White Howard University Professor Holds Mock Slave Auction

Editor’s Note: This article was not written in hopes that the professor will be fired. As Black men and women navigate through this world, we are often faced with subtle racism and race-charged wrongs. With this piece, we aim to stop this lesson plan from being used in future years of this professor’s career, and hope to acknowledge that yes, white teachers can teach about slavery, but there are appropriate and inappropriate ways to accomplish this.

To protect the identity of the teacher, and to keep the student from further embarrassment on campus, both of their names have been changed. The professor from here out will be known as Professor A, and the student as John.

On Thursday, March 9, a white Howard University professor opened Frederick Douglass’ slave narrative with the intention of teaching the class about the hardships of slavery, and turned his classroom into a mock slave auction. 

“It is interesting how in the confines of an HBCU (Historically Black College/University), racism is still present,” one of the students in the class commented. 

The teacher was discussing how slaves were auctioned and examined before the sale. Professor A approached one of the two Black boys in the classroom, singling him out, and told him to stand up because he looked “healthy” and “like the type of slave buyers would look for.” Professor A began to examine John the way he would have if John had been up for auction. The class watched with horror as their white professor evaluated a young, Black boy as if he were a piece of property. A couple of students called out to the professor, asking him to stop. 

But he didn’t. 

The professor asked him to turn this way and that in front of the class, and told the other students to examine the boy’s teeth, height, weight and strength.

“Professor A asked me to stand up and I reluctantly did so. He started propping my body up as if we were on a slave auction block,” the boy said. 

Professor A asked the class if it was hard for them to look, noticing all of the turned heads and sad, hurt and disgusted faced as they painfully watched their classmate being dehumanized. 

“It’s O.K., I’m uncomfortable too; I’m white,” Professor A assured the class.

That was his excuse. As if he were the one being objectified in front of the class. As if he were the Black body on display for others to judge the worth of. As if he was being forced to remember the gross mistreatment of his enslaved ancestors who were emasculated and oppressed by privilege and authority. 

Professor A told John that whenever he felt uncomfortable, John could say stop. But it has been a common thread throughout history that Black men and women have always had the literal choice to stop standing in the face of oppression, but we just… can’t. It’s more than just choosing to stop. It’s a mixture of history, oppression, psychological trauma left from slavery and our human need for survival that clashes with thoughts of resistance that impairs us. 

“I stood up because I didn’t expect him to do or say the things he said and did. I didn’t sit down sooner because I was so shocked,” John said. 

At the beginning of the spectacle, the boy had agreed to stand; and honestly, who wouldn’t? The students had just turned in a paper that day, and if a professor tells you to stand, you stand. Besides, John may not have said anything initially, but his face said it all — he was angry and hurt, and rightfully so. 

The harassment did not stop there. It shifted from racial to sexual. 

“Turn around so we can see your buttocks,” Professor A instructed. 

That is when the whole class spoke up. The boy immediately sat down, done being the professors Hottentot Venus.

“He asked me to show my butt to the class so that he could get a better sense of my worth and had the audacity to say that it was uncomfortable for him too because he’s a white man,” the boy said. 

The professor let his class know that the boy would have been worth a whopping $400. 

“I wanted to hit him,” the boy said. “I was being racially and sexually harassed in front of my peers and the only thing I could think to defend myself was by punching him.” 

But the boy sat down, pulling out his phone and trying to distract himself from what had just happened. 

Everyone in the classroom was still, shocked and confused by the sudden range and rage of emotions they were feeling. It is in moments like this when Black men and women fully understand the concept of The Sunken Place in the movie “Get Out.” The students in the class could not move. They were watching this white man act against them, screaming in their heads, but forced by his authority to remain still despite this wrongness. The teacher used his power as both their professor and a white man to demand cooperation and attention as he instructed them to objectify their classmate. 

“I know I should have got up,” one of the students in the class commented. “I should have walked over to John, taken his hand and told him to sit down. But I sunk. I have never been so disappointed in both Howard and myself.” 

There are ways to teach slavery and racial oppression to students, whether you are a white teacher or Black, but this was not the way to do it. Students commented that they genuinely believe the teacher saw nothing wrong with his lesson and believed it was a new, edgy way to teach it — it was not. 

This lesson was demeaning and dehumanizing. Instances like this have happened in classrooms before, and they need to stop.