Conversations We Need to Have

August 30, 2013

There has been a good bit of talk about the need for a national conversation about race. The President has been presidential in helping us think about what is needed. He is right about the need for a conversation, but I would like to suggest that there are two other conversations we need to have as well.  I write from the heart of the academy where we have been trying with mixed success to have these conversations for a long time.

We need to talk about race and inclusion. We need to talk about the challenges of being young and black, young and Latino, young and gay. But we also need to have a conversation about what it means to be young, lonely and caught up in the hook-up culture where sexuality, commitment and the need to find meaning for one’s life lead to fragile relationships and non-existent families.

This is a story as old as human kind but in our day where we can know sexual satisfaction without the possibility of pregnancy, it takes on new dimensions.  When there are no consequences for sexual activity, what does “No” really mean? How do we learn that what gives me pleasure may give someone else great pain for a lifetime? And if we are gone when the sun rises, who really knows the cost of the encounter. Are there really no victims?

Too often young men are still schooled to view sexual conquest as a marker of manhood and young women have learned that they too can measure attractiveness by their conquests. Never mind the growing data about sexually transmitted diseases. How about the shallow humanity that measures value by the ability to father a child or worth as the ability to bear a child who gives meaning to a young woman’s life in an otherwise loveless environment. And who cares about the ability to nurture and care for the life you have created?

What we have seen happening in Texas where in the name of limiting abortion the predominately male lawmakers have voted into law a plan that would effectively end the medical services offered to poor women illustrates the point. Limit abortions but do nothing to limit unwanted pregnancies because helping young men keep their pants zipped does not have the political appeal limiting abortions has. In a world where football is king you need to keep women in their place. The lesson of the Steubenville rape case does not seem to have sunk in.

I have intentionally linked football and sexual activity to bridge the distance to our next needed conversation.  We need to talk about athletic success. We have told our children that no does not mean no and built around that misinformation a lot of structures that confuse and give comfort to those who really think women are the problem: they really do not know what they want. But in doing that we have created a culture where athletes are larger than life  and where second place is unacceptable. Is it any wonder we have a problem with performance enhancing drugs?

To tell people that being second is unacceptable and that you ought to do anything you can do to win and then also telling them that taking advantage of drugs that help you win is unacceptable can certainly muddy the water. Come on! Winning is everything; it is all that counts, right? So now we are saying that is not true. Ok, but let’s not be surprised when a few do not get the message. And of course lying is wrong, except when it is in the service of a greater good.

So let us have a real conversation about race as uncomfortable as it makes us. Let us be grateful that we have a President who is willing to take a learning moment and remind us all of the responsibilities we have to our children. But let’s also tell those children that we have not been the best of parents when we gave them Rhett Butler as a role model in Gone with the Wind, or when we winked when we found out that Charles Lindbergh, in addition to being anti-Semitic was also the father of seven children out of wedlock with three different women.

It should be no surprise then that we ignore professional athletes who left not only broken hearts wherever they went, but also issues of child support.

We were wrong to tell you that being second was not good enough. Beer and the Babe hit sixty home runs. No wonder Barry Bonds thought a few other substances might help as well. And if we didn’t tell you that one lie leads to another, we are sorry. We knew that. The point is that we have lots of things to talk about and there is not enough time, but we have to start somewhere and now is the moment.

Robert M Randolph

Chaplain to the Institute.

Death and the Academy

In the 1970s Ernest Becker wrote The Denial of Death and made the case that our inability to recognize that one day we will die is the root cause of many of the issues moderns face.  Seemed to me then to be a reasonable thesis and my experience here at MIT continues to confirm the notion.

When I first came here over 30 years ago we tried to ignore death and students took quiet pride that MIT was so hard that many students took their own lives.  The Institute tried to ignore the issue knowing that the numbers were not out of line with our peers. Today they face the truth with more honesty knowing that one death is one too many, but that it is also impossible to build a safety net that catches everyone.

The sensitivity to death and dying has contributed to the difficulties of this year.  We had a graduate student who died  last fall.  A former student now a graduate student at another university died shortly after the first of the year. An alum who worked closely with current students died of natural causes, but for those who knew him his death had to be dealt with in a world that depended on his presence.  Then there was the Marathon Bombing and the death of Sean Collier. Finally, in a bicycle accident, a post-doctoral visitor from Japan lost her life.

When I offered the invocation at graduation I asked for comfort and presence in light of these events. We then turned to Tech Day with memorial services both planned and unscripted where we remembered the deaths in our alumni community.

I think we have come a long way from denying death to making a serious effort to think about what our mortality means.

As glib as it may sound, what this means is that we recognize that for all of our smarts, there are problems we cannot solve, concerns that do not yield to our inquiries.  We may deny death pretending that if we ignore it or do the happy dance it will go away. It doesn’t and we know it.  We die too young.  We die too soon and even at the end of a long and good life we had rather not go. Step to the edge and maybe look over, but we prefer to step back into life.

At a less frivolous level it means we recognize that we are part of a larger community where death comes too often.  Students tell us they want to get on out into the real world. What we have seen these last weeks is a reminder that the world here on Massachusetts Avenue is as real as it gets. The shock for many international students is that the violence they are familiar with at home has found them in the US.

