White Privilege

I wrote this as a reaction to a book called White Like Me by Tim Wise for a class, but it was such an eye-opening book and I'm so passionate about it that I thought I would share.

I have to admit, as a white person, the concept of white privilege never really resonated with me.  And to be honest, at times it even rubbed me the wrong way.  I grew up believing that hard work was the key to success.  My parents raised me to always be very accepting and open to people from other races, backgrounds, and cultures.  Naturally, I thought that no matter what your background was, you had the opportunity to succeed.  After all, this is America, right?

Throughout my entire two-year experience in the graduate program, I still had a hard time understanding white privilege, even though I have been trained in multicultural awareness and sensitivity.  There were times where in my head I found myself comparing racism to me being made fun of in my life for having extremely fair, ivory-like skin.  I could not separate the two.  I so often made the argument that Tim Wise refers to in White Like Me many times: The white people today were never slave owners.  We didn’t do this.  Now, before you go judging my former naïve and narrow frame of mind that supposes white privilege does not exist, take a moment to continue reading.  What I learned from Tim Wise follows.

Wise makes the case that “It doesn’t matter that today’s whites weren’t around ‘back then.’  It doesn’t matter that today’s whites never owned slaves, never killed any Indians, and never stole land from Mexico.  We are here now, and so are the black and brown descendants of those persons of color whose ability to accumulate assets, professional credentials, education and homes was restricted for so long.” (Wise, 2008).  In a YouTube video, he compares this to running a race with a four-lap head start.  He says we “have closed the gap some, but not all” as those who started the race behind have now gained a few laps on their fellow competitors.  They still haven’t caught up entirely. 

The reason why it doesn’t matter that today’s whites weren’t the whites from back then and that today’s people of color weren’t alive when slavery and segregation were legal is based on inheritance.  “We pay off government debts, even though much of the spending that created them happened so long ago.” (Wise, 2008).  It is inherent that we will always be inheritors of the past.  Obama inherited the problems that Bush created.  Bush inherited the problems that Clinton created.  All leaders inherit the work of their predecessors.  For those of us who aren’t presidents, we’ve got what our ancestors left us.  When family members die, we inherit their assets, both good and bad.  Surely we don’t want to inherit the debt that our families have left for us.  “But we never had a problem accepting inheritances that we never worked for,” inheritances that would ultimately benefit us (Wise, 2008).  Call me crazy, but the concept of inheritance is directly in contradiction of the American Dream, or the American Myth, that hard work will equal success.  There simply is more to it than that.

Like it or not, we have inherited a history rich with prejudice, discrimination, and racism.  But, we have also inherited a nation rich with innovation. “We are the nation that put cars in driveways and computers in offices; the nation of Edison and the Wright brothers; of Google and Facebook” (Obama, State of the Union, 2011).

          We are too worried with the idea that we are being threatened by others that look differently than us. Instead, we should be collaborating with others and seeking to be anti-racists.  Feeling threatened often causes us to work as an individual.  Collaborating enables us to feed off each other’s ideas, sparking more imagination and innovation.  It allows us to work as a team, to play to our strengths while relinquishing our weaknesses to others who consider those weaknesses to be their strengths.  Together, we are a much larger force to be reckoned with, no matter what race we are.

            What does this have to do with white privilege?  Everything.  You see, by allowing ourselves to be racist, whether overt or not, we are limiting our successes and perpetuating the American Dream as the myth that it is.  As a white person, failing to realize that white privilege does indeed exist, I am no better than my slave-owning ancestors were a couple hundred years ago.  I am still denying people of color the “assets, professional credentials, education and homes” that they have been denied for so long.  I am holding the dreams that people of color have as slaves.  And yes, they too, have dreams that they would like to come true, restriction free.

