The Multiracial Network (MRN) is a group of student affairs professionals organized within ACPA’s Commission for Multicultural Affairs. MRN’s goals include increasing the discourse on multiracial issues in higher education and providing resources to practitioners who are invested in multiracial student support. This year, to celebrate our network’s 10th anniversary at ACPA, we assembled a list of ten ways to support multiracial students. These are by no means comprehensive, but we felt that this would be a good starting point for practitioners who seek to provide support to a population whose racial identity is both varied and oftentimes complex.

1) When designing surveys that require demographic data, allow respondents to “Check all that apply”  and include a “bi/multiracial” or “mixed” option (or explain why you cannot).

2) Ensure that multiracial students feel that they have a space that they fit in on campus, whether that is a student organization or location.

3) When engaging in racial social justice work, make sure to include spaces for   conversations about multiracial people.

4) Build your multicultural competence in the field of multiracial identity development.  Understanding and embracing the complexities of how environments affect racial identity development for multiracial college students is key to identifying ways in which to support multiracial students at your institution.

5) Be mindful about language and your own biases.  It is common to use monoracial language and/or even the term “students of color” when speaking about students who identity with one or more marginalized and/or underrepresented racial identities.

6) It’s all about relationships! Bottom line, work to build relationships with students across multiple social identities that can foster a supportive environment where students see you as an advocate around a plethora of matters.

7) Understand that multiracial students can racially identify in different ways based on their experiences and situations. It is important that we do not make assumptions based on how a student looks or put them in positions where they may feel obligated to represent a specific racial identity.

8) Explore your own background as well as resources, writing, scholarship dealing with multiracial experiences, histories of people of color and issues of social, economic and racial justice.

9) Advocate for Multiracial students in your higher education institution and educational policies. Give them a voice!

10) Stay connected to national mixed race/multiracial resources like MRN and the National Association of Mixed Student Organizations (NAMSO) to be informed about ongoing multiracial student needs.

Standing bleary eyed on the fourth floor of Alumni Hall, I stared at the glass the police officer was pointing toward.

“Do you remember if that was here yesterday?” he asked.

I shrugged and mumbled something about not remembering, feeling stupid. I spent a considerable amount of time on this floor of my building; it was my floor of troublemaker residents. Not being able to remember if there was a bullet hole in the glass next to the stairwell door seemed ridiculous. But in this moment — less than 24 hours after the Virginia Tech massacre — it was a hugely important detail as police evaluated whether this was an active threat or stale vandalism left unrepaired and ignored.

The officer made a note on his pad and then took a picture of the graffiti around the bullet hole. Scrawled in permanent marker below the hole in the safety glass was a reference to the previous day’s massacre. Though he reassured me he didn’t think it was an active threat, I went back to my apartment and sat awake, waiting for the phone to ring with notification we’d been wrong.

In less than a day, my own job, hundreds of miles from Blacksburg, had changed dramatically. There was no waiting for the ripple of effects of the Virginia Tech shootings; there was an immediacy in the way student affairs started evaluating protocols for students of concern and responding to threats on campuses. Five years later, campuses are still navigating these waters and, it’s safe to say, no functional area of higher education has been left untouched by the deadliest campus shooting in history. Laws have changed, procedures have changed, standards have changed — we have changed.

Five years after the massacre that killed 32 and wounded 25, we are all still Hokies. All of our lives were touched in some way by April 16, 2007 and so we became part of a community forever changed, linking student affairs professionals across the world in a startling, humbling moment of both the limitations and potential of our field to create safe places on our campuses.  Remembering the events of that day is not isolated to this anniversary; it’s become part of our culture as a field. And in that way, we keep the memory of those who lost their lives close to our hearts as we keep working toward change on our campuses.

How did the Virginia Tech massacre change your work as a student affairs professional? How are you remembering the five-year anniversary today? 

The ten-year anniversary of September 11th, 2001 has come and passed. A somber day for some, a day of celebration and love for many others, and, at the very least, a day of reflection within and beyond the borders of the United States, this past Sunday was full of open conversation, personal meaning-making, and focusing on an event that raised a new national and global consciousness.

I remember everything about that day. I also remember the days, weeks, and months after. I remember people saying things like “oh, those crazy terrorists…” and then looking at me quickly before shifting their gaze. I am an Indian American Hindu woman, born in an upper middle class, majority white community in the suburbs of Chicago. Those identities had never been as salient as they were until 9/11/01 and the days that followed.

