A family reunion

This past weekend, you may have noticed slightly more people of color wandering the campus, sipping cocktails behind Frist Campus Center and clogging the halls of McCosh — all decked out in orange and black and sporting natty nametags. Five hundred more people of color. From Sept. 29-30, the University hosted a conclave of black alumni for the conference "Coming Back and Looking Forward."

As I checked out of the Nassau Inn for my trip back to Maryland, I got pretty agitated. Did anyone really care we were there? Were we a novelty or an annoyance? Over 3,800 black graduate and undergraduate alumni and only 500 come back? And that's 3,800 out of how many hundreds of thousands in total from 1746 to 2006? Well, you don't count the slaves who accompanied their masters to the College of New Jersey until the Class of 1861.

So I growled inwardly, "President Tilghman — you better do a mailer for all alumni, all current graduate students and undergrads proclaiming a 'new' Princeton! Splash the Center for African-American Studies all over the Princeton Alumni Weekly! Promulgate a manifesto for Maclean House, the Admission Office, the faculty! Get yourself on 'Tavis Smiley!' "

Well, I-95 construction slowed my brain as well as the traffic flow. I popped in a mellow CD and tried to relax, and in that instant, I recalled what Tilghman mused at dinner, under our big tent behind Frist: "This reminds me of a family reunion."

Huh?

Many black alumni confessed that this weekend was the first time they felt at ease on the campus. Surprising? There was bitterness at worst, ambivalence at best, expressed in a film shown by Melvin McCray '74, revealing the black milieu at Princeton. On Friday night, Robert Rivers '53 brought us back to his childhood, shoveling coal in Dial Lodge. His college experience was often just as rife with grit and sweat. From the 1970s to the 1980s, we felt the rage of being labeled the spawn of affirmative action, as if certain others were entitled to a Princeton education by divine right. By 2006, the average joe's view of what a successful African-American looked more like closely matched Terrell Owens cheesing for reporters or Flavor Flav clowning with hoochies — certainly not a black Princeton student, whipping down to the E-Quad with a laptop. Much had changed. Some things hadn't.

Yet, snug with our family, we could comfort ourselves, look back with a less impassioned eye and exalt our commonality. Indeed, old family beefs evaporated: who joined an eating club versus who hated eating clubs, who was on full financial aid and the first to attend college versus those whose parents were doctors and lawyers, African versus African American, graduate student versus undergrad, Eric B. & Rakim versus Springsteen (for you old folks!).

We marveled at a renovated Princeton, which was looking more like the world in the 21st century and leading the charge toward the 22nd. We were enthralled by Kwame Anthony Appiah, engaged by Valerie Smith, inspired by Eddie Glaude GS '97 and entertained by Cornell West GS '80. And then there was Stanley Jordan '81, laying down the next evolutionary epoch of America's music — jazz.

Whether you were unemployed or running a billion-dollar hedge fund, for a weekend we were all brothers and sisters, not merely "brothas" and "sistas." As at any reunion picnic, we passed the wisdom of success and tragedy to the young. Here, instead of gathering under a shade tree, we convened panels on finance, law, healthcare, not-for-profits and science. Not one student was bored, and in return, we felt the negative side of that ambivalence equation began to diminish.

Once I got across the Susquehanna, the traffic loosened. The agitation had long waned, but now wistfulness took over. After all, when a family reunion ends, you don't see anyone again until the next funeral or wedding. Exchanged numbers and email addresses are only rediscovered when it's laundry day and you search pockets for loose change.

Maybe not, for I watched the University gain 500 invigorated ambassadors, teachers and bridge-builders. The last role, bridge-builder, is the most important, for to some folks at Princeton and the general society, we're still either invisible or an annoyance.

When the 500 gathered on the steps of Clio Hall for a photo, some white students and a few older folk halted and gaped. From us came laughter. Playful, not self-conscious. Yeah, check us out! That one trivial moment illustrated such a mighty leap.

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So I guess I don't need a manifesto. Forget the rally on Cannon Green. I suppose inciting drama in PAW isn't a great idea, nor do I need to cram my view of diversity on the Admission Office or the faculty. "Coming Back, Looking Forward" gave me Yeah, check us out! I hope the current students — all students — understand what that means.

You see, we've always been a part of what makes Princeton amazing. This past weekend, we siblings just needed to remind ourselves. Christopher Chambers '82 was a history major and the first African-American officer of Tiger Inn. A former U.S. Justice Department attorney, he is the author of three bestselling novels including an upcoming collaboration with Walter Mosley. He may be reached at chrischambers@comcast.net.