Up Against a Wall Who's responsible for responding to campus hate crimes? BY KERA ABRAHAM Maisie Davis said it happened in broad daylight behind the Knight Library on the UO campus last May. According to her written and verbal reports, four white men approached from the opposite direction and started hurling racial slurs at her. "Nigger!" "Porch monkey!" They pushed her up against the library wall and formed a half circle around her. The insults continued. "Slut!" "Fat ass!" One of the men warned Davis that if she told anyone about the assault they would rape her. Then they left. Davis, 22, an undergraduate Family and Human Services major, didn't tell anyone — at least not right away. "I did my thing, then went home and bawled my eyes out," she said. But as the days passed, her anger burned deeper. This was not the first time she'd been subjected to racially motivated hate at the UO. And despite administrators' concerned rhetoric, it didn't seem to Davis that they planned to do anything about it.   According to Davis' written record, she has been victim to other acts of racially motivated verbal assaults on campus. She alleges that in summer 2005, as she sat in the UO College of Education courtyard, four white men asked her to move. She asked them why; they told her that they deserved to sit there more than she. She didn't move. They told her to move or they would kill her. She moved. She alleges that a few months later, as she was walking on Kincaid Street by the UO library, a passing group of five white men and one white woman yelled racial slurs at her. She remembers hearing, "Go back to Africa, nigger." She didn't tell anyone about it right away. But the next spring, inspired by a classroom presentation on campus racism, Davis spoke with college interim dean Mike Bullis. He referred her to college ombudsman Bill Young. Davis didn't follow up with Young, but she drafted a letter and distributed it to college faculty in May. "When I have told people about the racist incidents on the UO campus, I am accused of playing the race card," she wrote, "Like I asked for it or something. But I did not ask for this. I paid to get an education and now I am attending a university where I don't feel safe. Something is wrong with that." The assault behind the library happened the next day.   On May 18, Davis and three allies from the College of Education — grad student Johnny Lake, FHS Program Director Daniel Close and assistant professor Surendra Subramani — met with Bullis, Interim Dean of Student Affairs Robin Holmes and a UO Public Safety officer to discuss the repeated verbal and threatened physical assaults. "It was pretty clear that Maisie was needing support, because she wasn't feeling safe," Close said. "The pain that she was experiencing was just palpable." The next day, Davis, Lake, Subramani and Bullis met with UO President Dave Frohnmayer. According to Davis, Frohnmayer said he was sorry that the assaults had occurred, advised her to keep walking in groups, referred her to the departments of public safety and counseling and suggested that she join the Black Student Union. "Then he pushed us out the door," Davis said. Frohnmayer would not comment on the meeting. A few days later Davis filed a report with the UO Bias Response Team, the campus agency responsible for supporting victims of discrimination. The BRT acknowledged her report but did nothing more, Davis said. BRT's Chicora Martin would not comment, citing confidentiality concerns. The assaults didn't stop. Davis says that on May 30, as she was walking on campus, two white women threw rocks at her and called her "nigger." She reported the incident to UO Department of Public Safety (DPS), which did not follow up, she alleged. The DPS didn't return EW's calls. So Davis held yet another meeting with her College of Education allies and delivered yet another letter to Frohnmayer. "Nothing has changed since our last meeting," she wrote. "My emotional, mental, and physical health continues to be endangered … My mother fears for my safety and well-being at this university." Two months later, still no response.   While the administration did little, the FHS program stepped up. Program director Close rallied Davis' classmates to volunteer as her safety escorts; they arranged a schedule so that someone would always accompany her between home, work and classes. Close also acted as Davis' liaison with other campus departments, such as counseling. It makes sense to Close that the FHS program, rather than the central administration, has taken the front line. "We're the grassroots," he said. "Maisie's our student, and we have moved heaven and earth to be there for her." But FHS's responsibility is limited to making sure Davis has the support she needs to excel in school, Close said. DPS is in charge of investigating the incidents, and the Bias Response Team is responsible for acting on the racism that fueled them. "The larger question is, who in the administration is responsible?" Close said. "The proactive element is crucial here. Especially given the fact that this [racism] is not something that cropped up overnight." He recalled that in spring 2005, hundreds of students and faculty demonstrated in the College of Education courtyard, alleging that the college at best tolerated, and at worst cultivated, racism and cultural insensitivity.   