            There is a light at the end of the tunnel.  As Wise points out, there are things that we can do.  Speak up.  Confront racism.  The most powerful thing we can do is to “engage, not enrage” (Wise, 2008).  Challenge our friends, family, acquaintances, peers, and colleagues when they make a racist comment or joke.  Challenge yourself, your beliefs, your values, as I did.  It is always harder to do the right thing when you have to do it alone, but the benefits of doing the right thing will always outweigh the costs.  Oh and by the way, doing the right thing has a tendency to be contagious.

References

Obama, B. State of the Union Address, 2011.

Wise, T. White Like Me. Berkeley: Soft Skull Press, 2008.

Wise, T. “Vote NO on MCRI- Michigan Civil Rights Initiative.” YouTube, 2007.  Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4ZdR1alqmM.

Race to the Top

“Poor school conditions and student struggles will never truly be changed if funding is rendered a contest in which the many, many schools suffering under such deplorable conditions are competing against one another for limited resources that can not cover all the need" (Gleason, 2011). 

I can see why Race to the Top is a popular educational movement seeking to replace No Child Left Behind.  After all, the premise behind Race to the Top is largely capitalistic, much like the government we live in.  It is based upon competition between schools: whoever can adopt national education standards and tests and do it best, will be eligible to “win” grant money from the federal government (Sheffield, 2010). 

The standards in Race to the Top were developed not by Washington, but by Republican and Democratic governors across the country (Obama, State of the Union 2011).  But why are we not asking our teachers? Why are we not asking our administrators? Why are we not asking our students?  Governors are not at the forefront of educational reform-schools are.  How can a school with limited resources even begin to compete?  On the flip side, why should an exceptional school be forced to conform to a set of national standards that may be lower than that own school’s expectations?  Because all schools want money.  Because all schools need money.  Having to compete for it on an unequal playing field tells our students that their education is only important if they can win it.

America was founded on an idea: The idea that each of us has the power to create our own destiny (Obama, State of the Union 2011).  But students aren’t even finishing high school.  Equality of education (i.e.-national standards) is not the same as equity in education (i.e.-equipping students what they need to be successful). Equity is unique to each school and each student.  Without addressing concerns equitably, the achievement gap will continue to widen.

It's Time to Take a Risk, Sweetheart

My whole life I have played the safe game.  I did well in school because it was what I was told to do.  I played sports because that’s what you did after school.  I went to college because nobody ever told me I had other options.  And I graduated-as if I even had a choice. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I love, love, love the education I have been blessed to receive and I wouldn’t have changed that for the world.  And yes, I wanted to do well in school, and go to college, and graduate, and get a Master’s degree, and yadda, yadda, yadda…so on and so forth.  But never in my life have I ever felt like I took a risk on anything.  Everything has always worked out and doors have always opened for me at just the right moment.  It’s almost as if I wasn’t in control of my own fate- which now that I think about it, seems ironic to consider that you could ever even control fate in the first place.  And now, at 24, I feel like the life that I was supposed to be living has turned into a life of mediocrity. 

Mediocrity?  That is not what I envisioned for my life at all.

The whole idea of taking a risk scares the shit out of me.  It’s that fear of failure that I dread.  Or maybe it's the fear of the unknown.  But, the more I ponder my life, I see it taking one of two directions.  Either, I play the safe game and go through life out of harm’s way, never really knowing what I could achieve, or, I take a risk.  A huge risk.  And achieve things I never in my life imagined possible.

Now, take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk (thanks, Dalai Lama).  Did Bill Gates know what he was doing when he dropped out of college?  Yeah, I know what you are thinking.  He’s pretty much a genius but while he was at Harvard, he had no definite study plans.  (By the way, Bill Gates and I have the same birthday. And Julia Roberts, too.  Coincidence? You decide.)  You see, the problem with playing it safe is that certain things aren’t allowed to be explored.  Human potential is limited.  And creativity is snubbed.

So, here I am.  Twenty-four years old.  Intelligent.  Capable.  Desperate for a challenge.  I think it’s time to take a risk, sweetheart.

The Imperfectionists

The Imperfectionists 

by Tom Rachman

A Review

One of the best books I have ever read.  I literally got to the end and the first thing I thought was, “I need to read that again.”

