Many remain unfamiliar with the name Pauli Murray, just as I once was.
Who is Pauli Murray? What makes her important? And why should we say her name?
Born on November 20, 1910, in Baltimore, Maryland, Pauli Murray left an enduring legacy upon her passing on July 1, 1985. A trailblazer for black students, she advocated tirelessly for equality. Throughout her life, Murray wore many hats- a dedicated civil rights activist, a legal scholar, and, ultimately, an Episcopal priest. While this overview provides a glimpse into her multifaceted life, Murray defied societal expectations imposed by gender and race, living a life unrestrained by the confines of preconceived norms.
Why does Pauli Murray’s story matter to you? For one, she marked the inception of UNC’s integration of black students. Without her efforts, I wouldn’t be here, and many of you reading this might not be either. This magazine owes its existence, in part, to her groundbreaking work.
To truly grasp her relevance to you, let’s turn to her autobiography, ‘A Song In A Weary Throat.’ In the pages of Chapter Eleven, she reflects on the time she applied to our school—the same institution now recognized as liberal, diverse, and welcoming.
In response to the publication of her appeal to Frank P. Graham, a student reported to the DTH, ‘I think the state would close the University before they’d let a Negro in. I’ve never committed murder yet, but if a Black boy tried to come into my home saying he was a ‘University student’…’ Students, upon hearing of the movement, vowed that they would tar and feather any ‘nigger’ that tried to come into class with them. As a Black woman currently attending the same university from which this comment was made, I was disgusted, appalled, and hurt. The lack of urgency and the degrading recommendations left me in awe. It is no surprise that we were not
accepted; however, I was dismayed by the utter and blatant mistreatment of my people.
The final aspect of the book I want to uncover relates to this quote, also within the eleventh chapter. Murray writes, ‘There is the realization that no deep-seated injustice can be uprooted without overturning traditions, making people uncomfortable, and becoming oneself, the target of angry criticism.’ I think that this is such a powerful statement, yet an unfortunate epiphany she was forced to come to. I could not imagine being in her shoes, at the forefront of the beginning of the end of segregated schools. Attempting to endure the death threats, threats of burning my family house, and more hostile language is unfathomable for me. Even as I read the words of students from the DTH, I was scared, as if I was going to school during that time.
Given the significance of her contributions and the pivotal role she played in shaping our university’s history, Pauli Murray’s name deserves recognition from every student and faculty member. Despite the ongoing process of renaming Hamilton Hall initiated in 2020, what we’ve witnessed so far is nothing more than the occasional appearance of a cheap-looking white sign on the far side of the building. Murray’s legacy is undoubtedly deserving of prominent acknowledgment on our campus, far more so than many Confederate leaders and racist figures whose names still adorn buildings throughout our university.
Say her name.