The rest of the first week was a confusing mess. Everybody was searching for an outlet to process what happened and, mimicking national media, much of the conversation focused on terrorists, Islam, and fear. I continued to get confused looks, as if asking “I see you are brown. Are you one of “them?” My parents were confused as well. As first-generation immigrants, this was not the American dream they signed up for. I noticed them making more of an effort to talk to our neighbors, leave outside lights on, and other indicators that we were part of the suburban culture that we never made a conscious effort to participate in beforehand. That same Friday, at a gathering of my parents’ friends (all Indian and Hindu), I noticed American flags on their cars which had not been there a week ago. Many of them shared stories of harrassment at work, questions about whether they knew any of the people, and other horrifying stories filled with fear, anxiety, and confusion about how to proceed, protect their families, and continue the struggle toward becoming American culturally.

Then came September 15th, 2011. The story did not make national headlines, nor did it reach my family until years later. Thanks to the work of filmmaker Valarie Kaur, the story of Balbir Singh Sodhi, a business owner from Mesa, Arizona has begun to reach the eyes and ears of millions around the country. Sodhi, a Sikh American whose family has lived in the United States for decades, was mistaken for an Arab American and shot to death in front of the very business that he built. Within 25 minutes of his death, the Phoenix police reported four more attacks on people who were either Middle Eastern or who dressed with clothes thought to be worn by people of Middle Eastern descent.

Since that time, there have been countless instances, both reported and unreported, of attacks against people who are perceived, often incorrectly, to look Arab, which is problematic either way. Sometimes physical, and often verbal, news of these instances affect me more each day, as if the wound is continuously reopened.

Two years ago, my family’s mailbox at our home in Illinois was blown up using a homemade bomb. We do not know who did it or why. We have received threats on our answering machine from unknown numbers and my father’s car was egged in front of our home this past summer. I am asked on a weekly basis about where I am really from, complimented on my ability to speak English, and asked to be an authority on Hinduism and India. I have been stopped routinely at airports for random searches, which have become invasive and embarrasing as a result of increased racial profiling. It is, at the very least, taxing and alienating. At most, I feel unsafe, targeted, and like an outsider in the country in which I was born.

I cannot say that these instances happened as a direct result of post 9/11/2001 racism, mistaken racial identity, part of the price to pay for living in my Chicago suburb, or anything else, but I live in a world where by I have to wonder. My September 11th narrative has been dictated by the events that followed. As a person of South Asian descent, reflection on 9/11 each year is not optional nor is it filled with hope. I must live it every day as part of who I am and being aware of what I carry into spaces. September 15,2001 changed my life profoundly. A day filled with hate, rage, racism, and misguided hurt, has birthed legacies of anxiety and distrust that I must carry with me each day as an Indian American Hindu woman, sister, daughter, Hall Director, student affairs practitioner, and U.S. Citizen.

Viraj S. Patel is a Hall Director at Georgetown University.

Ten years ago, I was just a kid. I’m part of unique group of students who were in their first year of college on September 11. Just two weeks into college, I was still getting to know my roommate, trying to figure out classes, and falling in love with my new home at Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio.

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, as planes were hijacked, I was fast asleep. My only class of the day was at 2pm so I planned to sleep until my roommate returned from her class around 11:30 and then we were going to lunch. That morning, I awoke a few minutes before 10am. I leaned over, grabbed my remote and turned on The Today Show. The first image I saw was the towers on fire. I was half awake and confused. Why was The World Trade Center on fire?  Matt Lauer sounded really concerned, so I concluded it had to be for real. I’d had the TV on for maybe only a couple minutes when the first tower collapsed.

As I said, it was 2 weeks into school. So what was my reaction? I knocked on my RAs door. Actually, I banged on her door. I told her she should turn on the TV, that something was going on in New York. Then I walked down the hall, looking for anyone I could sit with and watch this. I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone. I found Susan Buckenmeyer (now a Student Org Policy Advisor at UT-Austin), eyes glued to the tv and we watched the second tower fall.

Our next thought, check our email from something from Wittenberg. The campus wide email explained that classes would be canceled and there would be a gathering in the chapel to pray and discuss what was going on.