The book takes place in Rome and is centered on the lives of an English language newspaper’s staffers and the foibles that characterize each of them.  Every chapter, or headline, as it is laid out, tells the story of one employee or reader of the paper.  As to be expected, the people are all linked to each other throughout the book, and you will find yourself understanding a character more and more as you read into each of their separate but interlaced lives.

Journalism, a career perceived to be so glamorous, is exposed for the grime and dirt that is accompanied with it.  More importantly, the journalists and readers in this novel are seen for what they are, humans- with fault.  Each facing his or her own "imperfections," they go through life facing what they must and making the best of what they have.  Interestingly, their jobs and their lives are at the mercy of the- stay with me here- newspaper’s founder’s grandson, who could not care in the least about the fate of the empire his grandfather built and believed in.

What makes this book unique and particularly enjoyable is its ability to capture the essence of human flaw and emotion.  It digs deep into the souls and pulls out insights of the psyche- a profound understanding of human nature that sometimes we cannot even grasp in our own thoughts and of our own minds. But, Rachman never makes his characters more than what they are- ordinary people.

At times, I found my heart wrenched in the despair and loneliness of a particular character.  Other times, I was laughing at the ridiculous and haughty nature of another.  The characters became important to me because they were real.  Relatable.  I saw bits of myself in each of them.

The Imperfectionists, filled with humor and sentiment, is a true gem, a must read.  A novel so good that when you get to the end you will think, "I need to read that again."

Little Rock, Arkansas

Little Rock.  It is a city that would probably never make your list of top ten places to visit in your lifetime.  Yet, Little Rock holds a rich piece of American history that became one of the many defining moments of the Civil Rights Movement.  If you don’t know what happened there, you should read about it.  The story is an incredibly inspiring account of life after segregation for nine young African American students.  At the time, I don’t think they realized the magnitude of change that their actions would reach.  But with remarkable courage and unvarying bravery, these nine young people fought not only for their own civil rights, but for the civil rights for all African Americans.  

After the Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1954, which overruled the “separate but equal” doctrine, the courts mandated that desegregation in the schools must begin.  However, the way in which schools were supposed to do this was unclear, and many schools remained as they were, “separate but equal.”  It wasn’t until 1957, three years later, that the Brown v. Board of Education decision would be put to the test.  The governor of Arkansas, Governor Faubus, believed that it was unconstitutional to require schools to integrate and used the National Guard to bar African American students from entering Little Rock Central High School.  However, nine African American high school students aged 14-16 voluntarily transferred to Central High School to fight for their rights.  They rightfully believed that separate could never be equal and although they would not be allowed to participate in any extracurricular activities at Central High School, they knew that if they did not take a stand now that things would never change.  So, they endured physical and verbal harassment for the entire school year.

In visiting Central High School, you can really feel the scale of importance of the Little Rock Nine’s courageous acts.  Their bravery is incredibly inspiring and serves as a reminder that separate is not equal and we must continue to advocate for our students, providing equity in educational opportunities for all.

When I took a look at our travel schedule for this year, I thought Little Rock was going to be my least favorite place to visit.  Now, as I reflect on the experience, it was my favorite trip so far.  The knowledge and perspective I gained from a town so different from my own is indescribable.  I think everyone should get a chance to see something like that.

Enticed

So I have begun working on another story.  This time, I'm actually in love with the idea and will work on constructing my first novel while being enrolled in a fiction writing course through LMU Extension for the next five weeks.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, but my goal is to have a novel finished and published before I turn 25.  Ten months to go...

Here is the premise:
What if a young woman who couldn't put the past behind her had an opportunity to travel into the past and change it but realized that by changing one detail, she would lose everything?  It is the story of a woman who fought to gain back her life after realizing the past is a part of who you are-changing it changes everything.

