Dispatch from Columbia

A Tulsa expat offers an intimate look at the Mizzou protests

Editor’s note: In September, long-simmering racial tensions at the University of Missouri in Columbia reached a boiling point when student government president Payton Head wrote a post on Facebook outlining the acts of racism and bigotry he’d experienced and witnessed while attending the majority-white school.  After repeated requests from students for University officials to address Head’s complaints were largely ignored, a series of protests began—including a hunger strike by graduate student Jonathan Butler and a game and practice boycott by the MU football team—that ultimately led to the resignations of University of Missouri System president Timothy Wolfe and Mizzou-Columbia chancellor R. Bowen Loftin. 

The Mizzou upheaval has inspired similar protests on college campuses across the country, including Yale, Amherst and Ithaca. 

As a doctoral candidate at the University of Missouri School of Journalism, Joy Jenkins—a Tulsa expat and former Langdon Publishing employee—witnessed the months-long tumult happen in real time. 

The evening of Tuesday, Nov. 10, was the most challenging I’ve faced as a professor-in-training at the University of Missouri. It was the day after two university leaders—University of Missouri System President Tim Wolfe and Chancellor R. Bowen Loftin—announced their resignations in light of a group of concerned students and supporters protesting racial injustices. That night, however, jubilation turned to fear and threats.

I sat on the couch at the home of a fellow journalism doctoral student and watched the emails stream in from undergraduate students in my Journalism 1000: The News Media course.

At first they were somewhat subdued. One student wrote that he had seen “violent anonymous threats” circulating on the social networking app Yik Yak and, as a result, did not feel safe attending Wednesday’s class. The student also sent a screenshot of one of the posts: “I’m going to stand my ground tomorrow and shoot every black person I see.”

I, of course, was disturbed by this message and let the student know I was seeking out additional information. I emailed some journalism faculty members, asking them whether they were aware of the threats and requesting their advice about how to respond.

The student emails continued. An African American student said she had seen several threats online and would not attend class because she feared for her life. Another student, also African American, said he felt “the campus is very hostile right now and unsafe.” Yet another African American student said that because of the threats, “I personally do not feel safe here anymore.”

I read and responded to each of these messages, assuring the students that I understood their concerns and was doing everything I could to gather more information. I followed MU Alert on Twitter, scrolled news reports, and waited to hear from faculty members. I, too, was scared and worried, not for my own safety but for the safety of my students, particularly my African American students, many of whom were in their first semesters at MU. 

Over the past few months, these students saw significant changes at their university, changes spurred by a passionate group of students who decided the time had come to challenge the institutional inequalities that had been prevalent at MU—and, indeed, universities around the country—for decades. A few headline-grabbing events, including racial slurs yelled at the Missouri Students Association president, a clash between student demonstrators and Wolfe at the homecoming parade, and a swastika drawn from human feces, contributed to student activist group Concerned Student 1950 setting up tents on Mel Carnahan Quadrangle and graduate student Jonathan Butler’s hunger strike. 

But the challenges they and other students of color faced had deeper roots. So, as my students feared for their safety that night, I considered how the members of Concerned Student 1950—their moniker referencing the year black students were first admitted to MU—and others whose concerns they represented had questioned their safety, access, and representation for much longer.

I recognized that change was in the air at MU the previous week during the Nov. 3 Graduate Professional Council (GPC) meeting. The GPC meetings up to this point had been peppered with discussions of the obstacles graduate students faced over the previous few months, starting with the cancellation of their university health insurance in August. This event sparked walkouts, a rally, and the beginnings of the formation of a graduate student union. By the November meeting, GPC had a slate of resolutions to pass, including supporting the underfunded MU Libraries, resuming MU’s recently severed partnership with Planned Parenthood, and encouraging graduate student engagement in unionization efforts. 

The resolution that most captured my attention, however, focused on the many social justice movements that had been active on campus, including MU for Mike Brown, Black Lives Matter, Racism Lives Here, Concerned Student 1950, and others, as well as the problematic administrative responses. GPC representatives voted to stand in solidarity with these students and organizations as well as their fights for social justice.

Other doctoral students in my program were similarly struck by the shift on campus. First-year doctoral student Rokeshia Ashley said that while attending the University of Delaware, she witnessed black students protesting in light of the death of Michael Brown and ensuing events in Ferguson, Mo. However, once she saw the video from the homecoming parade, she recognized how serious MU’s situation had become, and she realized that the university was not immune from the institutionalized racism plaguing other universities.

“This is a real, real problem for these students,” Ashley said. “As a grad student, I see myself as an investment for the university. They pay me to be here. They have a vested interest in me versus undergraduate students … they’re moved around like cattle. I saw that and thought, wow, it’s unfortunate other students have witnessed these things, even though I haven’t directly witnessed them.”

Over the next few days, I followed news reports focused on Butler and Concerned Student 1950, as well as statements from faculty members and other student organizations expressing concerns about MU leadership. On Sunday, Nov. 8, I learned through my husband, a minister at Missouri United Methodist Church, that the protesters held a prayer service each night at 10 p.m. When we arrived at the Quad that night, dozens of students had already gathered in concentric circles with their heads bowed in prayer. Different voices emanated from the center of the circle, lifting up prayers and later leading chants and songs. 

Nearby, I noticed a TV reporter and crew setting up cameras and lights in preparation for a segment. It was difficult to ignore the sounds of the equipment and the reporter’s booming voice as he spoke to the camera. Reflecting on that moment, I could more easily understand the protesters’ frustration with the media, ruminations that would become deeper and more complex as I heard the perspectives of fellow doctoral students and faculty in the School of Journalism.

