Originally posted on SEPTEMBER 10, 2016
“With music by our side
To break the color lines
Let’s work together
To improve our way of life
Join voices in protest
To social injustice
A generation full of courage
Come forth with me
People of the world today
Are we looking for a better way of life
We are a part of the rhythm nation
People of the world unite
Strength in numbers we can get it right
One time
We are a part of the rhythm nation!”
Janet Jackson | Rhythm Nation
I was outside Brock Hall humbly eating my couple slices of Papa John’s Pizza after an enduring first day of classes, when several pickup trucks drove by. Each truck was flying Confederate flags loud and proud, which in my own upbringing and historical background has always been viewed offensively. They all seemed to be shouting and hollering in my direction as they patrolled right past me and proceeded throughout our campus. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” I thought to myself. Enter the mind of me: Welcome back to Phil’s Philosophies.
School’s started, so that means I’m back in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Tennessee: home of Elvis, the Grand Ole Opry, and irresistibly cheesy pickup lines that should only be used… never. I love it here, and out of all the other states, it’s the only ten I see (Point proven). From the quaint Tennessee River snaking its way past the ridges and beautiful vistas of the Appalachian Mountains, to the sweet Little Debbie’s trucks eagerly departing the factories in little Collegedale, this place has been my home for the past two years. You’d think this humble town was just the place you’d visit to feast on your grandma’s homemade snickerdoodle cookies. However, in July 2015, Chattanooga received a load of media attention when a shooter opened fire on multiple military installations and killed several marines. About half a year later, it got a bit more personal. In February 2016, Southern Adventist University made the news when several students were horribly ugly about an African American-themed worship service on a social media app called YikYak. Southern happens to be my school. Angry, like so many of my fellow minorities, we sought to start a movement that would promote a positive way to listen and learn about each other, and bring us all together… But how could we keep this going?
Sometime later, I was commissioned by one of my history professors and the city of Chattanooga to do an oral history project on some of the prominent women all across town. One lady I met, Tresa McCallie, was one of the sweetest and most profound people I’d ever spoken to. I interviewed her for my project, and after we were done she asked more about Southern. After hearing of our plight from someone within the school, she invited me to return to her house as a guest at an Interracial Dessert that apparently happened at her house every few months. Together with her husband, Franklin McCallie, the McCallie’s decided a few years ago to help to eradicate the tension between blacks and whites in Chattanooga. Realizing that there was such a thing as white privilege and segregation in everything but law, they sought to bring an awareness by hosting an equal number of blacks and whites in their home. There’s so much more to their story, and if you’re interested, I definitely implore you to search Franklin McCallie in your search engine, and read more.
The Interracial Dessert was one of the most eye-opening and memorable experiences I’ve ever had. I was given a name tag, as each and every one welcomed the other like old friends—blacks and whites alike. There were no arguments. There was no dissension about someone’s religion or their views on politics. Nothing but smiles and looks of understanding. Franklin McCallie shared his story and his dreams for Chattanooga race relations, and I watched as everyone in that room nodded in serious agreement. We were separated into groups where we each talked about our experiences, and I was in a group that shared stories that left me awestruck. A black woman entered a restauraunt and wasn’t served; a white man who taught theatre had no idea how to connect and appeal to imprisoned urban juveniles; another black woman mentioned how she and her husband had bought a house in a well-off white neighborhood, but were viewed as very strange when they bought a boat and tried to socialize with their fellow white neighbors and were greeted with looks of disgust; and a white woman mentioned how barely any blacks lived on the other side of the Tennessee River.
I humbly took it all in. America was never really done with racism, and I’ve always known this, but as I get older, it seems like it’s more and more in my face. The looks that some people give me when I walk into a store wearing a hoodie; The mothers that hold their children tightly when they see my serious face as I ponder the merchandise; My fellow minorities who view me strangely because of the way I talk and dress. These people at the McCallie’s home were just like me—they wanted change, and they wanted unity.
We all came back together as a large group again, and I was chosen to represent my small group and talk about what we’d discussed. I spoke about the importance of unity, the summarization of all of our thoughts, and the hope that we all shared—to connect a diverse Chattanooga and stop the ignorance. The entire audience was quiet and listening as I spoke, and when I had finished, they erupted into applause. “You’re such a great speaker. If I could take your class in college when you become a professor, I know I’d enjoy it,” a friendly woman said. “We LOVE to hear from young men. Southern needs people like you to step out. Southern can lead Chattanooga. Help unite us!” Tresa McCallie said.
We took selfies, I had more cookies, and I drove back to Southern a more enlightened man. Now where do we go from here?
* * *
When I saw the police officer talking to those young, white males with their proud Confederate flags, something within me wanted to walk up to them and extend a hand. Out of curiosity, I would’ve loved to ask: “I don’t hate you. Why do you hate me?”
When we learn to combine our intelligence, our cultures, our heritages, our backgrounds, and our stories, we are opened up to an entire campus and world of opportunities.
Let’s stop looking at faces and look at hearts. “Hello, my name is Phillip Warfield… What’s yours?”
There’s still so much to be done.
We are a part of the Rhythm Nation.
“Before I go, I want to tell you to love one another. You must love each other as I have loved you. People will know that you are my disciples by how much you love each other.” – John 13:34,35 (CWV)