Davis, seated at a coffee shop near campus in big silver hoops and rhinestone sunglasses, spoke bluntly about the hate that has followed her around campus. But she also seemed nervous, periodically scanning the scene around her. She said she was on constant lookout for the men who assaulted her behind the library. She described herself as a target three times over: She's African American, a woman, and disabled (she has cerebral palsy, a stutter and a reconstructed hip). "And it has been shown that women with disabilities are the highest percentage rate of being a target of violence," she said matter-of-factly. She gave the FHS program credit for rallying behind her, but was disappointed in the central administration's lukewarm response. She wondered why her friends and classmates, rather than UO-funded safety staff, were acting as her escorts. She said the university needs to invest in more campus cops and patrols, better crime investigations and 24-7 shuttle services (the Assault Prevention Shuttle is only available from 6 pm to midnight on weekdays). "I've gone through the channels of power, saying 'I need you to do something about this,' and no action has been taken," she said. "I'm still living in fear for my life; I am scared all the time on this campus. With the administration doing nothing, it tells these people it's OK what they're doing."   Administrators would not comment on Davis' case due to confidentiality concerns. Davis released FHS Director Close to speak about her situation, but his comments are limited to the FHS program's role. Diversity Vice-Provost Charles Martinez and Student Affairs Dean Robin Holmes agreed only to speak about the issues in general, rather than about Davis' situation in particular. Martinez said that while the university has a responsibility to respond to all student complaints, there is no "knee-jerk" protocol for dealing with reports of racially motivated assault. "It is insufficient to respond to these incidents on the micro-level, just with the students," he said. "But the individual supports are much faster to occur than the institutional ones." "We are deep in support structures," Holmes added, noting that a single report of racially-motivated assault may be referred to the victim's academic advisors, campus police, the Bias Response Team, the Office of Institutional Equity and Diversity, the Office of Student Affairs, Student Judicial Affairs and the Office of Affirmative Action. But this bureaucratic web can be as entangling as it is supportive. In Davis' case, she was referred to so many offices and had so many meetings that she began to feel that she was painfully recounting the same incidents over and over, with few tangible results. "That experience of lack of ownership — the idea that 'if I have to keep meeting with people, I'll eventually give up' — that's frustrating," Martinez admitted. "That feeling of being set aside gains momentum over time, and that's unfortunate. There should be a common sense of ownership when students bring these issues forward." The university's newly adopted Diversity Plan makes vague references to tolerance and safety, instructing campus support structures to coordinate with one another. "But really, it's not anything more than a document," Martinez said. "Changing the campus culture is what this is really about."   Grad student Johnny Lake doesn't buy the passive apologies. To him, the UO administration's buck-passing of Davis' complaints reflects larger failings. "In a sense, Maisie represents the diversity question at that university, and the fact that they still fail to follow up on those issues is a problem," he said. "She talked in front of the dean of the College of Education and the president of the university, and neither of them responded in the way [FHS Director] Dan Close has, which is how they should respond as leaders: addressing these issues." Lake faults administrators at all levels for referring Davis to other campus agencies with little or no follow-up support. "What this does is leverage the burden back to the student who has suffered the mistreatment," he said. "As long as they can keep it isolated to individuals like Maisie, it doesn't demand a larger institutional response. There needs to be more direct action from leadership that sends the message to this campus that racism will not be tolerated." Until then, he said, students like Davis will keep walking to class with one eye trained on the shadows, their studies undermined by fear.
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