As always, I appreciate feedback.  Keep checking back for more updates!
Love,
T Leigh

Butterfly

           I hopped in my brand new car and started to head home.  It was only a month old, but the dirt and smog just sat there on the pearly white paint mocking my efforts to fit in.  I couldn’t afford this car.  I couldn’t even afford to give it the $10 car wash that it so greatly deserved.  But I drove it like I had the money.  Like I didn’t need the money setting me back almost $500 every month for the next six years. 

A few short minutes later, I arrived home.  Trudging up the front steps, I fumbled through my purse looking for my keys.  Unlocking the front gate and then the front door, I pushed it open and found him sitting there on the couch watching television.  When he saw that I was home, he immediately muted the TV and got up to give me the greatest teddy bear hug and kiss on the forehead, just as he always did.  He offered to make me breakfast for lunch and although I was exhausted and not very hungry, I let him.  There was something about the way he always cooked for me that made him so much more attractive.  It was his way of telling me he loved me, without ever having to actually say the words.  He promised to take me with him to Germany and as he sautéed the spinach and onions and folded together the tomatoes and eggs to make the most perfect omelet, I watched him and I fantasized about our life together there.  He promised that we would be leaving very soon, within the next couple of months.  Foolishly, I let my head and my heart agree to follow him.  There was nothing holding me back.  As much as I loved my friends and roommates, I hated living in that house.  I hated sleeping on the couch.  I became dependant on the idea that we were going to escape all our troubles together.

            I was basically hooked on him.  Addicted to how he made me feel- like I was the only girl in the world who understood him, who cared for him, who loved him.  At nights, we would sneak out through the kitchen door, passing the laundry room, to the side of our house for our nightly routine.  He would pull from his pockets a small clear baggie, the tiniest little pipe he claimed gave you a quicker, better high, and his blue lighter.  It was the one he said matched the color of my eyes when I was happy.  He packed the bowl and I stared straight ahead into the winding vines and thick brush of leaves that covered the fence we shared with the neighbors.  Every time we came out here I stood in disbelief that I was about to smoke. Again.  The first time I smoked with him was because he told me it would help me sleep.  He said I would be able to tune out all the background noise of the video games that were being played until dawn the next day.  The first night I excused myself to the bathroom to splash water on my face.  Looking up, I noticed that my eyes had become puffy and red from sleep deprivation.  I decided to give it a try. Almost two months later, I came to rely on the sleep I got when I was high.

            So there we were outside in the dark once again.  The side of our house was our safe little alley way, hidden from streetlights and passer-bys.  He took a hit and passed it to me.  My turn.  I always turned away as I lit it up.  I don’t know if I didn’t want him to see me because I was more embarrassed of my techniques or ashamed that this became the one thing I needed to calm myself down at nights.  I lit the smallest green plant and watched it cherry in the dark night signaling that it was ready for inhalation.  I brought the pipe to my lips and took a deep breath in closely watching the red consume more of the green.  The vivid colors and the way it burned fascinated me so much so that I got lost in time.  I held my breath for as long as I could and passed it back to him.  Slowly, I began to exhale.  The smoke made one long strand to the sky, wisps through the air like a spider web.  It began to swirl around in the night leisurely taking the form of a claw that made its way into my mind releasing it of any clarity I thought I had.  It reminds me of the melodic accent of Ariel’s voice curling towards the seashell necklace when Ursula seizes it by making her sing.  That’s how I envision it happening anyways.  I soon became consumed with everything around me.  I could hear even the tiniest of details in the night- the conversation taking place three doors down, the crickets chirping, the news that played on the tv. I felt everything.  The slight breeze rustled through my hair, which I had let fall ever so softly across my shoulders and down my back.  At times, small strands made their way across my forehead and he reached up to sweep it off my face.  The wind raised the little hairs on my arms sending a chill down my spine. At the same time, he rested his hand, equally strong and gentle, on my shoulder.  He let his fingertips trace my collarbone as they found their way up the flesh of my neck, lifting my chin ever so slightly.  My eyes met his and the wings of the butterflies inside my stomach began to flutter.