Description
“Chancellor,” the police officer said as he walked through my office door, “we need to talk.”
I stood, took off my glasses, and invited him to have a seat.
During the last four months our campus had become a circus — and all eyes were on us. Not only were we under scrutiny from The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, and the major television news networks, but we were also caught in the crosshairs of the Ku Klux Klan, the Heritage Defense Committee, and a band of individuals who still called themselves the Confederate States of America.
On February 28, 1997, media reports broke nationwide that we had hired a consulting firm to help us understand how we were perceived by the outside world. The review was designed to be comprehensive, including a look at school symbols. But there was only one thing people wanted to talk or write or report about — the Confederate flag.
The Lyceum, a stately 149-year-old, Greek Revival style building that housed my office, was swarming with University Police Department officers. They had recently directed our administrative staff to wear surgical masks and latex gloves when opening the mail. The letters, which came from every state in the union and even some foreign countries, accused me of cultural imperialism and ethnic cleansing. The writers used words like revile and nauseate and disgust to describe their feelings about me. One writer encouraged me to resign and go someplace where I’d be appreciated . . . like Hell. Another group had envelopes custom-printed with the phrase Stop the Lynching of Ole Miss. Stop Robert Khayat from destroying our university.
The police officers divided the hate mail into different bins marked “KKK,” “Heritage Defense Committee,” and “CSA.”
But it wasn’t just letters that arrived on campus. Protesters and radicals from across the nation descended on the Lyceum, the Circle, the Grove and, of course, the Confederate monument. A group from Georgia wore Civil War battle regalia and marched around the loop. Another gentleman stood under the marble statue waving a huge Confederate flag and yelled, “Your Chancellor is killing the heritage of the South!” Then he called on Ole Miss students to join him in seceding from the United States. One of Mississippi’s own state senators protested the process by staging a beheading. A man dressed in a black robe and hood (ostensibly portraying me) dramatically chopped off the head of a man dressed as Colonel Rebel.
The officer handed me a one-page fax. “You need to see this,” he said.
I put on my glasses and picked up the handwritten note. It opened, Dear Traitor, It is clear from your last name that you were not born in the United States of America.
The writer launched into a diatribe of curses and accusations, not unlike hundreds of other letters we had received. But then it took a darker turn.
Try as you may to vilify our heritage and spit on the graves of our ancestors, but I can promise you will never live to see that day. You may think you are safe, but you will never see us coming. Your family will never see us coming.
I handed the letter back to the police officer. “What do we do about this?” I asked.
The officer looked down at the floor. “First, we need to alert the FBI.” He paused and looked back up at me. “Then, we need to talk about how to protect you and Margaret. And your children.”