A stop at the
notoriously antigay university in Tulsa, Okla., results in
a few arrests and some off-campus dialogue. But Oral Roberts
did such a thorough job of closing itself off, this
rider fears some local folks didn’t even get a
chance to make up their own minds.
This is the fourth in a series of Advocate
dispatches from the Equality Ride. Sponsored by
Soulforce, the ride is taking 33 young LGBT
activists on a nationwide tour of college campuses with
policies that call for ejecting openly gay and
lesbian students. Its first three
stops—Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University
in Lynchburg, Va.; Regent University in Virginia
Beach, Va.; and Lee University in Cleveland,
Tenn.—led to a lot of constructive dialogue as
well as some arrests for
“trespassing.” This dispatch was written
by Equality Rider Rachel Powell.
Weeks before our
planned March 20 visit to Tulsa, Okla., I could tell
that the Soulforce Equality Ride visit to Oral Roberts
University would not be pleasant. Fellow rider Nathan
and I exchanged phone calls back and forth each time a
new letter came from ORU vice president Ralph Fagin,
and we kept considering how to respond to Fagin’s
repeated statement that “our campus will not be
available to your group.” Still, we on the
Equality Ride pledge to continuously attempt to dialogue
until the very day we arrive on campus, so I held out
hope.
We drove into
Tulsa on the Sunday night before our visit to the school
and realized that we were now facing two demands to turn
away: the first from VP Fagin, the second from the
weather. The forecast for our Monday visit: high of 44
degrees, 90% chance of rain. Knowing that
discrimination against LGBT students is worse than any
weather condition, we drove our bus out to Helmerich
Park Monday morning to greet the 36-degree air and
light mist.
Police presence greeting Equality Riders at Oral Roberts University.
We arrived at the
park and met with a few Oklahoma residents who had also
braved the weather to come out and stand with us at ORU.
Nathan did a run-down of the nonviolent training while
I met with Captain Tim Jones of the Tulsa Police
Department. He offered me a short tour of the ORU
campus, at least the area we would be allowed to be on.
We made light
conversation as he drove the mile from the park to the
campus, and when he parked across the street from campus, I
studied what was becoming the usual for the ride:
police tape about three feet into campus from the
road, cones and barricades, and about 20 officers in
uniform.
After returning
to the park and getting everyone on the bus, we drove to
ORU and parked temporarily while an ORU representative and a
Tulsa police representative spoke a few words to us.
The Tulsa cop gave us the usual warning that they must
uphold trespassing laws, but the ORU representative
surprised us with his curt warning, which was hardly
longer than his statement: “We love you, but
don’t come on our campus.”
The riders filed
out of the bus and onto the sidewalk across the street
from ORU and we began holding our silent vigil. This time we
were equipped with tall posters, each bearing the face
of an individual who had been beaten, killed, or
driven to suicide for being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or
transgender.
Media crush as Equality Riders cross the street to the
campus of ORU and waiting police.
After our vigil
in the harsh cold, Jake, Nathan, and I each spoke a few
words for the media about what the Equality Ride was and why
we were visiting Oral Roberts University. When the
cameras stopped rolling, we knew it was time to make
our stand and to cross the street to bring our message
to campus. One by one, seven riders and two community
members approached the police line, read a positive,
love-inspiring Bible verse, and crossed the line onto
campus.
Each of them was
arrested.
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