I Am a Racist

On a whim, I decided to participate in this amazing Multicultural Awareness Carnival hosted by Bicultural Mom. I hope you will take the time to check out all the other great posts and raise your own awareness a little.

In my last semester of undergraduate study, I had a lot of space to fill. I decided to take a relatively generic graduate course in hopes that it would transfer as credit for my graduate degree. In this class, I became so aware of myself and of ever-present issues that are ignored I felt as though some day I could make a career out of it. Though that hasn't happened yet, I must say that Multicultural Issues in Counseling was one of the best courses I ever took.

It was because of this class that I learned how much psychology majors are sheltered to the work of other nations and how little they are prepared to work with anyone of a different race. In my four years of school, I was taught about white, western European men and white American men who led the way in all things related to psychology. These men studied white, middle-class people in their respective countries (predominantly male) and dared to generalize their findings to the entire human race.

Today, of course, we know this is not true and there are those who teach how to interact/counsel African Americans, Native Americans and Asians and to respect the differences in their cultures that may seem to go against everything we have been taught about psychology. However, these tidbits were few and far between and not necessarily in classes every psychology major took. How then can these students be released into the world and expect to have the knowledge necessary for every situation?

I would love to design a program that forces every psychology student (or even every student period?) to take a multicultural class. I would like to impart change on something so monumental, but we shall see if that is the path I follow.

On another note, this is not the topic I wanted to focus most on for this post. I cannot think of many movies that have had a profound impact on my life, but the one that I repeatedly call to mind is The Color of Fear, a film I saw in this class. This movie changed a part of who I am more so than almost anything I have ever seen (You can also read about one of the books that changed my life here).

This film chronicles a type of group therapy related to racism. Eight men (two white, two Hispanic, two Asian and two Black) sit in a circle and discuss their own, very personal experiences with stereotypes and their effects. This movie is very, very powerful. I believe everyone should see it and everyone's children should see it, when they are old enough. It is because of this film that I learned the truth; I am a racist. And the truth is, you are too.

Before you go into full attack mode, stress mode, hate mode or whatever, listen (or read, as is the case here). There is one man in the film who refuses to admit that he is a racist, yet he holds ridiculous stereotypes of all races as truths. You can feel the frustration of all the other men in the room as they try to help him realize what he is saying and it is, at times, agonizingly painful to watch this man act so ignorant.

Another man in the film openly admits that he is racist almost from the start. It is a fact that he has declared about himself and is trying to work through. This man was my inspiration for admitting to myself that I am racist and since that time, I have been putting forth the effort to change. This is no easy task, mind you; It is not as though one day you can wake up and stop being racist. But even if it takes the rest of my life, I will never stop fighting it.

I have never uttered a racial slur. The "N" word offends me. I empathize with those cultures who are consistently under attack by Hollywood and the media and I did not find 'Borat' or his other movie the least bit entertaining. I have never felt more fear in my life that I did the first time I saw a documentary about the Ku Klux Klan. The Holocaust holds a special place in my heart because every time I think of it, my soul cries.Yet, I am still a racist. Say it with me.

"I am a racist." Yes, you are. Be honest. The first step is always to admit you have a problem. My mother taught me to be tolerant of all people. Church taught me to be tolerant of all people. Society taught me to be racist. And it probably taught you too.

When I walk into a store, am walking down the street or driving in a city and I see a Black person, a part of me cringes. I know in my head that this is a ridiculous response, yet I cannot help it. When I go to a store where Hispanic people are working, I feel stand-offish. And you know what? I am half Hispanic. 


That is racist.


Why do I do this? Again, my mother never told me to be afraid of Black people or to disrespect Hispanic people, especially because I am one. But the news has. When we see African Americans portrayed on the news, how do they look? Do they look angry, mean, thug-like? Are we told to be "on the look out" for men who look like this because they are dangerous? When Black people are interviewed on the local news, how often are they from a lower class neighborhood where they do not speak "high" English? What's that? You don't see African Americans interviewed on the news? I don't much either.

Change the channel. How many shows about Black people do you see? Hispanic? Asian? And the ones you do see, how are those individuals portrayed? Do they all have Ph.D.'s and sit around discussing philosophy? Now let's turn the table. What about White people? How often do you see the same plot lines over and over again that do nothing but make us seem like complete idiots?

"Oh no! I lost my wedding ring! Watch me go through a million hilarious hijinks to try and get it back but learn a lesson in the end that I could have learned in the first place had I just talked to my spouse." Ha ha ha. Not.

What are we learning in this country? What are we teaching each generation, to fear? To disrespect? To look for stereotypes, and if we can't find any, make them up?

Change starts with me. And change starts with you. We can expose our children to every available culture, every inch of history and every known false stereotype to make them understand that we are all human. Every idiosyncrasy in every culture is "normal." It may not be normal to me, but it is normal to someone and that should be respected. I do not want to be a racist, but I am. Every day I make that effort so that one day I can honestly say otherwise.

