting trans/homophobic slander. I’m not searching for pity, and I know this is minimal compared to what many people face every single day, but rather I am highlighting the fact that these things happen, even in generally accepting communities. I wish they didn’t happen and think we should fight to prevent similar incidents, but they do. As Curtis Cook, OC ’12, put it in a piece he wrote last week regarding the incidents: “If this is what draws tears from your eyes and puts fear in your hearts, then not only will you never survive the world as it is, but you’ll never be strong enough to change it.”

When the Westboro Baptist Church (a recognized hate group) visited LHS several years back, the community organized and gathered hundreds of community members to hold hands around the school as the bell rang, creat- ing a “shield of love”. When I first heard about WBC’s planned visit, I — and probably numerous oth- ers — thought we’d give them an earful of what we thought of them (likely laden with expletives and not exactly articulate or produc- tive). Afterward, I felt incredibly proud of my community for rising above WBC’s bigoted rhetoric and focus on channeling their anger to show love toward the high-schoolers and Lexingtonians, not rage toward a handful of haters.

More recently, I heard through several friends that the WBC planned to “protest” Vassar College, another small liberal arts college known for its tolerance. In a different, but equally elegant response, an alumnus began a campaign to raise $100 for every minute WBC intended to “protest” the campus. The campaign caught on and rapidly surpassed its initial goal.

The community has already raised $100,000 for the Trevor Project, a suicide hotline for struggling LGBTQ youth. For all of the nasty and hurtful energy WBC spewed, they would essentially be supporting the very people they try to disenfranchise. Again, a community harnessed its anger and fear and — quite impressively — turned it into positive energy and tangible change. When life gives you lemons, rally your community and raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for a stellar nonprofit that supports those who the lemons are targeting and trying to bruise. Or a less convoluted metaphor.

Obviously the WBC’s protests differ from Oberlin’s recent hate-based incidents in that they are a distinct external group, whereas the Oberlin perpetrators are unknown and their affiliations with the College are unclear. But in both cases, our community ideals are being attacked in a very personal and painful way that does not reflect our behavior, but the rash actions of a few. So now we have the choice: Do we want to spend our energy endlessly dwelling on whose fault this is, harshly criticizing our peers for their behavior, blaming it on lack of diversity, the curriculum, the administration and each other? In the poignant words of Hilary Clinton: “What difference at this point does it make? It is our job to figure out what happened and do everything we can to prevent it from ever happening again.”

Or, do we want to make sense of that anger and energy to our best extent, show our strength, and show them that their cowardly attacks only inspire us to UNITE and outweigh them tenfold by spreading our values of acceptance and community in a tangible and pragmatic way?

I sure as hell do.

–Jeremy Swack
College sophomore