Although the intrusive and loaded question is a familiar one, its appearance never ceases to amaze me for reason that I hope are apparent to you.

The alluded to question of “Why are you working at an H.B.C.U.?” never fails to rear its ugly head in the moments following some speaking engagement, panel discussion, or lecture delivered in one of my courses.

The question arrives via routes of communication such as the following:

• You’re much to smart to be at this school.
• You’re wasting your time working there. Those students aren’t capable of learning.
• I’m going to go back to my campus and tell them about you. I’m going to push them to recruit you and get you over there where I am.
• You’ve done your time there. It’s time for you to move on to bigger and better things.

I have grown so weary of this offensive question that I am going to answer it once and for all in this space.

Undoubtedly, the inquisitors asking the daunting question were not attempting to be offensive. In fact, I am certain that they have no idea of how offensive their words are as their gross devaluing of the H.B.C.U. is inextricably linked in my heart-and-mind to a daunting view of poor and working-class Black folk; my folk.

Those who have made either subtle overtures or unabashed attempts to prod me toward reconsidering my commitment to Black America and by extension H.B.C.U.’s surely do not understand that the foundation of that commitment flows from a conversation with my mother. Kathryn Jones was a woman who was determined that her children would have an understanding of what our ancestors experienced as they fought for the right to exist on this planet and what was owed to them by those who were gifted with life in this nation wracked by racial strife. The following verbal exchange — which I shared this week on the blog talk radio show Who Did It To You (please feel free to join us every Wednesday at 7:00 est, the call in number is 563-999-3682) — is tantamount from my mother.

Me:                      What exactly do I owe those that died for me                                to be here today?

My Mother:       Your Life!!!!!!

This single exchange serves as my guiding principle to this moment.

Trust me when I say that the decision to service the young people whose parents possessed enough wisdom to send their children to an H.B.C.U. was the best career decision I ever made.

Although the following may sound cliché, my relationship with my students is a Love affair under girded with unending respect. My students’, and not all of them are Black — many are Brown and a few are White — who have made it into my inner-circle are much more to me than former students, they are an integral part of this thing called life. For me, the expectation that our association would extend beyond the classroom and well into their arrival and engagement of the various stages of life is to be expected. No other relationship would make any sense at all.

My engagement with an H.B.C.U. has been a never-ending learning experience that has taught me not only the utility of relationships, but also the dangers of navigating the ebbs-and-flows of life alone. In hindsight, it is obvious that my mother’s advice has come full circle for me. The decision to dedicate my professional life to uplifting those students who attend Prairie View A & M University has provided me a unique life that was only realized via my association with them. My path and association with H.B.C.U. students is best summed up by Huey P. Newton’s poem Revolutionary Suicide.

By having no family I have inherited the family of humanity.
By having no possessions I have possessed all.
By rejecting the love of one I have received the love of all.
By surrendering my life to the revolution I have found eternal life.
Revolutionary suicide.

I can think of no better way of living “a life worth living.”

Dr. James Thomas Jones III

© Manhood, Race, and Culture, 2019. ڬ