Moving Forward: The Importance of Driving Positive Change from Hatred on Campus

I’ve always dreamed of making the front page of The New York Times. If you asked me for what reason in preschool, I would’ve said for proclaiming my title as a princess. If you asked me for what reason in elementary school, I would’ve told you for my award-winning chicken nugget recipe. If you asked me for what reason in middle school, I would’ve shown you my elaborate interior design plan for a wedding venue. If you asked me for what reason in high school, I would’ve answered with a heart-wrenching feature story’s byline printed with my name. If you asked me for what reason during my freshman year of college, I would proudly present to you my Silver Anvil Award for my incredible public relations activities. If you asked me for what reason today, in my sophomore year of college, I would regretfully say for the numerous incidents of hate crime and a shooter manifesto distribution around my college campus.

Hailing from a South Jersey suburb with a fairly large Jewish community, I was always warned of what I might encounter once I leave the “Cherry Hill bubble.” I would brush the warnings aside, doubtful of antisemitism ever infiltrating my life. I’ve heard the Holocaust jokes before and I’ve seen the slurs written out, but I couldn’t ever fathom the feeling of being a target.

As the fall semester of my sophomore year at Syracuse University comes to a close, I’ve witnessed the impact of hatred. Black and Asian communities were first. Bigoted and racist comments, fueled with hate, swarmed campus. On the evening of Wednesday, November 13, 2019, I attended a sit-in to support the people who feel inferior here. I wanted to be an ally, not the enemy. In light of such hatred, I watched a union of students banding together not in pity but in rebellion. I sat in awe of students who exuded passion for making change.

Upon leaving the sit-in, I learned of a swastika drawn in the snow outside an apartment building on campus. Then, a professor received an email calling her derogatory names and insisting she enter the oven. The full effect of hatred doesn’t hit you all at once. It doesn’t feel real. The more I processed, the more it hurt: a few simple words and symbols loaded with references to a traumatic and torturous genocide of more than 6 million of my ancestors and other undermined demographics. Now, I was a target too. The sad truth is antisemitism, among other types of hatred, exists as long as the people it targets exist.

My phone has been flooding with text messages from my friends at other schools across the country. How did I handle it? Well, my first instinct was to embrace my Judaism. When the enemy attacks, you don’t back down. You show strength, not weakness. If I were to hide away my Jewish identity, I’d fuel the hate; I’d let them win. So, I pulled out my Hebrew necklace that translated to “stronger than the hate” and strung it around my neck. And to think, the last time I had this out of its box was when a shooting occurred in a synagogue. Now, it was to combat the threats and hate on my own campus.

Times like these have helped me put my life into perspective in terms of identifying with a minority religious group. As I mentioned previously, my Judaism has never been something I wanted to hide. However, when in danger, I can “hide” the fact that I’m Jewish. I can tuck away my Hebrew necklace under my shirt collar, and no one will have a clue about my religious observances. However, when racism has seeped through Syracuse University’s foundation of white privilege, students of other minority communities cannot hide their skin color, hairstyles, eye shapes—the list of superficial race-identifying stereotypes goes on.

Despite these incidents stirring fear among students, this time has created an opportunity to grow and move forward in a positive direction. I’m appreciative of the faculty who have intercepted the student-to-faculty conversation, especially my IST 195 professor Jeff Rubin. Professor Rubin opened up a class-wide platform and forum to share our thoughts, voice our opinions and express our feelings. He also took into account how students’ concentrations might have shifted from academic priorities during such an overwhelming time. Of course, I understand the uneasiness with attending class amidst a hostile and seemingly-dangerous campus climate; however, the hate hurt most when it compromised my class time and access to the education I worked so hard to be able to receive. Professor Rubin not only live-streamed his lectures for student viewership from a safer space, but he also allotted more points to earn and put toward final grades if we chose to share our ideas of how we, as a student community, can spark change on campus.

While this was never how I intended to gain such a strong sense of empowerment to step out of my shoes as a person with privilege and see the world from the eyes of the oppressed. Pity differs greatly from empathy, and empathy is where change begins. The #NotAgainSU movement speaks to end hatred, but step one to shutting down negativity is bringing in positivity.

Along my public relations track, I expect to be presented with many opportunities to promote positive change in various organizations. Diversity and inclusion are terms thrown around in the media and business industries far too often, but they hold incredible meaning. In my professional career, I hope to be the driving force diversity and inclusion implementation that actually addresses real issues with practical solutions. The conversation needs to expand, and the ears of the privileged need to listen to the many voices of the underrepresented. Then, just maybe we can promote positive change in campus culture will improve and I can slap a happier front page story onto The New York Times.