Good Job, OK?

 

This post is part of The Peaceful Housewife's Natural Parenting Blog Party.


Dionna at Code Name: Mama and Jennifer at Hybrid Rasta Mama recently wrote two fabulous posts. Dionna discussed 7 Alternatives to Telling Your Child "Good Job!" and Jennifer talked about The OK Phenomena, two very interesting issues in the world of parenting. I loved each post because they gave fantastic alternatives and explanations as to why these are bad habits to fall into and difficult to overcome. As I read both of these posts, I thought to myself, "Self, I'm glad I don't do these things. Looks like I'm on the right track." Unfortunately, something happened that I did not intend (I sound like I'm in Lord of the Rings here, but let's go with it).

The same way that psychology students suddenly have every mental disorder they study, I started unintentionally saying "OK?" at the end of my sentences and "Good job!" where I never have before! How could something like this happen to me, a person who is normally so conscious of what she says and how she says it, especially to her children? I don't read posts about not spanking children and then subsequently spank them; I don't read articles about how bad high fructose corn syrup is and then give it to my children, so why this? What made these two articles different?

First I must say that I have great respect both for Dionna (who does a million things and still manages to be a mother) and Jennifer (who is so sweet and insightful she is sure to make anyone feel good) and I consistently enjoy their thoughts on each of their respective pages. I completely absolve them of all responsibility; my actions are my own.

I think that when I read these articles, I suddenly became so conscious of the words they mentioned that they kept floating to the surface in my brain when I was speaking. I was trying so hard not to say them that they were all I could say. Well obviously I wasn't going to entertain this manner of speaking when it naturally opposed how I normally try to speak, so I needed to make some quick changes before these words became part of my new vocabulary.

First, I consciously cleared my mind every time I wanted to say, "Good job!" or "OK?" I also do this in place of saying, "No!" too hastily (and will post about all that eventually) and I find it to be fairly effective for myself. Purposely pausing before saying anything can really make a difference.

I've also started to twist the words around or use a substitute word. Sometimes when I want to say, "OK?" I say, "Understand?" instead. While that may not be any better, it has helped me to not make ending every statement with a question as if I don't know what I'm talking about. When I say, "Understand?" it falls clumsily out of my mouth and makes me not want to say anything.

Even though Dionna gives a list of what to say or not say instead of "Good job!", I've started to come up with my own creative ways of saying something positive in place of the generic. Sure, sometimes I might just say, "Yay!" or "That was great!", but I also tell whoever it is that that was a really nice thing to do, it made so and so very happy. I'll also say things like, "Look what you did!" in a way to help initiate pride in my child.

I will never stop trying to be a better parent. That means I will never stop reading articles, posts or comments that will help me change positively. I know that sometimes I may take a step or two back, but as long as I keep thinking creatively and focus on the action I am trying to change, I can achieve anything.

Hoffman Week, Day 5: Creative Writing

 Eulogy

I would have loved to give a eulogy at Barbara Hoffman’s funeral, though I would have been ridiculously nervous and probably would have started crying. I was not asked to honor her on this occasion (nor do I think any of her former students were) so in lieu of that, I have compiled what I would have said on that day (tears or no tears).

I cannot construct enough words to represent how much it meant to me to have you as a professor. The fact that you waited until my final semester at Marywood to pass on to your next form is significant to me in innumerable ways. You were a tremendous asset to my Marywood career, without which I do not know if my love of writing and literature would have grown so deep.

I may have been persuaded to take your class by my mother, but the reason I kept coming back was the relaxed atmosphere you created and your genuine nature. You brought extra dimensions to the class every time you showed us personal photos, artifacts or other trinkets that you collected over the years from all over the world. You may have not had any biological children, but you had the freedom and the means to educate yourself through visitation and you brought those experiences to your extended family of students. To me, that was invaluable.

You cracked me up. You inspired me. You made me feel as though I could write anything at all and it would be the most amazing piece of work you had ever seen. I rejoiced in the freedom I felt in your classes; the freedom that starts with a prompt and ends in a fully constructed piece of writing from the creative heart. This same freedom allowed me to feel less like you were a professor and more like a mentor or guru, one I should learn from and follow. You laughed at yourself and the mistakes you made over the course of your life, painting a picture that placed all of us on the same level. Nevertheless, I placed you on a pedestal.

I know that our time on Earth is finite, but still I did not think you would leave your body so soon. I had hoped you would be there to attend my graduation and the party afterwards. I had really hoped that you would attend my wedding. Further, I hoped I would be able to introduce my children to you and that they would be able to learn something from you in that and future meetings.

Was I disappointed when you left your human form? Yes, of course. So much so that I still feel intense sadness to this very moment. To be at peace with a person’s passing does not mean that one cannot still feel sad. I know it would disappoint you to have anyone still grieving for you for years after your death, but that is not what I am doing. My period of grief is long gone, but I still miss being in your presence.

Iborrowed this image. 

