UNC Law Distinguished Alumnus Award

UNC Law Distinguished Alumnus Award
Reggie Shuford
October 9, 2009

Thank you, Dean Boger, for the very generous introduction.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Dean Boger, who, before he became Dean, encouraged me in 1995 to accept a job with the ACLU. During his distinguished tenure at the NAACP Legal and Educational Fund in New York City, Dean Boger had worked with people from the ACLU, who would ultimately become my colleagues, and his advice meant a lot to me. I remember being floored by his stellar record of achievement when, as part of a student-faculty selection committee, I interviewed him for a professorship at UNC Law. So, I like to think I played a very small role in bringing Dean Boger to UNC.

This award is a huge honor for me, especially being presented by Dean Boger. I am deeply humbled to have the work that I have been doing since graduating from law school, and in particular my last 14 years at the ACLU, recognized as valuable, and I am indebted to those who have seen fit to present me with this award. In large part, the opportunity to do this work has itself been the reward.

I am further honored to be in the company of such accomplished UNC Law graduates as Harriet Smalls, the Honorable Roy Cooper and James Preston. The citizens of North Carolina are all the better for the work that they do on behalf of women, health, students, the environment and the arts. I look forward to hearing about the many more successes that will be an inevitable part of their careers.

I was 6 years old when I decided I would become a lawyer. I was a very inquisitive kid (some call it nosey). Anytime anyone visited the house, I would corner them and pepper them with questions: What is your favorite color? Do you like to read? What is your favorite book? How do you pronounce this word? What does it mean? Do you have sisters and brothers? Do you get along with them? And on and on and on. I heard more than one guest say: Boy, you sure sound like a lawyer, asking all those questions! And it dawned on me then that if I could actually have a career where I got to ask a lot of questions, then that is the career for me. Of course, many of my friends and family, especially my nieces and nephews (some of whom are here tonight), believe that I still ask a lot of questions.

In fairly short order, it became clear to me what type of law I would practice. Civil rights. Growing up one of five children of a single mother who was required to drop out of high school when she became pregnant and had her first child at age 15, and who raised us mostly on welfare and government assistance and in public housing, it struck me early on that there was a vast difference in the quality of life for the haves and the have-nots. Likewise, the issues of race and class seemed to me to be deeply tied to the ability to become a productive citizen and to have access to meaningful opportunities. None of that seemed fair to me since we are all human beings and have been taught since time immemorial that everyone is created equal.

The value of education — the cornerstone for having a meaningful impact in whatever endeavor one pursues — was deeply ingrained in me. Even though she was unable to complete her own education, my mother always encouraged the academic endeavors of her children and grandchildren. In particular, I was the beneficiary of such support, when, as a junior in high school, I was given a scholarship to attend Cape Fear Academy, the local private school in Wilmington. In 1984, I became the school’s first African-American graduate. It wasn’t easy. The school was created in the 1960s as a counter-reaction to integrating the public schools and, quite frankly, not everyone was pleased when I arrived. But I studied hard, did well, and went off to UNC. Despite being the first high school graduate in my family for two or three generations, with no immediate role models, I took to college pretty quickly. Of course, it’s hard not to love going to school in Chapel Hill! And my determination to become a civil rights lawyer only increased as I learned more about how the structures and institutions in our society interact to create benefits for some and disadvantage for others.

UNC Law gave me the tools and confidence I needed to go out and do my best to fight those inequalities, which I have been privileged to do over the past 14 years at the ACLU. The work is far from easy, but it is extraordinarily rewarding and meaningful to the amazing people I have come to represent and know.

One such case involved Rossano Gerald, who was a decorated sergeant in the Army when I met him, after he and his 12-year-old son Gregory were the victims of racial profiling. They were driving from Maryland to Oklahoma in August 1998 for a family reunion when they were pulled over by the Oklahoma Highway Patrol for the false reason of having failed to use a signal when switching lanes. Sgt. Gerald and Gregory had their car ransacked, completely torn apart by two troopers and a drug-detecting dog. Of course, nothing was found. Sgt. Gerald is perhaps the most honorable and law-abiding person I know. He is a hero to many, especially Gregory. Many indignities transpired during the course of the roughly one-hour-and-a-half detention that hot August day. But two things that Sgt. Gerald told me I will never forget: First, Sgt. Gerald spoke of how humiliating the experience was. He said: I have spent the majority of my adulthood fighting all over the world trying to spread America’s ideals and principles of democracy and humanity. Yet, I return home for a brief period of time and am made to feel like a second-class citizen.

Second, during the search of the vehicle, Sgt. Gerald was separated from Gregory, who was placed in the very hot car, with the air condition turned off and the drug dog, a German Shepherd, salivating and growling at him from the back seat. At the time, Sgt. Gerald had been handcuffed and placed in another car. He was unable to turn around and to see what was happening to Gregory. He later told me that that experience made him break one of his earliest promises to his son, who he told as a baby that he would always be there to protect him, no matter what. Although it was far from his fault, he felt he had let his son down.

Acutely aware of the pivotal role that education has played in my own life, I have also been privileged to work on behalf of children, most of whom are poor, of color and at-risk, to ensure they get the quality education they need to become productive citizens. In a recent case, we sued a large metropolitan school system for delegating its constitutional responsibility to provide each student an “adequate” education to a private, for-profit corporation to run its alternative school. The school was run like a prison rather than an educational facility. The students were subjected to invasive searches every day upon arrival at school, were given no homework, allowed to play cards in class, were not allowed to take books home or, in the case of female students, to bring feminine hygiene products to school, and who were expected to learn from a computer program in lieu of instruction by a qualified instructor. We sued and are trying to resolve the case as we speak, but there is one victory I can report: this past May, the school system did not review the $7 million annual contract of the private company and has resumed administering the school itself.

Again, for me, the work itself has been the reward. Tonight’s award, therefore, is an embarrassment of riches.

In closing, I would like to especially thank all of my relatives and friends for coming out to support me and for supporting me all of these years. As with every family, life has been challenging for many of us in so many ways. I would like to thank Justice Frye, for giving me my first job out of law school and for instilling in me the values of hard word, community involvement and doing good deeds. Three people who are not here tonight in body but certainly with us in spirit are my law school roommate, Jonathan Luna, who died under suspicious and violent circumstances in December 2003, my oldest brother, Michael, who died 19 months ago, and my mother, Barbara, who died 5 years ago. All gone way too soon. This award is dedicated in memory of my mother, who always encouraged all of my dreams enthusiastically and unconditionally, even when the travails of life prevented her from pursuing her own. Mom, this one is for you.

Thank you.