The Wittenberg Chapel holds somewhere close to 2,000 people and it was full to capacity with students and staff. A few staff members and the university pastors discussed what happened for the people who’d been in class all morning and then we prayed for those stuck, for those who had died and for those trying to keep more people from dying. The rest of the day to me is a bit of a blur. There were talks that Wright Patterson Air Force Base might be attacked. There were talks that we would be at war the next week somewhere in the Middle East. But mostly, we just sat, talked, and wondered how it all had happened.

That evening is my clearest image of the day. A group of floormates and I went to grab dinner. About half way to the dining hall, we heard a plane. We all stopped mid step as did other folks in the street and looked up for what plane got clearance to fly that day. First we saw one F-16 fighter jet, then 2 more, then Air Force One, then 3 more fighter jet flying east. It ironically made me feel safer, like some important people were flying back to Washington to try and keep us safe.

Six months later, I was on my first Choir Tour which took us to Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, and New York. We arrived in New York City on the 6 month anniversary of 9/11. Our choir director, Dr. Busarow was dead set on us singing something in St. Patrick’s Cathedral even though we hadn’t called ahead to get approval to sing there.  Dr. B asked someone working in the Cathedral if we could sing and that person got a manager who promptly told us no.  Dr B, being the strong-willed man he is, had us line up anyway in the back of the Cathedral.  We began singing the most beautiful hymn styled version of the Star Spangled Banner that can still bring tears to my eyes to this day. People stopped their touring to listen to us sing as our 50 voices echoed of the walls of one of the most iconic churches in the country.  That evening, we were across the river in New Jersey hearing from teachers about the school children they stood in the street with watching the scene across the river. I can still see some of those faces in the crowd that night who cried as we sang the Star Spangled Banner. And the next day our bus driver dropped us along the back side of the World Trade Center, where the workers were entering to continue clearing out the rubble. I walked with a small group of friends along the memorials set up with pictures of loved ones and police and fire department patches sent from across the United States.

About a year later, on Wednesday March 19, 2003, I was again traveling with the Wittenberg Choir for our performance in the Columbus, Ohio area.  After the show, we boarded the bus to find our driver fixed on the radio.  As we drove home, we heard President Bush explaining the war in Iraq was already started. Dr B was silent and sat in the front of the bus just shaking his head.  I never asked, but I imagine he was thinking about the wars he’d seen in his life, knowing what we were getting ourselves into as a country.

Overall, when I look back at my memories of those days, they are all connected to my time at Wittenberg.  I also realize how much it shaped me. In some respects, i think it was part of why I decided to go into Student Affairs; it rose out of my desire to help students thorough the difficult events that occur while they are in college. And as I think about my students some of whom were as young as 7 on 9/11, I wonder how much they remember from those days. Most of their teachers wouldn’t have shown the coverage at school and I’m sure their parents shielded them slightly from the night and day coverage on TV. In the future, I hope we will start to add 9/11 to history classes to students can learn more about it than just headlines or Wikipedia articles. I hope we keep telling our stories of that day no matter how far we were from New York City on that day. Most of all, I hope we never forget.

Amber Sibley is the Assistant Director for Programming at the University of Dayton. 

On September 11, 2001, I was only 6 weeks into a new job at Merrimack College, a small Catholic, Augustinian school up in North Andover, Massachusetts. I remember how perfect the day started… how crystal clear the sky was. Blue as blue can be. Not a single cloud in the sky. It was probably a little after 9 a.m. when I got to the campus center. I was just behind a couple of my colleagues and simply said “Good morning,” to which they replied, “What’s so good about it?” I still didn’t really know people yet, so I wasn’t sure if they were being sarcastic or just having a bad day, so I inquired further. “The World Trade Center was hit by a plane!” they replied. I blurted out, “My dad works there!” and began running for the first TV that I could find. I got to the main floor and there were dozens of people watching TVs in the food court. Strangely, I had just walked by a couple of minutes earlier and hadn’t noticed what was going on. Now I’m sitting there with everyone else in complete disbelief.

I remember trying to call anyone I could… but all I got was busy signals. The only person I spoke to that morning was my sister in California, but other than e-mail I remember using ICQ, which was like instant messenger, to communicate with others.

