Letter from Former USM Student

I was a Wildcat for over a decade. USM is as a part of my story, just as I am a part of its legacy. Despite some of my grievances with administration and school culture, I am careful of how much I criticize it. On paper I am a successful product of the system. My love for USM was immediate, and my status as a wildcat was an integral part of my adolescent identity. However, my family has spent the better part of the last five years entertaining the alternate path our lives would have taken had we cut our time at USM short. The stories being shared in the media fill me with many emotions, but mainly sadness. An adult once confided in me about if removing his children from the school would be good idea. At the time I was freshly 18 and had no merit to give parenting advice but I told him, “Talk your kids, and ask them the questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Last month I reunited with a former classmate after 10 years. We were at dinner, over seven hundred miles away, when her college friend asked me, “So you did that underground railroad thing, too?” It shocked me that this was the headliner question to ask the one and only dinner guest. Every time someone asks me this question, or some variant of it, I’m slightly removed from reality. The answer is always summarized into a comedic bit because the alternative is an allegory. Yes, I did dress up as a slave and run around my school. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, we had to. 

Black families were gaslit into participation. We were told that it held similar weight as a test, or that children would be behind if they didn’t partake. USM is a small school where absence is always noticed and noted. Aside from already being one of four (or five) Black families in my grade, not participating would have emphasized it even more. It was a choice only a select set of families had to make, and there was no right answer. Not every black student participated, but most did. Eventually, we all learned to face racism in our school, so in that sense it didn’t make much of a difference. Given the otherwise safe and friendly reputation of the school, there was no reason to suspect what did happen would. I don’t think that if given all the details any parent would have agreed, let alone black parents. The removal of the underground railroad was as silent as I suspect it had been introduced. I am glad that this method of instruction has been removed, but I fear that in many ways it hasn’t. 

Steve Hancock said in a mass communication to the USM Community on April 22, 2022, that:

“The simulation ended more than ten years ago—long before the family’s students began their enrollment at the school.” 

I will leave it to the legal teams involved to confirm or dispute the facts surrounding the end date of the simulation. What is currently true, is that Steve Hancock was also not at USM during the time of my, or any alleged, underground railroad simulation that took place. Though there are several faculty members still employed at USM that participated in or planned it. Sadly, this removal was not as genuine as I hoped it would be. The decision to stop the simulation was not the product of self-reflection or reassessment, it was the result of yet another group of parents urging the school to get rid of it. It’s even more disheartening that black parents were ignored for several years when they asked for the same thing. Now that I am older, I think this is one of the prevailing legacies of the simulation. Sill, faculty and administration continued to dismiss and overlook the voices and experiences of those who did not readily accept their decisions.  

“During it, 4th grade students moved throughout parts of the school to stations where teachers and parent volunteers served in the roles of Underground Railroad conductors, providing guidance on routes to the next “safe place” stations.

In relation to critical race theory, USM was ahead of its time. My teacher performed a theatrical reading of January’s Sparrow. They also lead us in song to ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ while we pretended to be field workers. I cannot emphasize enough how uncomfortable this was for me as one of two black girls in the room. For one assignment, I remember having to create a slave persona, complete with a diary recording my life from the plantation to freedom. I wish this was the extent of the slavery unit. 

The simulation began with us gathering in our classrooms so we could be split into small groups. That day, both students and teachers dressed in costume. Seeing a white male teacher dressed as a stereotypical slave owner, complete with a toothpick, was the first time I felt deeply unsettled at school. I often think back to this moment we spent in the classroom as the point where everything could have taken a turn for the better. There was no protocol on what to do if you suddenly didn’t want to participate anymore. We were not given an out. Instead, we were given LED candles and sent on our way.

My original plan was to take this opportunity to show my white peers how I could embody the fearlessness of Harriet Tubman. Never mind that I would be leading a group of white, blonde kids to “freedom.” My Harriet Tubman aspirations were crushed when my classmate turned to me and asked, “why are you crying? It’s just pretend.” This argument would have been more compelling if I hadn’t just been chased into the school store by a teacher dressed up as a slave catcher. He was a good a kid, and I maintained a loose friendship with him until I graduated. How was he supposed to know that moments later we were going to be chased down a dark storage room? The only comfort I had the day I participated in the underground railroad simulation was that the entire class was required to do it. 

