‘C-O-U-R-Y-N’: Coppin State awards full scholarship to ninth grader after moving performance of poem

BALTIMORE -- “My name is spelled C-O-U-R-Y-N, pronounced Couryn, and please. Memorize it.”

Then-ninth grader Couryn Branch performed her poem before faculty members at Coppin State University, her mother’s 2006 alma mater.

She wrote the piece, titled “Too Black For Your Name Generator,” as part of the NAACP Afro-Academic, Cultural, Technological and Scientific Olympics, at which high school students compete in local and national events. She and a couple of other students had been invited to share their works at the university’s faculty recognition event that May.

Couryn’s words expressed her anger; speaking them felt like yelling at the listeners to see her as a person, someone worthy of having their name respected. Throughout the 15 years of her life, there had been many instances of people calling her variations of her name, all of which were incorrect, despite her attempts and pleas for them to pronounce and spell her name as she told them.

“I decided that I wasn’t going to correct people anymore. I called it protecting my peace,” she continued, reciting her poem.

A 2012 study on racial microaggressions in the classroom by Rita Kohli and Daniel G. Solórzano, published in the “Race Ethnicity and Education” journal, outlines that mispronouncing students’ names “[supports] a racial and cultural hierarchy of minority inferiority.” Furthermore, the study found, when students’ names are mispronounced, it can negatively impact their self-perceptions over the long term.

Couryn’s spoken word detailed the impact of those microaggressions.

“But who was the white man to rename me like he once did all those years ago?” she asked the audience.

“How was it peaceful to be named something you’re not, to have your name stripped from you almost as if it is your dignity?”

In the crowd, Coppin State President Anthony L. Jenkins absorbed Couryn’s presence and performance. This was his first time attending the event in person, and he watched as she challenged society to recognize and respect her individuality.

He thought Couryn was exactly the type of student who belonged at Coppin State.

Couryn continued the performance, accidentally skipping a few lines.

“Who are you to call me sensitive or repetitive, to put a price tag on my existence and sell me for six letters too short?

“My name is spelled C-O-U-R-Y-N, pronounced Couryn. And don’t make me say it again.”

When audience members rose from their seats for a standing ovation, it made Couryn feel like a Disney princess, she said.

Couryn traded spots at the lectern with Jenkins. She didn’t fully recognize what he was saying until he mentioned her name. Couryn imagined he was just going to compliment her performance and sit back down.

Instead, Jenkins announced that he was granting Couryn a full scholarship to the university. Tuition costs $8,932 for the 2022-23 school year, not including room and board.

Should Couryn follow in her mother’s footsteps and attend Coppin State, her college experience would be debt-free.

Couryn’s parents, who attended the presentation, burst into tears. Her aunt was so excited she ran up to Jenkins.

Jenkins met Couryn after the announcement, finding her excited, overwhelmed and beaming from ear to ear. She was in shock, especially since she had not spoken to any colleges at that point.

College still feels far away for Couryn, who is now in 10th grade at the George Washington Carver Center for Arts and Technology in Baltimore County, and she doesn’t know where she will end up for her postsecondary studies. Regardless, she said she is forever grateful to Coppin.

Couryn’s stepfather, Lamar Seymour, who did not attend the presentation, said the poem Couryn wrote is powerful for him to hear as her guardian. He was one of the first people to hear her perform the piece; she ran upstairs to share it right after writing it.

“I think it’s awesome that she’s able to express herself in such a way,” Seymour said.

Marietta English, the Afro-Academic, Cultural, Technological and Scientific Olympics chair for the NAACP Baltimore County branch, said alleviating the financial burdens of college could give Couryn more freedom to write.

Jenkins said he gives out only five to 10 presidential scholarships each year, which he can award at his discretion. He said the next time students from the NAACP Olympics perform at the university, he’ll attend again. Whether he will award another scholarship has yet to be determined.

“There’s no set criteria or situation that I look for,” Jenkins said. “It’s almost like that moment where you see a student, you engage with them, and you know that this is the type of student who you want on your campus.”

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