My dad worked for Washington Group International, an engineering company in the south tower, on the 91st floor – the second tower to be hit but the first to fall. On two counts, my dad wasn’t supposed to be there. For one, his area was relocated to Princeton, NJ, but he didn’t want the lengthy commute from our home on Long Island, nor did my parents want to move. Great Neck had been our home since I was 6. Secondly and most ironically, he was supposed to be in the Middle East, of all places, on business but his trip was cancelled.

When the south tower fell at 9:59 a.m. I remember being overwhelmed with grief. I don’t know where I intended to go, but I just ran. Before I could get too far, someone grabbed me and brought me to the chapel. Although it took me a while to realize it, that was the first act of kindness someone did for me that day. They saw I was in distress and they grabbed me.

The 2nd act of kindness took place later that evening. I decided to drive to a friends’ place in CT as I wasn’t sure I could drive all the way to Long Island. I remember being asked if I wanted company, but told my colleagues that I’d be okay. As I’m packing up my things, I get a knock on the door from 3 students from a fraternity that I advised, insisting on coming along with me. “Fred, we’re not taking no for an answer. We’re going with you.” The semester had just started and these students who had just met me offered to make sure I got there safely.

The next morning, I continued to Long Island. I intentionally drove over the Whitestone Bridge so I could get the closest view of the skyline. I remember how empty the roads were that morning. Not just on the highways coming down, but approaching and crossing the bridge, there was NO ONE on the road. I felt like I was in a movie. Something like “Mad Max” or “I Am Legend.”

When I finally got home to see my mom, I tried to reassure her but she was already convinced my dad was gone. My two younger brothers, who were living at home at the time, were there. My sister, because flights were grounded, was driving across country with my uncle in a rental car; it would take her another 3 or 4 days before she arrived.

Like many other families, we made up a flyer and organized a search. Maybe he was buried under some debris? Maybe he simply couldn’t get in touch with us? Maybe he was injured and walking the city aimlessly? We just put our faith in God and hoped and believed he was out there somewhere. My brother’s friends were at the house and without hesitation took it upon themselves to blanket the city with flyers, posting them in hospitals, police stations, and just about anywhere and everywhere they could. I didn’t always like my brother’s friends, but I remember how differently I felt about them at that moment. This was the 3rd act of kindness.

With every passing hour, day, and week, we came to the realization that my dad was really gone. I’m not sure how or when we made the decision, but about 3 weeks after 9/11, we held a memorial service for him. I remember how much life there was in the Church on that rainy day. Our Church and it’s congregation was very old, so there were never more than 2 or 3 dozen people there on Sundays, but on that day the Church was packed; the pews were filled and there were even people standing in the balcony. There was even a group from Merrimack, who only knew me for a few weeks. It was an amazing sight to see so much life in our Church and all of the people my dad had affected. Yet another act of kindness.

They never found my dad or anything that belonged to him, except for part of an old, charred, employee badge. So there was no casket at the service, just a large photo of him on an easel. We have a cemetery plot in town, but nothing physical there other than a headstone. I have since gone there to speak with him, but I feel closest to him when I’m at Church or when I’m at Ground Zero.
I made it through most of the academic year, but by April my emotions finally caught up with me and I came to the realization that I wanted to go home. Once again, the Merrimack community was there to support me and let me go until I was ready to come back – no expectations, no questions asked. Once again, another act of kindness.

After a few weeks at home, I decided I needed to be closer to my family, which is how I ended up here at Fairfield. Geographically, it made sense, but there was something else going on. The strong sense of care and community – those many acts of kindness on 9/11 and the months thereafter – I was beginning to experience what the Jesuit principle of men and women for others was all about. It wasn’t just at Fairfield or at Merrimack where this shift was taking place – it really was everywhere. Yes, there was a heightened sense of patriotism after 9/11, but there was also this heightened feeling that we were all in this together. No matter who you were or where you came from, there was a common sense of decency between others – and not just because you had a connection to 9/11. It would be at the grocery store, the mall, or just walking down the street. People just seemed nicer to one another. Looking back on 10 years, that’s the feeling that I fear we’re losing … that feeling that we’re all Men and Women for Others.

