"I ain't even white." |
I tried so hard as a teacher to be the personification of racial reconciliation. I have been in the two most extremely homogeneous environments I can imagine: Boyertown, Pennsylvania and Southwest Philadelphia. From a population of 96.8% white (.5% Black) to a community with one of the highest African immigrant populations in the country in a school with a demographic of 100% students of color, my life was all topsy-turvy. Neither is actually diverse. Overwhelmingly at home, people are white. Overwhelmingly at school, people are black.
Sidebar: I like to consider myself as an Apple product. I'm constantly changing and creating new versions of myself. I think I'm on Miranda 10.2. Trying to seek out truth in all circumstances is so difficult when I feel confronted from all angles with biased agendas full of propaganda. That brings me to Miranda 10.1: teacher me. As I learned and stretched and uncomfortably grew into a deeper knowledge of the world, I realized how much work still needed to be done in the realm of racial reconciliation. (At this point, if you believe that racial tension isn't real and is a product of biased, liberal media, then the rest of my words will not be of importance to you. But I implore you to reconsider from the bottom of my teeny heart.) There was a present distrust of white people in my students and admittedly in some of my coworkers. I was considered by one of my coworkers as their "first real white friend," and I accepted that title with all the humility I could muster. Every day I spent with my students had to be spent pursuing an environment of peace and safety and love because of this weird, unknown, and unprecedented relationship between them and the white lady. I have whole-heartedly confessed to having inaccurate, preconceived notions about Philadelphia and minorities. My lack of experience and exposure to the world limited my view of it, and I learned so much just by living life with my students each day. I loved every second. **(At this point, please keep in mind the verse in 1 Corinthians 13 about how "when I was child, I thought like a child." It'll come up later). It was also hard. Like really, really hard. It was little me versus a failed education system, 130 students with individual stories and problems and heart-wrenching lives, poverty, and 200 years of white privilege. I never, not once thought I was a savior. I actually spent so much of my time assuring myself that I was nobody's savior (a thing I know to be true). But all of those things that existed in society compounded to build this unbelievably heavy, thick, problematic wall between me and an experience I will never know: being black. And I'm not in the business of building more walls, so I spent two years trying to deconstruct this one. I learned a few things. In reality I learned one million things at a rate of 792 per second. But I tried to boil them down into simple, manageable pieces. I learned that being white is a privilege. I learned that having white guilt doesn't help. I learned that education is way more important than race. I learned that your worldview is shaped by your upbringing and that your upbringing can be wrong. I learned that being black can be painful, and I will never understand that pain. I learned that love truly does conquer all. I learned that reconciliation can only happen if people talk to each other. Welcome to Miranda 10.2: post-first teacher Miranda. Here are the definitions I found of reconciliation: 1. The restoration of friendly relations 2. The action of making one view or belief compatible with another There are always 2 forms of reconciliation going on in my mind and heart and life at all times: one is an attempt at racial reconciliation, the other is reconciliation of my worldview and reality. The first is relatively self-explanatory. I desire a friendly, dare I say loving, relationship between all races. The second is something I learned my last semester of college, which is the idea of pursuing truth. This sounds so dumb, but it really blew my mind when I thought about it (shout out to Dr. Schaefer at Grove City College). Everyone thinks they're right until they think they're wrong. When I think about that deeply, every thought that I have is me thinking that I'm right until something comes along that says, "HEY, YOU'RE AN IDIOT, PRINCESS." And then my brain short-circuits, and I'm uncomfortable because all this time, I've been wrong. But there's something that actually scientifically occurs in your brain when you are confronted with an idea counter what you've always thought. Your neurons take a particular pathway when you think about something over and over again. Like a habit. The more your neurons fire in that particular direction, the more ready your neurons are to take that same pathway to the same conclusion every time the same thing comes up. So when you're confronted with a counter-argument that defies your previous neurons' experiences, your brain is literally short-circuiting. (Not really). But it's uncomfortable as heck, and your neurons are trying to figure out how to attach those thoughts onto something that makes sense to you (look up schema in educational psychology). So basically I spent a lot of my time teaching being just utterly and completely uncomfortable with an electronic disaster happening in my mushy thought center. It was the definition of Do Hard Things by Alex Harris combined with Dangerous Minds with