On May first, Celia May Baldwin signed the fateful words, “Jane Fernandes,” and then implored us to celebrate. Instead, we immediately began protesting. The majority of the student body was out with us on Kendall Green, and then almost as one, flocked to the front gates, where we eventually locked down the University.
From the first spawning of Tent City, there has been an amazing display of unity, faith and courage from all of us who have been involved. For thirteen days in May, we rallied against Jane Fernandes’ selection. It had nothing to do with her deafness, and everything to do with her performance as an administrator. Various individuals and organizations compiled a laundry list of her misdeeds. Believe me, it was long.
To name a few: she fired several people mere days or weeks before they were due to retire, screwing them out of federal benefits. While she worked at the Clerc Center, she dismantled a program of low-achieving students, integrating them into regular classrooms without giving teachers training, or support. Parents have come forward with stories of these students attacking other students, and causing disturbances in classrooms. This influenced the quality of education for the rest of the students, resulting in a mass exodus of students flocking to the Maryland School for the Deaf.
There are many more stories of Jane, and none of them are good. She alienated a large donor to the university, by not saying one word to that person, even though he sat at her table for two hours and tried to get her attention repeatedly. He has said he will not donate any money to the University while she is president. Jim Macfadden, a prominent deaf businessman, has said the same thing. Bernard Bragg has suspended a one million dollar donation, and who knows how many more people have stopped donating. To date, over a dozen students have withdrawn from the university. This is the woman that is supposed to lead Gallaudet into tomorrow? We knew that was unacceptable.
We had been protesting for 13 days, until the executive order came, saying that since school was over… we would need to leave. Many of us lived far, and had plans or jobs for the summer, so we erected a sign saying, “We will be back,” and left. However, the sleeping giant was dormant, not dead. The embers of our fury were still glowing red-hot. Much of our discussion that summer was about one thing: Gallaudet. Our hearts bleed buff and blue, and there was no way that they were going to do this to us. When we came back in the fall, it was quiet for a while. Tara Holcomb, my roommate and friend since childhood, is the director of ethics and conduct for the student body government, and she decided to erect a small tent-city, following the guidelines for expressive activities. The tent city was supposed to be taken down by 11 PM and could be re-erected each morning. However, the first day of the tent city, the students refused to leave, despite pleas from the SBG officers, worried about being sanctioned by the administration. Next thing we knew, something started to stink, quite literally. It was earth juice, a type of fertilizer that was spread on the grounds. So, it was decided to move the protests to Kendall Green, while the board was on campus. Student leaders, as well as the FSSA, pleaded the board to take a hard look at the issues on campus.
Furious, frustrated, and disenfranchised, we decided to seize the Hall Memorial Building on a cold rainy night. This took place while the board was drinking wine with Dr. King and sitting in gold chairs, having disregarded our requests to take a look at this serious situation. They chose to party, so that was the last straw, and we decided to stop classes from proceeding. Boy, did it work! We stayed in HMB for one week, and the sense of community, pride, and strength had never been stronger. Different types of deaf people, with implants, cuers, oralists, ASL advocates, you name it, came together for a united cause. We stood hand by hand, and many hearing people joined us. The faces were the colors of the rainbow, truly the epitome of diversity. We were all Deaf enough, despite our hearing status or signing status.
After continuing stalemates with the administration, a group of football players had enough, and at 3 am, the university was locked down for the first time since DPN. This lockdown continued until the fateful Friday the 13th. I got a page from Leala Holcomb, saying that police were getting ready to arrest the protesters, and to come to the 6th street gate right that minute. Of course, I ran over, and I saw people standing near the gates, watching. Welders had taken off the gate, and the police were blocking off the road. Tara was standing in the midst of it all, and at first I was unsure what to do as I took in the scene. Then, Tara beckoned to me and it became clear that I needed to do what had to be done. I went to her side, just like I have since the beginning, and when she sat down in front of the gate, of course, I sat down next to her. I knew and continue to know that this cause is just, and I was willing to be arrested to show my faith in this belief.
The police stood around. There was a lot of talking, as we held hands and chanted “Unity for Gallaudet,” and “JK Out Now.” It was cold, but the courage of my fellow protesters kept me warm. We knew that we were making the sacrifice for the future of our deaf community, for our deaf children, for tomorrow. Finally, the head of Gallaudet’s DPS came forth and uttered a warning, using interpreters. She did this four times, as we jeered and told her to go ahead and arrest us. After what felt like forever, four cops finally moved forward, as the chief pointed at our mayor, Chris Corrigan. Chris immediately went limp as Tim Rarus squeezed his hand. The officers dragged him from where he was, obviously hurting him, and scraping his body across the concrete. They finally got a clue and picked him up. We were a little scared after seeing how they treated Chris, but stayed determined. Tara Holcomb took his place, and became the second person to be arrested. As I watched her be carried off, my heart was beating wildly.
One by one, the protesters were carried off as they became limp. Officers dropped several people, and more than one head hit the concrete. Finally, it was my turn, and I just went limp as the officers grabbed my arms and legs. They had trouble holding me, and dropped me twice. I started to laugh at their incompetence. I tried to look heroic and rebellious, but all the pictures taken have me cracking up on the ground while they tried to pick me up. I lolled my head back on my neck, and saw all the rest of the students smiling, cheering, and saying they loved me. I could not help but to smile, knowing I had so much support. It was truly a dark day, but the protesters' courage was a ray of sunshine. Finally, they got me down to the paddy wagon, where we were photographed. Then we were taken to jail. After a long wait to be booked, we were released. Of course, I came back to Gallaudet right away. We continue to fight, and we know that this is the good fight. We will win, we must win. Jane Kelleher, this is not your time. This is our time. You need to resign.