What I Miss…

I’m sure this may sound odd, but it many ways, I consider myself lucky or even blessed. As I said earlier, not a day goes by that I don’t miss my dad, but I had 29 years with him. I still think about all the young kids who lost their mom or dad on 9/11 and how they never got the chance to experience all the things that I was able to share with him during that time. He got to experience little league, boy scouts, piano lessons, summer vacations to Florida & Canada, and not to mention all the C’s on my transcripts. He got to see his four kids graduate from college and find jobs. He got to see us get to the point in our lives that he knew we’d be okay. However, it just felt as though we were just getting to the really good stuff because my siblings and I were now all adults and had lives of our own.

So much has happened over the past 10 years, I just wish he could have been a part of it. I know he and my wife Cristina would have gotten along so well together. I’m sure he would have also really enjoyed her family because they are so much like my family before 9/11. I imagine him and Cristina’s dad in particular really getting along – two hard-working, self-taught, handymen. I would never have to lift a finger for any home improvement jobs in our house!

But it wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I began missing him the most. Often times, I look at my son and think about what a wonderful grandfather he would have been to him. He was a great dad, but I know he would have been an even better “Lolo” to my son Lucas and his cousins.

Years ago, I told myself if I ever had I son, I would never name him Fred. Too much pressure. Growing up, I always felt as though I had to live up to my dad and my grandfather because we shared a name. I didn’t want that for my son. But after my dad died and then a few years later, my grandfather, it felt strange being the only Fred Kuo. I was used to there being three of us and it felt odd being the only one. So Lucas is actually my son’s middle name; his first name is Frederick.

What I Will Never Forget…

I can’t believe that this Sunday will mean that my dad has been gone for 10 years. I’m 39 and it makes no sense to me that my dad has been a gone for nearly a quarter of my life. At times, it feels like he was just here, and other times I worry that I’m beginning to forget him. So although I know doing things such writing this reflection can make me emotional, I do it because it helps me remember. I do it because I don’t want to forget.

I also do it because of our students. Working in a college setting, I often forget that I’m getting older because our students never age. They’re perpetually 18-22 years old. 10 years ago, our freshman class was 8. How do you talk about 9/11 through the eyes of an 8 year old?

By the 15th anniversary, our students will have no recollection of the actual day. They will only know what they see on TV, in books, on the internet, or what they hear from others. With every anniversary, how we engage our students about 9/11 becomes that much more important.

For me the 10th anniversary isn’t just about remembering my dad, or the 3,000+ people who died on that day. It also serves as a reminder about the responsibilities that we have to those around us today… that we should all remember to be men and women for others every single day.

So when I think back on September 11, 2001…

I’ll never forget the person who grabbed me and brought me to the chapel.

I’ll never forget my 3 students who wouldn’t take no for an answer and drove me to Connecticut.

I’ll never forget how the Merrimack College community supported me, even though they barely knew me.

I’ll never forget my brothers’ friends blanketing the city with flyers.

I’ll never forget the overwhelming energy in our Church during my dad’s memorial.

I’ll never forget how I came to Fairfield and how this community continues to support me.

I’ll never forget how ‘different’ things felt between people in the wake of 9/11.

I’ll never forget…

Fred Kuo is the Associate Director of University Activities at Fairfield University. 

To my beloved girls,

I am writing you this letter because when you were born, you already lived in a post 9/11 world. I am writing because you will ask me where I was when the Towers fell, just as I have asked my parents where they were when Kennedy was shot. You will ask where I was, since we ask for location and context in a feeble attempt to understand the emotion and meaning of the event.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I left Akers Hall, where your father and I lived for my job as a hall director during graduate school at Michigan State, and I headed to my practicum in the College of Communication Arts & Sciences. That practicum would turn into a full time position after my graduation, which means on this 10^th anniversary, I am sitting in the same rooms and walking the same hallway I did that day.

On that morning, I was in a meeting with my director and the assistant dean, planning a career fair, when the office assistant came into the room and told us, “Something’s happening in New York City. You better turn on the TV.” It didn’t matter the channel, since every channel was showing the two towers billowing smoke.  I can’t possibly explain the emotion, the disbelief, the general feeling we all had that were watching some kind of bad movie. The next hour was filled with phone calls and check ins. All of this was prior to many of us having cell phones. Your Uncle Cory somehow tracked me down at my practicum to see if I had heard about Aunt Debbie (your grandmother’s twin sister) who worked in downtown Manhattan. I talked with my complex director to see if we heard from our former graduate student, whose husband worked in the Pentagon, and I talked with your father to learn that your great aunt and uncle lived only an exit away from the crash in Pennsylvania. It is a blur, but all were safe.

