A best-selling African-American writer and speaker stood in front of nearly a thousand St. Louis University students and broke into song.

"There will never be a n*gg*r in SAE. There will never be a n*gg*r in SAE. You can hang him from a tree, but he can never sign with me. There will never be a n*gg*r in SAE," Lawrence Ross sang.

The audience of mostly white students looked uncomfortable.

Ross acknowledged that he opened his talk with that racial slur because he didn't want to shield students from the ugliness of the word. He sang the same lyrics that Sigma Alpha Epsilon members from the University of Oklahoma were caught on video singing last year. The university later shut down the chapter.

Ross also showed slide after slide of other racist acts that have surfaced since the SAE incident -- white students in blackface, others dressed in white hoods and still others wearing Obama masks with nooses.

The SLU fraternity and sorority leadership invited Ross, author of "Blackballed: The Black and White Politics of Race on America's Campuses," to tell their members about the racist legacy of America, its colleges and their own Greek organizations. He gave them a 90-minute history lesson, current events briefing and encouragement about the ways they can improve their campus in their own spheres.

The way young people look at the world -- and their role in making it a better place -- recently has been shook, as my teenage daughter would say. College students are talking about race in a way that hasn't been heard in decades.

After the protests of the Civil Rights movement, the biggest fights for equal treatment and access happened through the courts, not on college campuses. Now, a new generation has found its political voice and muscle. For example, since Ferguson, there have been widespread protests on campuses -- more than 100 of them. Ross showed the students the multicultural alliances that cut across racial groups and stand against bigotry.

Ross' mission goes beyond shining a light on problems that have been festering for years. He has a more ambitious goal: Get those who are oblivious to racism to see where it exists -- even on their sheltered and protective campuses -- and to recognize how they've personally benefited from institutions predicated on giving whites privilege above everyone else.

What makes this endeavor particularly difficult is that everyone wants to believe what they've achieved comes from their own talents or hard work. The backlash to challenging this idea can be rage. "The things I have are mine! Stop being a victim!" is a common response, Ross said.

In an online review of Ross' book, a white professor said that the "us versus them" debates framed around affirmative action hurt race relations. Getting students to recognize their own advantages is always a struggle. For example, if he asked white students how they got their first job, he wrote, some may have had a parent or relative who helped get them a foot in the door -- an internship, a entry-level job or even an interview.

"In other words, through no skill of their own, someone acted 'affirmatively' to give that person a leg up," wrote the reviewer. "But many white students don't see it that way. They see that sort of advantage as a birthright and not the advantage of nepotism or connection."

Additionally, most Americans are generally great at personal interactions with friends of different backgrounds, Ross said. We like to believe that our friendships with a diverse group of people proves our lack of racism. But our understanding of institutional racism, its historical origins and lasting impacts, is weak, Ross said. He points out that 98 percent of FHA loans were given to white people from the 1930s to the '60s, creating a white middle class and all the advantages that arose from that. He shares the data about educational segregation that still exists, and the connection between race and educational opportunities.

Ross spoke to the students at SLU, a private Catholic university, as an insider: He is a Catholic, educated by Jesuits, and values the bonds he made at his own fraternity in college. He believes in students' power to make the world better.

They responded to his message as powerfully as he delivered it. They asked questions about how to reconcile political differences, how to increase diversity in their own organizations and how to support their classmates.

Ross' work with college students is more than an academic pursuit for him. His own son will be leaving for college next year.

"I don't bombard him with a whole bunch of things about white supremacy," Ross said with a laugh, in an interview. He suspects his son will go to college and will try to make sense of the world and find his own way of responding.

Chances are good he will find a community struggling with the same questions and galvanized to find better answers.

He encouraged the students at the SLU gathering not to be afraid to try.

They may stumble along the way, but so hopeful is their march.

We knew we would be witnessing an unprecedented election result, regardless of who won the presidency. There were millions of Americans who believed they would be telling their daughters after this election, "See? You can be president, too."

Obviously, that's not the conversation we're having.

Instead, for those whose children have heard their president-elect talk about their ethnicity, religion or race in the worst possible way, the conversations are very hard. For parents who are teaching their children the importance of being kind, respectful and honest, we might be struggling for the words to explain how a candidate who embodied none of those traits won a contest to lead the country.

I know I'm not the only parent who saw fear in my children's faces and heard confusion in their voices on election night or in the aftermath. I watched them struggle to make sense of what they were seeing. If it is hard for us to process, it is even harder for them.

This is an important reality check moment for our country. And the takeaway for parents is that we will have to model the behavior and reactions we want our children to have.

We teach them to respond to bullying and name-calling by standing up for ourselves and our friends.

We teach them resilience by being stronger. We teach them how to cope with scary unknowns by being brave.

This is what parents have done in the darkest chapters of our country's history. We raise our heads. We draw our allies closer. We find ways to survive and protect the ones we love.

And we also level with our children -- no matter how much we want to shelter them from ugly truths.

