To Celebrate 100 Years of Homecoming
Albert Murray, the internationally acclaimed Black intellectual of the 20th century and a writer trained at Tuskegee Institute in the 1940s, wrote that the comforting thing about returning to your roots is that you are “going home to a familiar place.”
Yesterday, I returned home to a familiar place in East Alabama to celebrate the 100th homecoming celebration at Tuskegee University, that “Pride of the South,” which lifted the veil of ignorance inflicted by White society from the face of former enslaved Africans in the United States.
I was on campus in 1974, a mere lad who had celebrated my 23rd birthday two weeks before when the Institute, as we called her then, celebrated its 50th Homecoming. Now, at 73 years old, I will not likely attend the 150th homecoming celebration at Tuskegee.
This centennial celebration came four days after the nation rejected the inclusion of all Americans into the melting pot for a “White America First” agenda. Notwithstanding that the sons and daughters of Tuskegee had fought so hard to sustain the nation through the boll weevil attacks in the 1920s, the air raids over Europe to destroy Hitler’s war machine, and the place that gave one of her sons, Sammy Younge, Jr., as the first student martyr in the civil rights era in 1966.
Following the American vote rejecting democracy to preserve the ego of White American males, being lost in my feelings is an understatement. Hence, a trip home to a familiar place was the comforting salve my soul needed to “gird up my loins” for future battles. Homecoming was a cathartic vehicle – a word I learned in ’72 during one of my classes at Tuskegee – for several thousand Black people crowded inside and outside Cleve Abbott Stadium on November 9, 2024.
Tuskegee University is a true homecoming. It is the only university in the country where alums and fans tailgate inside the stadium. It has been a long-standing tradition to bring the grills and fish fryers inside the stadium and fill the air with the beckoning aroma of festive food while the athletes give their maximum effort on the turf below.
I was there to experience this event courtesy of my friend Larry Sankey, whom I have known since August 1970. Larry gifted me a ticket and an invitation to share the food under his tent. Larry and I sat and talked and ate, and then we walked in search of classmates who had made the trek home to a comforting place after the week’s events.
We greeted Judge Michael Bellamy, our political science classmate and one of six classmates, including this writer, to attend law school. We embraced Joe Colvin, a baseball teammate of mine, who has a successful insurance agency in East Alabama and shared a grin with J. P. “Tex” Mills, who retired from a successful career as an aviation administrator.
Also, we met a social media fan who said, “I enjoy reading you on social media, so keep on writing.” Buoyed by this young woman’s compliment, I resolve to continue rattling the cages until justice rains down like the mighty waters of the Alabama River.
During our walk, we stumbled, bumped into other alumni, and unintentionally touched some in inappropriate places as the Tuskegee family, happy to place Tuesday’s election behind them, milled throughout the site of the Tuskegee Relays in the last century. Each bump, stumble, and touch was quickly followed by an “excuse me” and a reply, “No problem, excuse me.”
Thousands of Black people gathered under a clouded sky that threatened rain all day, but it didn’t rain. They breathed a collective sigh of relief from the divisive politics of the past two years. Meanwhile, down on the field, Miles College was pounding the stuffing out of Tuskegee, ultimately winning 37-7. No one seemed to care.
While walking, I looked into the eyes of twenty-something-year-old men and women. I could see their naivety, hopes and dreams, unawareness, and humanity. Who will they be in 50 years? Will these youngsters pull us out of the dilemma the 2024 election gave us, or will they succumb to it?
Then Larry and I laughed and ate some more.
I traveled back home with my thoughts of the past week, the joy I saw on so many faces, the Black love that flowed from heart to heart. Upon arriving home, I received a welcoming smile from my Spelman girl in a warm and familiar place.
As I sat down to write this piece, news arrived that gunfire erupted on campus last night. The university confirmed one fatality of a non-student and several wounded people, including some students. On a post on X, a barrage of 100 or more shots can be heard ringing on the land where Booker T. Washington traveled the country to convince northern philanthropists to donate money so he could buy up plantations in Macon County, Alabama, to build the institution envisioned by the school’s founder Lewis Adams.
Immediately after America voted to reject democracy, there were notes sent through text message Apps to young Black students across the nation that they were required to report to a plantation for cotton picking duties in the morning. Three days later, Black gunmen shot up the plantation where one of the nation’s premier HBCUs educates our youngest and brightest. Steps are afoot to discourage the striving of Black people.
My soul is hurting, aching, and crying; how long must we endure this?
Suddenly, returning to Tuskegee is not a return to a familiar place. There is nothing familiar about gunfire on the campus where I debated the philosophies of Douglass, Vessey, Turner, Washington, Dubois, King, Nukurmah, and X and earned the moniker of being the last of the student radicals produced at Tuskegee.
Let’s face it: the Black community is in deep trouble. Young Black boys with guns have no respect for life or property or historical tradition, no matter where they are found. Black folks are confronted with an enemy from within (our children), as surely as the nation is also confronted from within by the supremacists, fascists, and democracy deniers.
We all know what needs to be done, but we would be hard-pressed to find 10 Black men committed to getting the job done.
My recommendation is the Black community should spend the next four years saving itself from itself and not pay a dime trying to save the Democratic Party or democracy in the United States of America. So, please don’t send me any more text messages asking me to donate money to support Democratic candidates or defend democracy. The 2024 General Election made it crystal clear that a vote for democracy is not a vote for the Black community.
I’m spending the next four years defending my community from itself. In the past, we spent too much time fighting the police and not enough time-fighting violence within.
Enough is enough!
I don’t have the answer, but I know who has the answer, and to get that answer, all we have to do is take the first step. Please don’t step this way if you seek fame, fortune, a television news show, or a multi-million dollar wrongful death lawsuit. It’s time to stop playing games with our few remaining liberties.
Let’s come Together!
Who is down with me?
Harold Michael Harvey, JD, is the Living Now 2020 Bronze Medal winner for his memoir Freaknik Lawyer: A Memoir on the Craft of Resistance. He is the author of a book on Negro Leagues Baseball, The Duke of 18th & Vine: Bob Kendrick Pitches Negro Leagues Baseball. He writes feature stories for Black College Nines.com. Harvey is a member of the Collegiate Baseball Writers Association, HBCU and PRO Sports Media Association, and the Legends Committee for the National College Baseball Hall of Fame. Harvey is an engaging speaker. Contact Harvey at [email protected].