For every semester I have worked at The Oberlin Review, our Opinions section is usually flooded with criticism about the activism occurring on campus. Whether it be that students aren’t protesting in an effective manner, or the opposite — that students are reckless without cause in their pursuit of justice — students are constantly going back and forth in our paper. There are valid critiques on both sides, and I, tasked with reading these articles every week, often find myself dancing between the two ideas. I will admit that this might also have to do with the quality of writing and the persuasiveness of the arguments I read. Regardless, these essays reflect students’ general unhappiness with different organizations on campus.
The most common complaints are about Students for a Free Palestine. Many students think the organization, which started the encampment a year ago, has lost the momentum it had and thus has become ineffective. Through reading these pieces, I have come to the understanding that we, as students, are currently doing ourselves a disservice as it pertains to our activism. Our campus culture and our ideas of what “good” activism looks like are one-dimensional and detrimental to our community.
The way students view activism at Oberlin is drawn from historical instances of social change and our own personal experiences. Images of people being arrested while fighting for what they believe in, bravely participating in sit-ins, or actively fighting against the oppressor are seared into our brains. In no way am I challenging the importance or value of uplifting and circulating that form of activism, which is crucial in spreading awareness and encouraging others to stand up. Regardless, this type of protest has, for many, become an essential image of “true activism.” The ramification of this is that it causes students to believe that anything less is performative or unimportant to the greater struggle. But it is this rhetoric that hurts the causes we are all fighting for. Fighting for a cause means engaging in activism in all its forms, not just the one that causes the most stir. We, as students, have created a notion of what “true activism” is that negates the fluidity of activism and all of the methods of change it encompasses.
Ironically, the students in the newspaper championing activism are often the same people who don’t help organize or participate in events unless most students are also attending. Ask students to join in a mass protest or plan a public and radical action, and you’ll usually see participation in the hundreds. But ask a student to help fundraise, sell baked goods, or help plan an educational event? Crickets. And we, as students, have not only condoned this behavior, but seemingly regard it as just the Oberlin culture. Every semester, many unhappy students lament in the paper about Oberlin’s failed activism. And what is one thing they all have in common? I’ve never seen them at a bake sale table.
Sensationalism and performativity explain my fellow classmates’ behavior. Like I said before, students aren’t interested in activism if it is not being photographed or if it doesn’t align with historical examples of radical activism. This is largely because sitting at a bake sale and helping plan an educational event doesn’t fit into the narrative of radical action that people have in their heads. But this again reveals our lack of understanding regarding collective activism, because fundraising and education are pillars of activism. Yes, the Black Panthers, the Freedom Fighters, the Black Lives Matter movement, and pro-Palestinian protesters dedicated time and energy to holding rallies and occupations, which were all deeply important and needed. But what was also needed was the championing of free breakfast for children, education programs on deconstructing colonialism, or the fundraising of mutual aid for those unfairly incarcerated and families in need. Because of our conception of “true activism,”important names in history go unnoticed.
Have you heard of Georgia Gilmore? Well, we all should have. As an activist, Gilmore organized a collective that sold food to fundraise for the Montgomery bus boycott during the Civil Rights Movement. Hundreds of dollars contributed to the campaign for desegregation, yet rarely do we see her photo circulated among others during the Civil Rights Movement. And what does that say about us as students? What do we leave out when we only prioritize one part of the mosaic that is collective action and activism? How can we be confident in our participation in activism as students if we cannot convince each other to participate in all of its forms?
Most students cite their busy schedules and lack of time as the reason they don’t engage in activism on campus. I am guilty of doing the same thing. But every day, I try to shift my mindset and say, “The hour you would have dedicated to a rally or event is the same hour you could dedicate to selling treats for families in Gaza.” A common critique is the lack of events or actions Students for a Free Palestine has planned. But this inherently means there is time in your schedule you would have dedicated to the cause, time that can still be spent engaging with activism. I argue and stress the importance of us as a student body, recommitting to our values of activism by showing up in ways outside of just protests and sit-ins.
Both sides of the ongoing debate about the status of activism at our school are misguided. If we are going to critique the activism occurring at our school, we as students must be active participants in as many of its forms as we can. We should attend the meetings SFP holds, which are open to anyone. We must constantly ask if we are fulfilling our job as change-makers, or merely serving our own self-image. Activism is a living and breathing thing with multiple hands with different purposes locked together. We, as Oberlin students, must stop cutting off these hands, because we ultimately spite our own goals.