To give a sense of what the students were still up against, even after they抎 secured their money, their site and their class, Friedman offers the following suggestion: 揟ake a blank piece of paper and draw a monument to diversity. Go ahead. Draw it.�
Compounding this challenge was the fact that the class, traditionally an upper-level studio course for artists deep into their majors, was half-full of students with no art experience at all. Young had made an exception to allow Gardner, Das Gupta, and other interested non-majors into the course. The learning curve for these students was steep, says Das Gupta, a senior majoring in biochemistry, 揳lthough I think we kind of brought a new flavor to the class, a new language.�
Given these obstacles, it抯 all the more impressive that the class managed to produce such a sophisticated piece. Young split the students into five design teams and put together a professional advisory committee to review their proposals. From the five rough drafts that came back, the committee members identified two concepts they found particularly compelling. One was the block, which had begun as a doodle on Gardner抯 sketch pad. The other was the ear. But it was the students who took these two elements and combined them so seamlessly.
By itself, the block is already full of implications. It抯 a base without a statue, for all those whose lives have gone uncommemorated. It抯 an auction block from which slaves have been sold. It抯 a platform from which people have been displayed 桮ardner recalls seeing a photo of a Filipino man on a block at the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. But the curving wall complicates it even further, turning the whole piece, potentially, into a sort of amphitheatre. At the dedication ceremony on June 11, just before graduation, no one needed to be told where to stand. The audience assembled in and around the ear, and the speakers assumed the pedestal. 揂s you can see,� Young said from the block, 搃t抯 been turned into a podium, a speaker抯 box to celebrate free speech. It has been turned into something positive. The waves in the earth are shock waves that you抮e standing on. Shock waves or sound waves, emanating from the story of this block, or from the voice of the speaker on the block.�
Yet the unity of the final composition is not necessarily a reflection of the class that produced it. There was real tension for much of the term, particularly between majors and non-majors. The activists worried that the finished piece would be abstract and toothless. The artists feared it would be so heavy-handed and bleak that students would alter their walking routes to avoid passing it.
揑n the beginning of the class, you could see a complete segregation between art students and non-art students,� says Das Gupta. 揇uring breaks, who hung out with who. Who was comfortable with who. Who was siding with who. It was a very segregated class, which is ironic, because that抯 what we抮e trying to combat, and the class can抰 even figure that out.� Those barriers didn抰 totally break down, she says, until the actual, physical site work began梥ix weeks of pouring concrete, slathering mortar and hoisting stones. Only then did the class really bond. 揂t that point, everyone抯 on an equal playing field,� she says. 揘o one has more experience. It doesn抰 matter who you are. Everyone can put a shovel in dirt and dig.�
* * * * * * * *
The tension is still palpable in footage of the April 27 class session, shot by a crew from UWTV that抯 producing a documentary on the project for broadcast this month. A boom mike bounces between students as they argue over possible titles. Several are concerned that the word 揂uction,� which has been forwarded, will limit the number of ways the block can be read. 揇o you think 慣he Sale� deals with auction, sufficiently?� asks Young.
揑t makes me think of the Bon March�,� says a student.
Eventually, the mounting frustration of a couple of students comes to the surface. 揙kay, all right,� says an Asian American student, Michio Imanaka. 揧ou know, I was going to talk to you privately about this, John, but I can抰 stand it anymore. I was turned on to this class because it抯 a cultural diversity class, okay? . . . It抯 not just a racism class. You抮e working on a black and white issue. Where抯 some gray in this? We抮e the unrepresented. You guys keep thinking only about the black and white. There抯 no gray.�
A classmate asks him to clarify. Gray?
揂sians!� Imanaka says.
揜ailroads,� someone responds. 揋arment workers. That抯 also being sold. That抯 labor being sold.�
揑 don抰 see myself in it,� Imanaka says. 揥here are the Japanese Americans who were interned? I don抰 see it.�
揑抦 with you, bro. I抦 here with you, man! I抦 just saying that it抯 completely the same thing. We抳e all been sold.�
Imanaka is unpersuaded. 揑 like the 憇ale� idea,� he says. 揑 like the 憇old� idea. I don抰 like the 慳uctioned off� idea.�
Young dismisses the class, asking them to continue the discussion over e-mail. Everyone slowly rises to leave. Mike Magrath, an affiliate instructor, seems bothered by the lingering uneasiness. 揧ou guys,� he announces as the students disperse, 搘e抳e got a project. We抮e just looking for a title. We win. We抮e already there.�
* * * * * * * *
Several weeks later, the students still hadn抰 come up with a name that satisfied all of them. Fittingly, perhaps, the selection process that ultimately yielded 揃locked Out� included a coin toss. Friedman helped facilitate one of the final conversations on the subject, in which every student was asked to speak his or her mind. In that moment, she says, the full value of the class梚ncluding its tensions and resentments and hard-won friendships梒ame home to her.
揟he thing that just astonished me,� she says, 搘as that those students really listened to each other. One would speak, and much later another would say, 慖 originally thought X. But now, after she spoke, I think Y.� And I thought to myself, 慚y God. I have been in ten thousand meetings as an administrator, and I don抰 think I have ever heard someone so explicitly say, 慖 have learned from what you said.� These students really learned to listen to one another, even in the heat of the moment. We created for them a remarkable educational experience, and then they took it and made absolutely the most out of it that any of us could have imagined.�
That抯 certainly true in the case of Erin Williams, who according to Young was always half an hour early for class. Williams says that the frictions between students had less to do with conflicting philosophies or clashing personalities than with the emotional investment everyone had in the project 梚n being part of something that had never happened before, and might not again.
揟his project means so much to the people who made it,� she explains. 揟here抯 so much pressure, not just from the University, but from yourself� you kind of feel like you抮e representing your race, or underrepresented and unheard people everywhere. I think that抯 why it got so intense for so many people. Because if not now, when? You always hope that there抯 going to be another circumstance where you can make your voice heard. But if this is the only time, then, wow, we need to do this right.�
— Eric McHenry is the associate editor of Columns.
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