I cannot seem to get past the resignation of Claudine Gay, the first Black president of Harvard University, in this past week.  The whole situation wreaks of smoke and mirrors, and I keep wondering what exactly it leaves in its wake and the larger meaning of possible future replications of these similar tactics to remove others from their posts.  And yet, it is all the more profound that this occurred. 

 

As a former fellow Exonian, a woman, and an African American, I can’t wrap my head around it.  Like Dr. Gay, from the time that I was young, I too went to a place that taught me to work in every instance.  It taught you that focus, fortitude, determination, would get you everything that you needed. But, the baseline was a work that was separate from others.  You worked through your pain, you worked through your fatigue, and in some cases, you worked through the death of a beloved teacher.  It was in this workaholic haze, that had been honed and perfected since the Puritans first set foot on this soil, that I became engrained to the work. 

 

This is not to say that my own ancestors shied away from work.  They most certainly did not.  My ancestors’ work transformed centuries and was the foundation of “farms”, towns, cities, and civilization.  My ancestors worked day and night as the lifeblood of this country.  Their blood is in the soil that grows the tall trees that line fair weather parks and estates.  And when it rains torrentially, I still look hard and long to see if the remnants of their blood seep out of the stone from some of the great monuments and buildings that line our Capital and the fine institutions of this country.Because, we have always been here- from its inception.  But, most of all, we have always been working.

 

The thing that I can’t seem to wrap my head around is the conditioning that African Americans have given ourselves in some cases.   Some call it the “Ole Black Tax”, that we need to be twice as good, to be considered just as good by others.  I have watched numerous colleagues and former classmates who look like me toil silently in their positions, some in academia – starved of mentorship and allegiance- necessary tools to make it through.  I hear others lament that they feel alone in any profession that they are in.  They are not invited to the parties, the dinners, acceptance to the country clubs, even recognized for the hours of true work that is actually put into their craft.

 

And let’s be honest, it has to be a lot of work.  I remember when I first began working at Columbia Medical Center at the turn of the century.  I was a research assistant who worked on a rheumatological study and every day I would walk past the numerous labs that lined the halls.  Some days, when bored, I would stop to read the posts.  I did this one day to my chagrin.  The flyer read something to the effect of “Free room and Board for newly arrived immigrants from China.  Free ACT classes, lab position…”etc.  I was absolutely floored, and my mind was blown.

 

Though I have ancestors who knew and honored the value of hard work, I had never been in a community that supported me like this glimpse that I was seeing into someone else’s reality.  I began wondering why someone would take someone else under their wing.  Maybe there was some ulterior motive, but, I kept telling myself that the ends justified the means.  To take someone in, give them nourishment, resources, and empowerment so that they, like you can reach the stars…it is a beautiful thing to behold.  In turn, a community is created, possibly new familial bonds to weather the brute potential forces that come from being an immigrant and the potential assimilation into this country.

 

But, what, I wondered, if those same forces that smiled on letting that group of immigrants gather, not only frowned upon, but barred others from communing and learning together?  Ask yourself if you have ever heard of African Americans creating groups to build communities of financial success and achievement?  Yes, it has existed in the past… Rosewood, FL, Tulsa, OK. And we know what happened to those communities…  So, what about now?

 

For one, trying to establish this community is easier said than done.  Between continued practices of “red lining” and the shenanigans of trying to get a bank loan, many African Americans, original immigrants who toiled and shed for this country even though the flag doesn’t seem to drape them fully, cannot do these things to prosper. 

 

And so, it is the education that we focus on at this time.   I know that from an early age, I had been blessed to go to some of the finest schools in the country.  They are schools that would roll off the tongue and send an air of cool calm in their diction.  Even though I began at Milton Academy in Kindergarten, I still didn’t feel the hum until I was at Hockaday in fifth grade.  It seemed to be a low sound in my ear that challenged me to get into alignment.   I remember walking into my Spanish class and having my classmates answer the teacher in perfect conversational Spanish.  And they did.  Because they had been speaking Spanish fluently since they were in preschool.  Yes, preschool.

 

For the next year, I would struggle in my Spanish class in the day and listen to the Spanish tapes at night.  Sometimes, past the point of sanity, crying myself to sleep.  I felt isolated and completely alone.  Though I struggled, I was eventually successful and am still able to speak Spanish semi-fluently.  Conquering this challenge settled into my blood and this became the beginning of what I can only compare to as a metaphorical attempt to climb Mt. Everest with my bear hands.  And it didn’t stop there, I ended up going on to other fine schools.  But Exeter was the pinnacle for me at the time. 