a hint of Freedom Writers. I left that place with my head held high and my heart humbled. My students graduated with the truth that not all white people hate them, and there are some white people that believe in them with such passion that they will make it rain with tears as they get their high school diplomas. Maybe one of them will even sing R. Kelly with them on stage at graduation. Here I am, two years and some change later, wondering what my former students are thinking as they watch a rich, white man spew hatred at their communities as he attempts to be elected to the highest possible position of power in their country. And I can't help but feel that the bricks I have been heaving from this wall are being haphazardly reassembled to form a fortress of ignorance, fear, and refusal to communicate. I have been dreading writing this post. I have feared backlash for so long. I currently am living in California, approximately 3,000 miles from my hometown in white, middle class Pennsylvania. I shouldn't really be anxious about anything (the Bible says so, but also distance and stuff). The only conversation I really experience from the "church community" I grew up with is via social media. The most disappointing realization I have had regarding the "church" as an institution during this election (in my personal experience) has been the creation of an atmosphere of judgement and closed-mindedness that results in a fear of idea-sharing for the sake of pushing a right-winged political agenda. I am in complete support of expressing one's opinions, beliefs, and thoughts (yay 1st amendment), but only if it means everyone can without fear. Everyone. I have had 4 women approach me privately that they agree with my opinions, but they feel they cannot speak for fear of the hateful repercussions. Oh, that makes my heart so sad. That is not loving. That is not fostering democracy or freedom. I am a young, little lady, and I do not claim to know everything, but I have some unique experience here that maybe you don't. Maybe. Maybe you've never grown up your whole childhood around white people, then live your whole adulthood around black people. It's awesome. You should try it sometime. So on behalf of all of the women scared into silence, I write how righteously angry I am that I feel Donald J. Trump is undoing all of my tireless work, sleepless nights, and relentless tears I poured out over my students. Over the death of my mistaken worldview. Over the pain of my nation's history about which I knew little. In all reality, it is not Mr. Trump himself. It is the countless people I have experienced that are willing to "push a platform" at the risk of alienating even further the minorities of this country because it is in the best interest of their privilege. And I know, I know, I know how excruciating this is. The neurons are firing every which direction trying to make sense of all of the politically, socially, racially charged statements flying about. But to me, this is what reconciliation looks like. I have been and continue on this journey of "making one view or belief compatible with another." And I have come to the conclusion that if two beliefs are not compatible, one of them must be wrong. As I pursue truth, "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right," I must then "put the ways of childhood behind me." The most famous passage of Scripture in 1 Corinthians 13 (or One Corinthians in the New American Trump Version), describes love in such beautiful detail. It is often used at weddings and in churches to represent what perfect love is. Immediately following that, in this strange shift, Paul talks about how we don't know anything (technically he says we know in part/like a reflection in a mirror). He fully admits to his limited knowledge of the earth and of eternity and says he wouldn't dare claim to know such things like he used to. Because when he was child, he talked like a child, thought like a child, spoke like a child. But he has put his childish ways behind him. And he ends with the infamous quote that out of all the faith and all the hope, "the greatest of these is love." You could be right about everything in the universe, but if you're a jerk about it, you got nothing. If we speak of this election like we know better, but have not love, we are clanging symbols. We are nothing. The only reason I bring up Paul is to challenge those who believe in both the Bible and the Republican candidate. I'm not asking anyone to change their minds, I'm asking for someone to listen. To listen without being condescending. Without assuming you know what is right. Without claiming a candidate is being used by God. Without thinking that because I won't vote for Donald, it must mean I'm a Democrat, and therefore you know how I think about every issue ever. Without responding with a tone of trying to "save me" from the left. I don't need to saved, I need to be heard. Therefore, my statement is this: What Donald J. Trump has explicitly and implicitly condoned is not compatible with my worldview. This is my painful reconciliation. This is my truth. This is my love.
0 Comments
|
AuthorA young woman trying to figure out why she matters and where she belongs in a struggling, urban culture. CategoriesArchives
November 2016
All stories, opinions, and suggestions are written strictly by the author of this blog, and do not reflect the opinions or stance of Communities in Schools of Philadelphia.
Photography by:
|