Humility, recognizing that there are problems that defy solutions and shared humanity across the borders of nationality and violence, are steps that take us in a more humane direction, but I asked as well for comfort, a sense of well being, and presence and it may be that I am simply whistling in the dark.  As a Christian I think not.

The Christian faith offers us the notion that God remains concerned with humankind and our myriad of triumphs and tragedies. We test the notion and it may be that the transcendent is simply less dependable in our world or less apparent. There is no way to know, but I stay in conversation railing at one moment, grateful in another for a sense of presence.

During graduation week we celebrated the life of Umaer Basha, born when his parents were post-docs at MIT in 1979. He returned in 1997 to begin his studies as a freshman. He had, he wrote, come home!  A series of tragic events took his life before too many weeks had passed. As the sun set that fall with the dark foreboding that comes each year, his mother asked me what she should do in her grief? She was tired of crying and we agreed that she should find ways to embrace living that kept her son’s memory alive.

From Pakistan, the family is Muslim with a deep sense of God’s presence even in their loss and so she began a series of projects including the establishment of an Institute of Technology within the University of  Karachi. She still cries, but she also knows that her family has made possible better education for a generation of Pakistani students and that knowledge gives her comfort and purpose.

Death reminds us of what lies ahead for all of us.  And we know the end for certainty if we turn inward paralyzed by fear and grief, but if we choose to engage the world, shouting to God about our anger as well as about our hopes, it may well be that we can find in our losses the substance of a better tomorrow.  

This year I prayed for presence and comfort. In 2010 I offered these words:

In these hard days when we are reminded often of what we cannot do, help us to remember what we have done. Let angry words not be our mantra, but rather words of celebration, words of joy and words of hope. Tomorrow will be better because of what we celebrate today!

Or as Mary Oliver has written: .
 Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
  Let the wind turn in the trees,
 and the mystery hidden in dirt
swing through the air.
 How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
 What should I fear?

(A Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith)

 May it be so.

Robert M Randolph

Chaplain to the Institute

Massachusetts Institute of Technology

We Believe

In My Family We Believe 

My life is a life of firsts. 

I am the first to tell this story – my story.  I grew up in a small town in the south, in DeRidder, Louisiana to be exact, population – 10,639.  One of those “one stop light” towns you read about in old novels. I am the third of eight children (four boys and four girls) born into a single parent home. My mother was a strong black woman, and as the Apostle Paul might say, this is a true saying - my mother loved each and every one of us. However, on most days, I don’t think my mother liked us very much.  I believe she spent far too many days feeling sad and angry, because she saw us as her burdens to bear.  Yes, she had created each of us; but the weight of caring for us alone took its toll on her daily.  My mother worked whenever she could, but truth be told, she raised eight children by the grace of God and with some much needed assistance from the church/community.  And lest I paint an unfair picture of my mother, I must also share that my Mother did three things very well, and I will always love her for it – she made sure that we had food, clothing, and shelter; she made sure that we graduated from High School; and she made sure that we attended church every time the church doors were open (I can thank God and my mother for my strong Christian foundation).

For the greater part of my childhood, I don’t remember having a father; however, I know that God has watched over me and taken care of me better than any earthly father could that’s why Psalm 23 is so special to me.  It reminds me that God is not only looking out for me…it reminds me that He loves me and that He is protecting me (this gives me peace in difficult times).

Many years ago this story (at least these very personal aspects of my story) would have brought me to tears, and I must admit that throughout my childhood, it often caused me pain.  But today, I’m not sharing my story of very humble beginnings with you to gain your sympathy. I have chosen to share my story, because it’s extremely important for you to see where I came from in order to even begin to appreciate where I am today.  In my family, we believe in the following:

1)     We believe in family - It takes a village to raise a child – relatives (near and far), community, church, school (teachers); I think that’s why I believe that collaboration helps you achieve goals…

2)     In my family, we believe that - you should Respect your Elders – in the south and in particular in the church, children were taught to respect everyone in authority.

3)     In my family, we believe that - Education is important (my mother only had a high school diploma but she made sure all eight of her children graduated from high school, and she encouraged us to go to College as well).

4)     In my family, we believe that - Faith in God is paramount.  It is your rock, sword, and shield.  We believe Jesus is the Son of God.  We believe in the Holy Trinity.  We believe in the character of God (who God is) as well as the power of God (what God does).

5)     In my family, we believe – that you can do anything you want to do if you work hard, treat people right, believe in yourself, and trust in God…AND SO CAN OTHERS.  In other words, we were taught to encourage others to do their very best (while growing up, this applied mostly to my siblings, but today, particularly as a leader, I take this teaching to heart as I strive to help my staff, co-workers and colleagues achieve their goals).

6)     In my family, we believe – in telling it like it is.  My Mother used to tell me that I was the child that really didn’t like “stupid” stuff; she said things needed to make sense to me…I think that still applies to me in my work…I tend to be more practical, pragmatic, logical, tactical…so sometimes that means that I am less creative than I would like to be; so, when I hire people I look for people who are creative, who think outside the box…who complement my strengths.