 

Phillips Exeter Academy, the school where Dr. Gay and I both attended, was a place where you came prepared to class. Period.  The Harkness method seemed “cozy” in its construction- Ten or so students sitting around the centrally placed wooden table, sharing ideas, but it was so much more than that.  At Exeter, you had to do most of the work before you got there.  You had to do the reading, go over the facts and figures, and you had to do so repeatedly and with enough time to conceive, formulate, and solidify your own opinions.  This was because the Harkness method only worked with the exchange of ideas.  So, as a student, you built your warship with the texts, used the papers as cannons to lob at other student’s “opinion ships” and you made sure to have enough ammunition the next day to play.

 

But, what is not mentioned is that every student had the same texts, the same charts, but each one created a different ship and different pieces of the text to lob at each other as ammunition- because each student had a different perspective.  Furthermore, when students engaged in full on battle, when they were hitting each other with facts, opinions, and nuances, there were times that the teachers would intervene and point out commonalities to different modes of thought that the students had, and this was revelation.  There was more than one time where I had started out entirely opposed to what another student was saying and ended up listening to, and changing my opinion slightly based on their point of view.

 

This is what, I supposed, made America so great.  What had always made America stand on solid bedrock shining across the sea like a glistening beacon.  Why I could stand proud.  Because, at Exeter, I learned that the mountains of texts and information, could be ingested into my psyche and spun into gold for the world to see.  And so, like Dr. Gay, I set upon my life’s journey with dedication and grit, to weave my life’s tapestry.

 

For the past couple of weeks, I have written blog posts about a couple of formidable past traumatic experiences in my career.  I do not write these lightly, I do not write them for retribution.  I write them to the world because of what I said previously.  When you look at your life like a journey, an Opus, there are measures of melodies that line the air and, in the end, you hope that the tune is in alignment with the work.  But what happens when you start to look back and realize that in this largely solitary toil that most of the sound encompassing was high pitched violin pizzicatos, and somber melodic lamentations from the trauma that you faced?

 

During these periods of hardship, in my solitary journey, I would call on elders who looked like me to help me for advice.  The answer was always the same- just get through it.  Their advice was to eat the racism, the harassment, the isolation and to endure alone.  Some recommended surrounding myself with the white light of the Holy Spirit and prayer.  I still do and do not take these practices lightly.  The issue has to do with the fact that its 2024.  We are at a critically important time in our country’s history. And yet, I and many others are still surviving the racism, the epithets, the harassment, and the isolation.

 

And so, I ask, how long must we suffer?  How long must African Americans and others continue to accept the ugly, racist behavior?  I do not know Dr. Gay.  But I know her work.  I know her work ethic.  I know that every time that she entered a room from the time that she was at least an adolescent, she too knew that people would always be watching her, above anyone else.  That she would always be questioned whenever she got to that room, everyone always asking how did you get here?  I know that she shouldered this burden, honed the craft and was able to turn it into an elevator of epic proportions that shattered ceilings beyond.  And why? Because there was a lot of work to do after getting the “golden ticket”.

 

To the reader, I am sure that you are aware that there are hundreds of thousands of “Dr. Gays” who are each creating their own tapestries of life’s work.  It is not just about blind ambition; in many cases it is to build a better world.  This tapestry is woven with time, effort, and dedication, powered, from the hard work of our ancestors and the work ethic of our training.  The thread is pure in its nature, as it is created with our own unique perspectives, past works titrated into new thought to create a rich, and luxurious future.  This is innovation and how America thrives, continually pulsating with possibility, and always on the cusp of greatness.

 

Let us remember this when we have a new attack on the horizon. With a select few who, like locusts fly through the sky with their corrosive vitriol, their appetite focused on the shiny crops that line lush fields. These people want to establish a “Holiday Inn Express” version of succession of leadership based only on appearances. Beware of this new trend, as it undoes the centuries of philosophy, education, and precedent that has gone into creating and shaping this country. Beware as they are taking their hypocritical hands and pulling at the threads of this unprotected tapestry, watching with glee as it undoes years of work, centuries of struggle, and could hold in its wake the undoing of a country. It is so easy for people to cut off their nose despite their face when they assume that it is not really part of their own body. But we are all countrymen, no matter how we came to be here, and it is now time to do the task of working together and protecting each other as citizens and, most importantly, humans.

Aisha Bailey, DO

PEA Class of 1995