"The police must obey the law while enforcing the law." - Earl Warren

I met with Dr. Saleem Badat, the Vice-Chancellor of Rhodes this morning.

I wanted to talk to the person at the top about how we, or shall I say, the two black guys I was with, were treated by Rhodes security.

The appointment was made. The time was set for 11 o'clock in the main administration building at Rhodes.

I was a nervous wreck. I think the CPU officer's derogatory, nasty remarks rattled me a bit more than I had initially thought. I knew I should bring this matter to the VC's attention, but complaining about an injustice, and actually taking steps to rectify that injustice I've learned, are two very different things. Complaining might be easy, but complaining without action is useless.

My palms were sweaty as I sat, waiting for the Vice Chancellor to emerge from his office. My mind racing, thinking, imagining what our meeting might be like. Would he be just as condescending as CPU had been? Would he think I have a legitimate case? Would he too, be wary, of young, black guys walking onto a campus that for years has served as an exclusive haven for the wealthy?

I sat in his waiting room, glancing around at the tea cups and saucers emblazoned with the Rhodes emblem, at the chandeliers, at the dark blue wall-to-wall carpeting, at the long drapes, falling to the floor and tied back across each window. It struck me how this well-kept, beautiful office was no more than a mile away from Amasango, but still, the luxuries it contained--expensive light fixtures, huge windows overlooking sweeping lawns and gardens, even nice carpeting--would be so foreign to many of those students I've worked with. On a table beside me lay a book about the history of the university. I began shuffling through it, not intending to read it, just to keep my mind from over-thinking.

At 11 o'clock he met me. We went into his office. I sat down.

"My name is Jason Torreano and I'm from the Buffalo, New York area," I began.

He had remembered the letter I had written during my last visit where I complained of the guards abusive treatment.

I listed my concerns.

He took notes.

My nerves calmed.

We talked for nearly a half hour. The man with the corner office proved to be sympathetic to my concerns. Badat was not happy with the way the guards had spoken to, or treated, my friends, nor was he happy that they were kicked off campus for no reason. Badat spoke with candor when he said, despite all the good contained within Rhodes, the university he presides over does, indeed, have problems with racism, sexism and classism.

He encouraged me to bring the kids back. He said he wants everyone to see Rhodes: the residences on campus, the library, the gardens. He said he wants especially the disadvantaged children in Grahamstown, to feel they too, might one day walk onto campus, as students, not visitors.

Toward the end of our meeting, he told me there have been suggestions to surround the campus with fencing and gates; requiring everybody to carry an identification card who wishes to walk onto Rhodes property. He's against any proposal to erect actual barriers to separate the university from the town.

I'm cautiously optimistic about the future, about what our meeting may accomplish, and how these guards will be instructed to behave.

After all, despite the fact that there may be no fencing or gates surrounding Rhodes, my kids, my students, my friends still know that there is an invisible fence, an invisible, yet undeniable line that separates "Rhodes" from "the rest of Grahamstown."

And they're the rest of Grahamstown.