My director and I had to head to a meeting of all of the associate deans across campus. I remember walking into the Board Room in the Administration Building, with its huge conference table that seats fifty. Both of the projector screens were down, and CNN was being broadcast. There was just so much smoke. Then the Associate Provost for Undergraduate Education started the meeting, and I saw a huge, research university move. Updates on students who were abroad. Check-ins with students from the NYC and DC area. Communication that would be sent to faculty. Counseling services that needed to be in place.  As a graduate student, I was watching the university respond to a worst case scenario that no one could have possible imagined.

Later that evening, I would sit in the residence hall dining room with about half of my hall, glued to Peter Jennings on the big screen TV. We didn’t want to leave. We wanted to me with other people. My office was a perpetual lounge for the next three days, as I doled out boxes of Kleenex to my residents contending with their emotions on their own timeline.

I tell you all of this because you live in a different world that I grew up in, much of which is different because of what happened that day. My wish for you is this:

I hope you never experience the terror of that day. I hope you never see the hatred in people that made someone hurt other people in such a horrifying way that day. I hope you never feel the suspicious stares that many felt following that day, simply because their skin was darker or their religion was not Christianity.

I hope you feel the love that people had for each other after that day. I hope you feel the catch in your throat when you hear the National Anthem or see an American flag that I did after that day. I hope you still dream for a peaceful world and know that it is possible because you hear stories of everyday heroes from that day.

I cannot possibly imagine a September 11^th where I do not feel the emotions as raw as they were on that day, but I promise that I will do my very best to ensure that you never forget the joy and love and humanity that September 11^th uncovered.

With all my love,

Mom

Niki Rudolph is the Assistant Director of Academic & Student Affairs in the College of Communication Arts and Sciences at Michigan State University. 

September 11 has always been a private day of remembrance for me, partly because my personal circumstances are so different today than they were ten years ago.  I had a much different experience than many of my current colleagues that day, but I haven’t talked about it or shared much.  I’ve seen many colleagues making inquiries about ceremonies or programs to mark the tenth anniversary, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to share my own experience.  Earlier this week, though, I read Justin Rudisille’s post on the ACUI Commons, offered a comment of my own, and found myself thinking about it the rest of the day.  So here I sit, sharing my thoughts from a different lifetime, partly for myself, partly for anyone who reads this, but mostly just to share.  You won’t hear stories from me about a campus community coming together, but you may know what it is like to have been closer to being a part of it than one would ever want.

The events of 9/11 happened before I started graduate school for higher education and student affairs work. While my station in life was much different ten years ago, the two milestones have always been intimately connected. After graduating from college on a Naval ROTC scholarship, I served five years in the Navy, and three years as a civilian government contractor in Northern Virginia, just outside of Washington, DC. When I separated from the Navy after completing my scholarship obligation, the tug towards student affairs was always in the back of my mind, but the promise of a decent-paying job in a familiar area (I grew up in Northern VA not too far from where I eventually worked) outshone the weighty decision to go back to school for a higher degree, and a higher calling.  Eventually, as you must know by now, the ‘allure’ of Student Affairs was too great, so I began the process of taking GREs, researching programs, and charting my new path.  That was during the fall of 2001.

I provide all of this background simply to say that on that particularly non-descript Tuesday I found myself in a familiar routine, starting my day on the 7^th floor of our office building in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia.  A creature of habit, I was most likely eating brown sugar and cinnamon pop-tarts with a cup of tea (even the Navy failed to make me a coffee drinker!), catching up on news or other items on a platform other than Twitter or Facebook.  Our client, a division of the Navy headquartered in the Pentagon, had cancelled a briefing scheduled to take place that morning; otherwise I might have been in a different place, on the road towards the Pentagon or perhaps already in the parking lot heading into the building. Moments away from heading down to our classified lab, which would have secluded me from news sources, my coworker in the cube next to me let out an exclamation as her mom relayed the news on the phone.  We spent the rest of the day, with the rest of America, glued to news reports and TV screens, unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

While most people can recount in painful detail where they were when the news of the World Trade Center Towers was announced, for me the news I cannot escape was the announcement of the attack on the Pentagon 45 minutes after.  My work partner was still driving back when American Airlines Flight 77 hit the Pentagon, a scene he watched and felt from the highway not even a half mile from the point of impact. Had he been running on time, as opposed to his notoriously late arrivals, he would have been inside the building already.  Our staff and clients in the Pentagon were located mere feet from the point of impact, a fact that shocked me again when we were let back into the building weeks later and saw the devastation.

