If you're reading my blog, and you're really, really angry, I suspect you may be one of those "white liberals" about whom I write. If you're calling me nasty names because you think I'm talking about you or one of your best friends or your cousin, then you're probably one of them. If you're reading my blog and are only able to see yourself, you might just be guilty. There are a whole lotta white women reading this blog who don't share your anger. They encourage me to do what I must do.

My partner, who is white, is wringing her hands. She's "worried" and "nervous" as much for herself as for me. Maybe more. I get it. I really do. It would be tough to have me as a partner under this circumstance, particularly where we live and work. Our friends are white; we live in a rural white area. She believes that she, too, will suffer consequences for my blog. Does this mean that I should stop writing? It's cathartic. I need it. I have needed it for a very long time.

I've received incredible support from women of color who seem to understand. I've received messages from women all over the country--African-American, Native American, Latinas who get it. I've received incredible support from white women who are able to see beyond themselves. I also have some male readers who offer a remarkably different perspective.

I'm reminded of the late 1960s and early 1970s feminism. The chasm between middle-class white feminists and we women of color was, or so we thought we the time, one that would never close. We've made great strides toward closing the gap. My second mother attends a group, "Black and White Women Together," and we speak often about how difficult communication and understanding are to achieve. Were I in a more racially diverse area, we women of color would have alternatives. We would have social outlets; friendships with women from our own ethnic groups; we would have choices. In this place, our friends are our colleagues; there is no separation between the personal and the professional. That's why my partner is worried. When I lose here, I lose the personal and the professional--friends who are colleagues. There's no where else to go.

This blog has been a kind of freedom for me. I make no rules at work. Ordinarily, my voice and my feelings don't really matter. And again, in this case, my means our. The funny thing about "doing diversity" on a predominantly white campus is that we never get to do it. For example, I've participated in "diversity" organizations for the entire time I've been an academic. All the institutions with which I've been affiliated have claimed to want to "recruit and retain faculty of color." Early on, I was inclined to believe that, but after a few years, it occurred to me that there was one missing piece. Not one administration has ever met with us folks of color to ask some critical questions. The first would be: "Why do you come to this university"? Seems that the varied number of responses to that question would give some insight into recruitment of faculty of color. Other questions? "Why do you remain at this university"? Remember, for most of the years that I've been in this business, faculty of color have had choices. Fewer now, but it still seems important to determine why we stay, especially if an institution is really interested in diversity. We head diversity task forces, but we don't do more meaningful work. I suspect a group of faculty of color could develop a comprehensive plan and program for recruitment of faculty of color and likely a good one for retention as well. We have never been approached. Diversity is the first casualty when funds are "tight."

What I'm saying is that this blog has given me voice in a way that I have never been able to achieve it on any campus. I can talk about how I feel; it feels; it has felt for all these many years.
Despite my partner's nervousness and worry; despite my own fears, this is something I must do for me, for my silent sisters and brothers in this place and others. This life ain't no joke. The price for this success is high, and for everyone who tells us how "easy" this ought to be, I'd offer you the opportunity to be the lone (or one of three or four) white faculty member on a campus in an all black "village" in the rural South or on a reservation or in the barrio in any urban area. No escape. Work and live there. Make a life. Assimilate. Yeah, do that. Later.