In the basement storage room where the concert chairs were kept, we pretended to be slaves on the run in the middle of the night. With the guidance of a teacher playing the role of an abolitionist, we were guided through the narrow storage room with nothing but her flashlight and our cheap candles. Noises of horse hooves, shouting, barks, and whips echoed off the cement walls. We were told to run and follow our teacher out of the door “to safety.” If I had been given an out, this is where I would have taken it. I remember screaming and being terrified, and then upset for feeling that way. The only reason I continued was because I was told that if I didn’t finish, I couldn’t go to 5th grade. So, I ran with my group towards the newly opened door “to safety.” The part of having to run to the sounds of what could have been a sound bite from Roots was never acknowledged. Until my last day at USM, I never looked at that door again.

My group made it to Canada (the library). When we got there, we met the rest of our classmates where the 4th grade gossip continued. We at cookies and reflected on what just happened like we had just left the movies. “Remember the part when” prompted new stories where, “I wasn’t that scared” was then treated like an accomplishment. I played the part of the former until one of my groupmates mentioned how I screamed and cried. For the next decade USM continued to show and tell me that no matter what happens, I would always be thought of last– if at all. 

I was surprised to learn via Steve Hancock’s email that this was intended to focus on “importance of Wisconsin’s role in the Underground.” If this was the case, the simulation missed the mark. While the 4th grade had a unit about Wisconsin history, it was isolated and irrelevant to what was taught in the slavery unit. The Wisconsin unit also did not feature visits to historical sites related to the underground railroad, or slavery in general. We did take an overnight trip to Madison, where my chaperone made me sleep on the floor in our hotel room. I tell these stories because I see them as the most objective low points during my attendance at USM. My feelings were only validated when I saw other families share their stories. 

One story that sticks out to me, is that of Chris Garrett. If you have not read his story, I encourage you to do so. The student referred to in his story was not expelled but dismissed, meaning she could apply for reenrollment. This student was also allowed to attend social events at USM including athletic games, dances, and frequently spent time on the USM campus with friends. Prior to her dismissal, Upper School faculty members organized a townhall in which a group of her friends publicly defended her act of racism to the student body. The feeling I felt listening to several students argue that her saying “fuck black people, make my nuggets” was not racist, is unlike anything I have felt since. Following this gathering, any student who expressed disapproval suffered social consequences from her friends. The two major instances being: verbal taunting of the student who reported the incident and threatening to lynch a black student. Administration was made aware of these behaviors and took no action. 

I was a student at USM during this incident, as well as the one shared last week by Stewart Lerner. Unfortunately, these separate accounts perfectly illustrate the culture the Robinson’s are fighting against. I knew the Lerner’s long before they left USM and have never felt the slightest bit threatened by any member of the family. The same cannot be said about the student Chris references in his story. If I have learned anything it is that USM has a subjective and inconsistent view of what is threatening to the USM community. The threats that administration sees worthy as punishment are those that question their decisions, not behaviors that compromise student safety. Questioning teacher qualifications, course content, learning objectives, and cultural competency is not threatening behavior. I would also argue that some of the most hostile conversations I have had at USM as a student were from faculty members. 

For change to be made at USM, this is the type of collective action that must take place. The culture desperately needs to be restructured and centered on student wellbeing. To do this, administration cannot punish people who speak up to offer recommendations and critiques on current practices. An elite education will not be provided if the curriculum and culture does not evolve with society. 

Craig and Kelly have given me the space and support to share my story. It has been incredibly healing to connect with other families who have felt slighted by USM, and have my voice valued. While I appreciate the positive experiences I had at USM, they fall short against the times I was bullied, belittled or ignored. Without accountability and action these are the stories that will be told. My hope is that USM will finally make the decision to become more accepting so that it is a place I could one day send my children.