I left work that day and returned to my apartment; looking back I am sure my plan was to complete a few practice exams for the GRE.  Knowing that would not be possible, I retreated to my girlfriend’s apartment, where we watched the news until we simply could not take in any more of the grief and destruction.

Just over a month later, the Army 10-Miler road race, a usual tune-up for the Marine Corps Marathon, was cancelled due to lingering security concerns (the race traditionally starts and finishes on the grounds of the Pentagon).  Two weeks later, the Marine Corps Marathon did take place, under heavy surveillance, including helicopters and snipers, and our course was rerouted to avoid what was still a tragic scene on the far side of the building.  As a running purist, I do not wear shirts from races in which I do not compete, however I still run in my 2001 Army 10-Miler shirt, because of what it represents.

I learned soon after the attacks that a friend from my undergraduate days at Boston College was among those in the Towers that day.  I recently learned about the heroism of another Boston College alumnus, Welles Crowther, who helped save as many as a dozen lives immediately following the attack.  As each year passes, there may always be a new piece of information that connects me, and maybe many of you, to the circumstances of September 11.  Each piece draws me back to the person I was ten years ago, and the unbelievable set of circumstances that conspired to allow me to have this story to tell.

On one of my trips to Ohio during my application process that eventually guided me to my current work, I detoured through Pennsylvania, drawn to an often-forgotten site where the fourth plane went down, its only casualties the 40 passengers aboard United Flight 93.  My pilgrimage to Ground Zero is also tied to my Higher Education path, as I was able to visit during an Alternative Spring Break trip in 2003.  While not on our trip itinerary for the week, I was compelled to go there myself, to see first-hand what seemed so surreal not even two years before.  My work in Student Affairs has thus been quite separate, but quite a part of, September 11, 2001.  Undoubtedly, the two will remain intertwined for years to come.  And I may still choose to reflect on my own, from the very different place I found myself that morning.

Jeff Pelletier is the Assistant Director of the Ohio Union at The Ohio State University. 

Throughout the day we’ll be sharing reflections from some of our community members about the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001. In their words, you will see how the events of that day influenced careers, relationships with students and colleagues, and personal perspectives. We encourage you to engage in the comments, sharing your own thoughts and reflections on this anniversary.

We also want to give thanks to each of the writers who shared their reflections with us. A special thank you to Chris Conzen who suggested this series of posts as a way of connecting our community and sharing stories.

The Backstory

Kevin and I started The Student Affairs Collaborative in 2005 to test our hypothesis that a decentralized, open system of peer-to-peer learning built around shared interests would increase engagement and retention. 

We wanted to create a community in which everyone was a teacher at some level, and everyone supported each other to become more involved.

In the beginning, 100% of the content was written by me, Kevin, and our speaker friend Del Suggs. We then bribed our student affairs friends with cookies to help us write content, and slowly, over time, the site gained a readership.The SA Collaborative started to become the go-to place online for student affairs professionals to receive and share knowledge from their peers. The growth remained steady, and then Twitter came along… 

In 2009, over drinks at Panera Bread Co with Debra Sanborn, I pitched the idea of a weekly chat via Twitter for student affairs professionals, which would mimic the already established #EDchat (for teachers) and #JourChat (for journalist). She nodded excitedly at the idea, and a couple weeks later, on Oct 8th, 2009, we attempted our first #SAchat. 

I remember telling my wife how nervous I was that it was just going to be me and Debra tweeting back and forth for an hour, and it would never take off because there were no student affairs people on Twitter. I kept a shot of vodka close by to calm my nerves just in case .

The chat started extremely slow, but within 15 minutes a couple of people joined us from out of nowhere. Twitter hasn't opened up its history past Feb 2010, so the data can't be verified yet, but I remember the hour generating around 100 tweets and 10 people participating. 80% of those tweets came from me and Debra though :-/.

This week marks the one year anniversary of #SAchat, and the community has exploded in celebration. Last week, I jokingly declared that the SA Collaborative editors were bringing fireworks to the party, and fireworks they did bring! I've personally received tweets, emails, phone calls, faxes, and even postcards in celebration.

