At UVA, “The Good Ole Song” is a stealth weapon. We need a new song.
That good old song of Wah-hoo-wah—we’ll sing it o’er and o’er
It cheers our hearts and warms our blood to hear them shout and roar
We come from old Virginia, where all is bright and gay
Let’s all join hands and give a yell for the dear old UVA.
Lyrics to ” The Good Ole Song” the defacto alma mater song of UVA
It’s a heart-warming tradition for many members of the University of Virginia community attending school events to congregate, grab the shoulders of the person next to her or him and sing the “Good Ole Song.” Set to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, singing the song was a comforting ritual at the Taking Back the Lawn Vigil held on the Lawn of the University last week. Thousands from the University and Charlottesville gathered as a way of countering the violent presence of the white supremacist groups that invaded the University grounds on August 11 and 12. I was not at the vigil and so I am certain that the power of the being there was even greater than that which I experienced as an observer. But I watched lots of video and every time I heard the Good Ole Song, I cringed.
It’s not that it’s a bad tune. The problem is that it’s also a stealth weapon. In the aftermath of the violence that left three people dead in Charlottesville, alumnae Jia Tolentino opined in her The New Yorker Magazine column that idyllic Southern liberal Charlottesville and UVA were prime targets for a white supremacist outburst. On the surface, it’s obvious: find the blue oasis in a predominantly right leaning state (only Northern Virginia and Charlottesville-Albemarle County prevent Virginia from being an overwhelmingly conservative voting bloc), add a controversy about removing the traditional Robert E. Lee monument and voila! That oasis becomes the proof of concept for how the extreme right wing, white supremacist movement can overcome the libs. Tolentino argues, however, that Charlottesville was also attractive because its pristine veneer concealed a tradition of racism and bigotry stretching back many decades. Gentility and political correctness simply concealed–and stoked–the growing white discontent that spawned the racist-fueled demonstration and violence.
As heartwarming as it may be for many, the Good Ole Song illustrates the dilemma posed by looking to the past for comfort and cohesion while living in the present in a new—and much more diverse—community. I think I cringed at the song because I don’t “…come from old Virginia,” and as I see it, all is far from “bright and gay.” People studying and working at UVA come from all over the U.S., and from around the globe. We’re not from old Virginia. Moreover, both the violence last weekend and the broader historical record of racial injustice in Charlottesville and Virginia demonstrate that there is significant racial and cultural discord here. Don’t get me wrong, this is a thoroughly beautiful place, with stunning land and extraordinarily warm, thoughtful, and resilient people. But niceness need not diminish the capacity to acknowledge suffering in a community. And in the work I have undertaken on leveraging difference and weirdness, oblivious contentment and deep suffering frequently co-exist.
Creating a truly diverse and inclusive community requires the willingness and discipline to see the differences that matter in that community and to engage when those differences create tension and discord. Pretending that we are all feel as happy and harmonious as the most content among us can alienate and marginalize and people who, by virtue of their difference, live an oppressive reality in that community. Excessive nicety in the service of avoiding facing the realities of social injustice is morally and ethically wrong. Most of us—myself included—do it. But such nicety also poses a very pragmatic problem. Avoiding disengagement makes a community vulnerable in exactly the way Charlottesville became vulnerable to white supremacist violence.
Many of the white supremacists came to Charlottesville to “take back” a fantasy. They were obsessed with a time and a place in which white people were the only people that mattered and the thought of having to co-exist with Jews and blacks and immigrants was an abomination. The veneer of places like Charlottesville created structure and practices like segregation that fueled that fantasy. Symbols of white maleness—those confederate statues—became tangible reminders that white people were all that mattered in these diverse communities. But this fantasy makes the dominant white group myopic and fragile. White people have never been alone. They have always lived side by side with communities of people who were different from them by race, culture, and history. Often, those communities were oppressed and disempowered as a result of actions undertaken in the name of whiteness. When empowered citizens of color spoke up and questioned the status quo, the fragile fringes of the white community—white supremacists–experienced those new voices as weapons assaulting their very existence.
It doesn’t have to be this way. If communities are willing to shake off habits of avoidance and authentically engage in inclusive practices, they become more resilient. Personal and collective wounds can be healed through dialogue, reconciliation, and actions that make amends for wrongdoing.
At UVA, we need a new song. It should be one that acknowledges the past and present experiences of diverse community members. It should support and encourage us to be in communication, to use our voices to learn with one another. It should buck us up so that when we enter into conflict—whether minor disagreements or deep-seated struggles—we are skillful, courageous and compassionate toward our fellow community members. The Good Ole Song can’t serve this purpose because it was not written for me, nor was it written for the women of UVA. Nor the people of color at UVA. Nor the people at UVA from countries around the world. Nor the LGBTQ community (as evidenced by the homophobic “not gay” chants that have been shouted at sporting events). None of this makes the song bad. It’s simply no longer adequate. We need another song.