Later that night, members of the Forum on Graduate Rights called for graduate students to cancel their classes on Monday in solidarity with Concerned Student 1950. I hesitated to cancel my class, but prodding from one of my doctoral classmates, who’d been heavily involved in the unionization movement, convinced me that cancelling would send an important message about graduate students’ support of Concerned Student 1950. 

The next morning, I watched on Periscope as Wolfe announced his resignation at an emergency MU Board of Curators meeting. A few hours later, Loftin announced that he would transition to a new position as director for research facility development. Celebrations erupted on the Quad as the students and allies of Concerned Student 1950 reacted to the sea changes occurring at their university. 

Soon, though, the narrative shifted. A video by student Mark Schierbecker showed student Tim Tai, who was on assignment for ESPN, attempting to take photos of Concerned Student 1950’s reactions. The video, which circulated widely online, showed Director of Greek Life Janna Basler and Melissa Click, assistant professor in the Department of Communication, attempting to prevent the journalists from covering events at the protesters’ campsite. As the video spread, conversations broke out among my fellow doctoral students about the faculty members’ actions, particularly those of Click, ranging from anger at what they saw as clear First Amendment violations of the student journalists to understanding of the emotional distress she was likely experiencing to uncertainty over how to respond at all. At times, the conversations became heated as we—students who are passionate about journalism as well as understanding its context and implications for marginalized groups—grappled with our views on this incident and potential ramifications for the faculty members involved.     

Ashley also followed the conversations and said they spurred her to visit the campsite of Concerned Student 1950. She said the School of Journalism, by nature of its prestige not only on campus but also nationally, could serve as a champion for these students and their perspectives on how news organizations could and should respond to the events occurring on campus. 

“I felt like the students needed an advocate on their side from the same faction,” she said. “[I thought] let me go and see what this atmosphere is like, what it feels like to be on this campsite. It felt like a very sacred place to me.” 

She said she expected to be met with chants and energy. Instead, the students discussed their concerns about walking around campus safely without fear of retribution.

“It was just a different kind of feeling for me,” Ashley said. “It was a sacred space for everybody to come together and feel safe in that space.” 

On Wednesday, I made my way to my class, unsure how many students would attend in light of the online threats. Only about 40 seats were filled, and I thanked the students for their flexibility during what was clearly an unprecedented few days. I then presented a lecture on new models of journalism in the Internet age. I considered discussing the events of the week with the students but decided that regaining a semblance of normalcy might also be valuable. 

For Ashley, Wednesday was far from normal. Although I could safely travel to campus and work in my office, which I share with Ashley and several other doctoral students, she remained at home, unsure whether she would become a target of racism-fueled hatred. She said she had awoken to multiple text messages, calls, and Facebook messages inquiring about her safety, which reinforced the severity of the situation.

“[I realized] somebody may really try to take my life,” she says. “I’m black, and I can’t change my skin. Someone is really vying for me.”

As one of only two African American doctoral students in our program, Ashley said she saw the importance of reinforcing to the rest of us that the threats were real and scary for students of color, particularly in a place like a university, where safety should be an expectation. 

“Being a black person, I’m a moving target,” she said. “ … This is a very real thing. These students are not making this up.”

On Friday, journalism doctoral students and faculty were invited to a meeting to discuss the events of the previous days and the journalistic, legal, and ethical debates they sparked. Faculty members discussed the meeting that Tuesday in which they addressed Click’s courtesy appointment with the School of Journalism. We discussed the video of Click and Basler and how to balance First Amendment protection and journalistic access with the need to critically assess why student and faculty protesters reacted the way they did. We considered ways we, as instructors, can provide opportunities for our students to thoughtfully consider these issues.

The discussions continued the following week as I attended “Why Black Lives Matter: Race, (In)Justice, and Struggle in the 21st Century,” an interdisciplinary forum focused on the Black Lives Matter movement. We considered the need for journalists to provide context and address lived experiences when covering African American and other marginalized communities; opportunities for the works of people of color to be taught in classrooms; how students of color feel unsafe in the classroom and the need for professors to “unpack” our own privilege and participate in activism; the grief students of color are experiencing in response to recent events; and the spread of the “Mizzou Effect” as other students launch protests around the country.

I also attended “Teaching in Times of Change,” a panel inviting faculty members to discuss how they had addressed challenging topics in their classrooms. I listened to the panelists discuss the need to consider our own teaching strengths and “growth opportunities”; the need to bring the real world into our classrooms through discussing current events; the value of a respectful and inclusive campus community; the importance of addressing white supremacy, patriarchy, capitalism, and other difficult topics; the imperative to participate in student movements; and the need to learn about “black Mizzou” and other “hidden communities” on campus. 

Each of these meetings and discussions sparked questions, concerns, fears, and doubts. I wondered whether I had handled my own class and students appropriately, whether I had adequately considered the needs and fears of my African American students, and how I could foster more open and meaningful dialogue among all the students in my classes. 

For Ashley, real and tangible change should come via action, such as incorporating courses in the School of Journalism addressing race issues from a critical perspective. Beyond that, though, she said she would like to see a shift in the culture of the program in how students talk and are taught about race.

“It’s still something you need to learn, especially as a journalist, getting context, getting real facts ... and understanding the population you’re dealing with,” she said. 

Although I can never fully understand the challenges and barriers that students of color and others on this campus have faced, I also recognize that I can and should play a role in how we, the MU community, move forward. We have a long way to go, but I think we’re moving in the right direction.

Joy Jenkins is a doctoral candidate at the University of Missouri School of Journalism. Her research focuses on the evolving roles of editors in newsrooms, the potential for local media to facilitate social change, and magazine journalism. She formerly served as senior editor at TulsaPeople Magazine and copy editor at the Oklahoma Gazette. She lives in Columbia, Mo., with her husband, Hank.