Where We Are Now

The last seven days of #SAchat'ter generated 2,500 tweets with 300 people participating! The hashtag #SAchat is the go-to place on Twitter for student affairs. Many people have the hashtag saved as a favorite search and keep it open all day on their 3rd party clients, which further solidifies its validity.

The SA Collaborative is now five years old, and has around 700 subscribed readers, 3,900 Twitter followers, 17 content contributors, and is the #1 ranking Google search for "Student Affairs Blog."

As expected, lots of additional niche student affairs chats are popping up with varying success. Most are initiated by the community, but some of the established organizations in the industry are launching their own chats. I say, the more the merrier! It makes sense that as the all-purpose #SAchat grows, sub chats with a more narrow focus will emerge. Once you've found the music fans, now you want to find the old-time-bluegrass-with-a-fiddle-in-the-band music fans because that is what you are really into.

A large percentage of the community only knows my name because of the generous outpouring of gratitude I've received over the past week. I tend not to overly participate in the weekly chats or blog. It's not that I don't care or have time, it's that you all will learn far more from your peers, who walk in your shoes 24/7, than from me being an outside supporter of student affairs. So I'll happily continue on from behind the scenes helping the community grow by facilitating as many relationships as possible, so we all continue to stay on the dance floor dancing together.

Why This Community Continues To Grow

Every community is comprised of champions, participants, and lurkers. This is also called the 90-9-1 rule in which 1% of a community will be the champions, 9% will participate, and 90% will simply lurk. Wikipedia is the most famous example of the 90-9-1 rule. The challenge of community organizers is to provide the right incentives to the right people so they stay engaged in the community. Champions want an audience to help and support, like they received when they were just starting off. Participants want an easy way to engage with people like them around relevant topics and to learn from the champions. Lurkers want a way to watch the activity between the champions and participants, and when ready, a way to easily test the temperature of the water.

I continuously work with the editorial team to make sure we are moving the community in the right direction. For the champions, that means making it easier for them to share their amazing knowledge to an increasingly larger audience. For participants, that means providing quality content, a fun atmosphere, and peers like them they can connect with. For lurkers, that means keeping the community as open as possible and providing baby steps of engagement like the TuesTally.

What's Next

We're only a couple of weeks away from launching a directory for the #SAchat community that will further facilitate relationships and learning communities around shared interests. I want to help the student affairs graduate students find, participate, and learn from the #SAGrad community. I want to help women who work in housing find, participate, and learn from the #wihsng community. I want to help first year experience people find, participate, and learn from the #FYEchat community. I want to help the #RLchat (Res Life people) community grow, the #SAASS (assessment people) community grow, etc, etc, etc. The new directory will make all of this possible, and I predict it will challenge the established student affairs organizations to rethink how they engage their community. Heck, the #SAchat community has already turned some heads!

Three Challenges

• Challenge #1 – If you don't already have a blog, start one and add it to our student affairs blog directory. Write about your experiences at work so we can then share them with others who can learn from you. You're already a teacher to someone, they just haven't met you yet.
• Challenge #2 – Help the community grow. Bring one new colleague to the next #SAchat. Email the SA Collaborative link to five new people. This party has just begun.
• Challenge #3 – Think about how the lessons of this community relate back to your campus in terms of student engagement. How can you move away from being the gatekeepers of engagement and more toward being the facilitators of relationships around shared interests? How can you apply the 90-9-1 rule? How can you support more peer-to-peer learning among students? How can you help your students find old-time-bluegrass-with-a-fiddle-in-the-band music lovers like them? If it’s worked for you here in this community, there’s a strong possibility it will work for students on your campus. 

And Lastly

My excitement for this community is overflowing. I believe we are pushing not just student affairs forward, but the entire educational field. We’re working our tails off over here at Red Rover to duplicate the successes of this community with the students on your campus. Wait till we launch the #SAchat directory, then you’ll really see what I’m talking about.

I’m writing this post from my perspective, but really it’s a culmination of countless conversations between the editorial team that are well deserving of endless praise, so extra cheers and digital cookies to Debra Sanborn, Cindy Kane, Ed Cabellon, Liz Van Lysal, Stacy Oliver, and Kevin Prentiss.

Here’s to another 365 sunrises and sunsets on our great community! Queue the fireworks.