It's OK to tell them there are still millions of sexist and racist people. And that many of our fellow countrymen still promote those ugly ideas. We have to be able to acknowledge and recognize the depth of our country's racism and sexism. It's okay to admit that you misjudged the character of the country. It's important to tell them that the best person for the job doesn't always get the job.

It doesn't mean we lose hope. The morning after the election, I hugged both my children very tightly before I sent them off to school. I asked them how they would respond to the talk in school. We discussed acceptable responses to what people might say. I told my daughter: "I love you, and you need to know that I will always do everything in my power to protect you, your brother and your father. I'm still the boss of this family."

She smiled and said, "Well, you can't really argue with that."

I wanted to see that smile despite the ache in my own heart. I wanted to reassure them despite my own uncertainty. I am heartbroken because a divisive message of hate and fear was more powerful than one of acceptance, respect, civility and love. I'm sad for our children and our country's future. But, I am not surprised. I saw how people changed once their worst impulses were validated. I read it in my emails, heard it in my voicemails and saw it in people's behavior.

I did not underestimate racism and sexism.

That said, I am not afraid.

I am an American Muslim woman living in a red state. The state can try to curtail my rights. The extreme right can try to threaten and intimidate me. The economy may tank, and we may see a lot more racist violence.

But I am in control of my own mind and heart and soul. And I refuse to live in fear in my own country.

I will work to make it a more just and compassionate place and do my best to protect my family. I will continue to believe in the goodness of the people I know and trust in a Greater Power to protect us all.

I reached out to my closest friends and said, "We are all in this together." And they responded, "Of course we are."

Millions of people worked hard for their vision of a united America, and millions will keep working toward it. Despite the election result, that work was not in vain. Nothing done from love is ever in vain.

Remember, light shines brightest in the darkness.

The first time I left our newborn at home with her father, she was 2 1/2 weeks old.

I had confined myself to the house since we brought her home from the hospital. I was still recovering from an emergency C-section that had followed a difficult labor. I was sleep-deprived and trying to figure out how to nurse her without shrieking in pain.

My body felt torn up (probably because it was), and I was anxious about being separated from our baby, even briefly.

But I forced myself into a clean pair of sweats and got behind the wheel of my car for the first time since giving birth.

I drove straight to my polling station. I voted in that midterm election. Then I drove home and fell back into bed.

I had a good idea back then of the political direction my state was headed, based on polling data. I suppose I could have stayed at home, knowing that my individual vote wasn't going to change the outcome.

But since I turned 18, I've never stayed at home on Election Day.

So when GOP presidential nominee Donald Trump tells his supporters they need to "monitor" polling sites, he may not realize the other group to whom he's signaling.

He is also sending a message to those of us who have never taken the right to vote for granted. He's talking to those who don't back down because of self-appointed "monitors."

A recent Huffington Post investigation reported on "Vote Protectors" recruiting Trump loyalists to conduct fake "exit polls" on Election Day. This harkens to the Republican "Ballot Security" strategy in the 1981 New Jersey governor's race, in which the national GOP sent armed, off-duty police officers to the polls in minority neighborhoods.

Trying to rekindle illegal voter intimidation strategies can make targeted communities more resolute in their desire to stand up for their rights. A senior official with the Trump campaign reportedly told Bloomberg BusinessWeek, "We have three major voter suppression operations under way," going on to explain that the campaign is targeting idealistic liberals, young women and African-Americans.

Perhaps they have underestimated women like LaTanya Reeves, 33, of Webster Groves, Missouri. Reeves is an African-American woman who says she recognizes the battles that have been fought to secure her fundamental right as a citizen.

Voting is a sacred responsibility.

"It's my duty to those who came before me," she said. "I am responsible to listen to my ancestors. I am responsible for that."

She doesn't take threats of intimidation or voter suppression efforts lightly. It's personal when someone threatens your voice.

"I'm voting by any means necessary," Reeves said. "I know that I count. I know that I matter."

Ruba Abusharif, 33, a stay-at-home mother in Wildwood, Missouri, knows she matters, too. This is the first election in which she is eligible to vote, having become a citizen in 2013. Her parents had left Palestine as refugees to Jordan -- a monarchy -- and she was born and raised in Saudi Arabia, another monarchy. Never before has Abusharif had a chance to vote for who she believes should lead the country she lives in.

"I'll be voting for the first time in my life," she said. "I don't think there is anything that will intimidate me."

Oftentimes, it's not fear, but rather hassles that prevent people from voting.

A few years before my postpartum vote, there was a midterm election where the polling station didn't have my name on the rolls. I had stopped by after work, and I didn't have enough time to go through whatever appeals process they suggested. I left feeling disgusted and disenfranchised. I vowed to vote as early as possible from then on. Before my children were school-aged, they came to the polls with me, even if I had to stand in line with two toddlers.

There are reasons why women and people of color take this civic duty so seriously, especially this year.

It's how we honor those who fought and died for this right for us.

It's how we respect the legacy of women who were denied the right to have their voices heard before Aug. 18, 1920.

It's how we show our voices matter.

On Nov. 8, we will not be deterred.