Coordinator's Corner: Living Our Way into the Answers - A Love Letter to NCR

“I would like to beg you…as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Do not search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. .”

—Rainer Maria Rilke, “Letters to a Young Poet”

It’s November 2025, and I’m standing in Sweet Hall 303, a small room with huge views, getting ready to start another session of the NCR gateway course, PWR 194, Introduction to Cultural Rhetorics.

The class consists of six students. A constellation of five women of color, most of them FLI, are all battle-weary from their last two or three years on campus. They are weathered by the You can’t afford thats and All you peoples, and You don’t belong heres. They have found their way to this Notation, this space, this vibe. And it’s low-key 🔥.

The sixth student is a protostar, Frosh, male, and a member of the dominant culture. He is not a part of the Notation, but has somehow still found his way into this room. I’d had a conversation with him after the first class session, after I’d peeped the collective side-eye from the Fabulous Five. I’d explained the goals of the course, the obligations, the challenging conversations we’d have. His response? “I’m taking Econ this quarter, and I have a lot of questions, and I think this will help balance things out.” 

Now, five weeks later, the class is bumpin’. The student-led class sessions hum along like a Reggaeton party. Some students begin their class sessions with a brief meditation, others start with chocolate. Our Frosh brings in snacks from his dorm. He’s amazed at how much free food you can find on campus. And whenever our Frosh doesn’t know a term or idea mentioned in class discussions, he does what every marginalized person in the world wishes everyone else would do: instead of looking to his classmates to do his emotional and intellectual labor, he googles it first and then asks questions of clarification. In the current political pile-up, 194 is a secure garage where you can park yo' whip.

However, as is often the case halfway through the quarter, some of the students are slipping on their homework. So on this gorgeous November afternoon, as the sun shines through the massive circular windows, I remind them of the due dates for the next few assignments and ask them to submit their overdue homework as soon as possible. “You really don’t want an incomplete,” I say, shifting my gaze to Emma, who, surprisingly, has not submitted any homework for two weeks.

Emma is like every NCR student: conscientious, driven, sharp as a well-honed blade, kind. She sits at the kinds of intersections that rival Tokyo’s Shibuya Crossing. She is Latina, born and raised in Oakland in a family with mixed citizenship statuses. She speaks fondly of her parents, her younger sister, her aunts and uncles. She goes home on the weekends to help out, brings us cheese from her extended family’s farm in Mexico, works on campus, and crushes it in her classes. She is, in a word, dope.

But in the last week or so, Emma has been looking a little “cooked.” I assume she’s simply overwhelmed and needs a gentle nudge to catch up. Emma’s eyes lock with mine when I look at her, and I see the guilt swimming in them. “Yeah…about that,” Emma begins. She looks at her classmates and takes a deep breath. “I haven’t been fully honest with you.” She looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “My sister got detained by ICE at a demonstration last weekend.”

The room goes quiet. I know Emma’s classmates are measuring the full weight of her words, capable of sitting with the discomfort. This ain’t they first rodeo. I ask what everyone else wants to ask: “Can I give you a hug?” And when Emma nods, we all hug her in succession, telling her how sorry we are, how worried we are. We ask if she’s had any contact with her sister. She hasn’t, but the legal aid organization Emma interned for last summer is on the case. We ask how her parents are holding up, how she is holding up. Emma drops her head into her palms. “It’s my fault. We went to the demonstration together. She’s my little sister. I was supposed to look out for her.”

I shut the laptop, pack my bag, and say, “We need fresh air and matcha lattes.” The students pack up their things, and we head to Coupa. I put in an order for iced drinks, and we sit on the steps surrounding the Shumway Fountain in front of Green Library. Our Frosh volunteers to collect the drinks, and one of the Fab Five goes with him. When we all have our drinks, we sit in silence for a while, let the sound of the water wash over us like a promise. One student asks if Emma’s talked to anyone about how she’s feeling. Another asks how she’s spending her days. Another asks what we can do to help. But we already know the answers to these questions. We do not pose the others. There’s no point.

But the students end up doing what I’d hoped, holding space just for Emma, reminding her that they see her, hear her, and love her. By the end of the class session, they’re talking about where to find the best BBQ in Oakland, where Black women can get they hair did, the chillest spots in San Francisco. By the time class is over, Emma is smiling. “That’s the first time I’ve laughed in almost two weeks,” she says. We all know that smile is temporary, but by the gods it’s there right now. And I clock that the class is no longer the Fabulous Five and the Protostar Frosh, but the Spectacular Six, a new constellation. This is Cultural Rhetorics.

I do not arrive at this moment alone. None of this would be possible without Dr. Adam Banks and his visionary groove, without Marvin Diogenes and his generous, compassionate tutelage in being Human. I would have been not waving but drowning without Dr. Christine Alfano’s support and role-modeling. Michelle Bercow, Cristina Huerta, and Lisa Moore Ramée have indulged so many of my weirdnesses and screw-ups while showing me how to navigate budgets, event planning, reimbursements, and class scheduling. Dr. Emily Polk not only facilitated the smoothest entry into coordinating the Notation and teaching the gateway and portfolio courses imaginable, but also reminded me to “do you.” Dr. Jenne Stonaker took the edge off my Digication panic through in-class meetings and orientations, video guides, and hella patience.

And we couldn’t cross the finish line without PWR advisors and advanced elective instructors and partners across campus. Much thanks to Drs. Nissa Cannon, Lindsey Felt, Jennifer Johnson, Sangeeta Mediratta Ruth Starkman, Kathleen Tarr, and Roberta Wolfson. And many thanks to our external portfolio reviewers Felicia Smith, Helen Chen, Dayo Mitchell, and Anesha Grant.

And a special shout out to Dr. Kevin Moore. As NSC Coordinator, you have been a joy to work with, an awesome collaborator, and the perfect partner in crime. You have become one of my favorite people. You invited to erry barbecue!

And, naturally, I want to express my deepest gratitude to all of the NCR students past and present, for all that they bring to, believe about, and do in the world. I appreciate you. You give me hope.

I am thrilled for the new NCR Coordinator, Dr. Lindsey Felt, and know she will enjoy the same support and gratification as she grows NCR in this next phase. And it will grow, as the Spectacular Six have shown us all. We simply have to live our way into the answer.