My life is a life of firsts. 

My mother, when she was alive (she died in December 2008), loved to tell the story about how I was the first “little black girl” to truly integrate what was then known as the “white” pool.  If this incident is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, then this was certainly a preview of what was to come (particularly my focus on diversity, equity).   In 1987, I became the first of my mother’s eight children to graduate from college.  In 1988, I became the first of my mother’s girls to enter and serve in the military (all of her sons did). I served in the US Air Force during Desert Storm.

My professional life followed a similar path.  In 1991, I became the first Director of the Business Education Science Team (BEST) program started at California State University, Sacramento. I was also the first Director of the Mathematics, Engineering, and Science Achievement (MESA) Program at the University of the Pacific in Stockton, CA.   In 1998, I became the first Associate Director of the Statewide MESA Program housed at the University of California, Berkeley; and in 2001, I became the first Director of Education, Training, and Outreach for the National GEM Consortium then housed at the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, IN.  From there, in 2005, I became the first Director of Diversity Programs in Engineering at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY.  This position opened the door for me to serve in my current role as the Associate Dean of Undergraduate Education and Director of the Office of Minority Education here at MIT. I joined the MIT staff in August 2009.

So how did I do it?  How did a little black girl from a small town in Louisiana make it from there to here?  Well, my path was not some mystical yellow brick road. It was a path of prayer and faith in God.  My mother was a praying woman.  She prayed for us, and she read her Bible every night. She may not have regularly attended church herself, but as I stated earlier; she made sure that her children did.  My faith in God and my love for Jesus Christ is the cornerstone of my life, and as Maya Angelou once said, “I wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now”.   In my family, we believe that it is okay to want more…that where you start doesn’t necessarily determine where you will finish.  We believe, much like Dr. King and Dr. Angelou that “A person is the product of their dreams. So make sure to dream great dreams. And then try to live your dream.”  This is the ilk that I am made of – a fabric woven with cords of faith, hope, strength, perseverance, power, and determination - and it is this foundation that prepared me for the “first” that would change my life forever…

On Sunday, April 25, 2004 (the day after my 39^th birthday), I preached my first sermon and became the first woman preacher in the history of the Pilgrim Baptist Church in South Bend, In. This is my calling.  This is my charge.  I carry it out in all areas of my life, even here at MIT if I am led or called upon by students, staff, or faculty to do so.  Like Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. “I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”   Thank you and God bless you.

 DiOnetta Jones
 Associate Dean of Undergraduate Education and Director of the Office of Minority Education

In My Family

The events of the past week have jarred us all.   Now, I am wondering what a lot of people are wondering.   How is it that a 19-year-old who is remembered from high school years as a “sociable, compassionate, friendly, wonderful kid” is drawn, seemingly out of the blue, into committing the horrible acts we have just witnessed?  This, of course, is an extreme case, but raises the broader question of how to help young people enter adulthood with a strong moral compass.   It’s not enough that they don’t blow things up; we need to raise a generation of people who will build a civilization based on values of justice, compassion, and universal recognition that the human race is a family.

This brings us back to our theme: our families of origin.   For those who are fortunate, this is one’s very first experience of what a community should be like and how it should function.   And I count myself among the fortunate ones in this respect.    I grew up as the fourth of five children in a middle class suburban Catholic family.   My father was a mechanical engineer who attended college during the Great Depression, paying expenses by waiting tables.   My mother grew up on a farm.   On paper, my background sounds pretty ordinary.

Now I’m being asked to reflect on what it was about this family that taught me about how to engage the world.   Where do I begin?   As always, my parents’ actions were far more important than their words.    First, there was an atmosphere of unconditional love.   As children, my siblings and I were always made to feel that we were intrinsically good people.   And by this I don’t mean a false preoccupation with making us feel good all the time or being afraid that criticism might hurt our self-esteem.   Indeed, when I made mistakes or did less-than-good things, I had to own up to it; but it was always clear that it was my action that had fallen short, not that I was inherently bad.  Second, my parents cultivated a strong sense of teamwork and responsibility to the family.   I never saw them quarrel; they would always discuss things in an attitude of mutual respect.    On Saturday mornings the household chores would be divvied up among us all.   Third, they used situations that came up in our lives as opportunities to convey their values.   I remember that for a time I was kept from watching The Man From Uncle, a popular prime time spy show.  My parents were disturbed by the cavalier attitude toward deadly violence on the show and expressed this to me; I’ve never forgotten this.   A lot of what made my family what it was are intangible things.  During a visit to my parents when I was in grad school, a friend of mine entered the living room and saw each of us doing our separate things:  I was reading a book, my mother working a crossword puzzle, and so on.   This friend later said to me that even though we were not doing something together, it still felt like we were together.

And now I realize that the characteristics I hope to promote in the functioning of society at large, justice, compassion, solidarity, are modeled and taught in the context of the nuclear family.    This is what equips children to grow into adults who can see that a new kind of civilization is possible and who have the capacity to build it.

Brian Aull

Bahai Chaplain