Today, I honor you. I will continue to honor your life with mine as long as I write. Though I may miss physically visiting your office to seek your advice, I am consoled in the idea that as long as I write from my soul, you would be proud. To your spirit, wherever you are, Namaste.

My Body, My Temple

This post is part of The Peaceful Housewife's Natural Parenting Blog Party.


For the past 3 years, I have been either pregnant or nursing (or both). Though this has been a time-consuming experience, I believe I am immensely blessed to have been able to nourish two other life-forms continuously for so long. I thank my body every day for the work it has done to ensure the health of both of my children, but it has been a long time since I knew my body as only my own.

My original goal for each child I would have was to nurse for a year and then take it from there. My belief was that the child would self-wean when desired and that would be it. Unfortunately, that did not work out with my first daughter who was forced to wean when my milk ran out during pregnancy. I think she was looking for milk, not colostrum, so the day it was no longer what she wanted was the last day she nursed. She cried and I felt like a failure. It was because of the anguish I felt at not being able to nurse her for at least a full year that my resolve to nurse her sibling as long as possible was strengthened.

When my second bundle was born, I knew what to do. I pumped excess when I could and froze it so that I would always have enough. I made sure to nurse her frequently, she slept with me, and when I went back to work part-time, I pumped (something I did not do previously). I also made sure to drink water consistently all day long and eat as many times a day as I could remember. Whatever I did, it worked and I have successfully nursed her past 1 year.

Last Easter

Now that my goal has been met, I feel a little odd. I have been allowing her to have control over the nursing relationship and with that control, she has gone down to nursing only once a day, in the morning when she wakes. It has been very gradual, getting to this point, but it brings the close of this relationship into light. I know that it is only a matter of time before I am no longer providing nutrition for her and though I prepare myself for it every day, I still have very mixed feelings. I look forward to having my body belong solely to me again, but I also feel like maybe I didn't try hard enough to keep nursing, knowing that the full benefit of breast milk extends well into the second year.

Whatever happens, whenever it happens, I will work with it. My body is my temple and I have been fortunate enough to share it with two children, giving myself to them the way mothers have for centuries. When this second nursing experience concludes, I will still be a mother. I will still make breakfast, change diapers and focus my energy on things that matter. Though my temple will no longer be physically open to rejuvenate the stomach, it will still serve as a place of worship, a place with welcoming, open arms and a place where each child can go to receive comfort and stability. 

Hoffman Week, Day 4: Plath, Sexton, and Co.

OK, I cheated. I've had such a horrible case of writer's block, but I didn't want to disappoint, so I have chosen to post this poem from the actual class I took. Unfortunately, this was also the last class she taught me as she passed away before the end of the semester. I wrote this poem in response to the movie, Girl, Interrupted. It's not the worst thing I ever wrote.

I remember what it was like to be sane.
The grass was green, the sky was blue
and life made sense, even to a school girl.
Then one day, it went dark.
They told me I had to figure my life out by the end of homeroom.
I needed to have a plan for my future, one that involved college
Studying
And not boys.
I realized then I didn’t know what I wanted.
I couldn’t.
I still don’t know how they expected me not to go crazy,
constantly being compared to the better, prettier, smarter girls
as if I wasted my existence on
cigarettes, dead trees and alcohol.
I wanted to write.
Apparently, that was crazy.

Inside those padded, brick walls I fell.
Fell into a state of confusion
bliss
remission
reflection on the world and all who claim to be in it.
Inside is a different world
free from judgment
shame
privacy
and free from any decision you might have to make on the rest of your life.
Free. It was far from free to be in here, but as luck would have it,
My parents had more money than love for me.

Where did it go, the “world” I once knew?
I’ve emerged from the prison,
walked the plank,
chewed and clawed through my chains
and for What?
I returned to a place where nothing has changed.
For once, I am whole, just as everyone seems to be
falling apart.
I hope some day they will realize
that sanity lies only in the willingness
to be crazy.

Hoffman Week, Day 3: Mid and Far East Literature

I didn't care what class Barbara taught, I was still going to take it. Even though I had no clue what Mid East Literature even consisted of, I relished at the opportunity to learn something knew from her. This willingness certainly paid off as I found one of my favorite books of all time through this class. 


If you haven't read The Tao of Pooh, I demand that you pick up a copy this instant and read it. No excuses. Your children can wait. ;)


I'm not lying when I say that this book changed my life. As I read it, I internalized every word as if he was speaking specifically to me. The practices and principles of The Tao resonated with me as nothing has before. While most of the characters surrounding Pooh worry about life or look at it with pessimism, Pooh just is. I strive to attain his level of consciousness, to be able to simply be.

I've always considered other cultures to be wiser and more progressive than our own in the US and Taoism is no exception. Ancient people all over the world were more connected to nature, connected to each other and to themselves than Americans will be in the next century. Though the actual Tao may be difficult to read in some respects, Benjamin Hoff's version brings all of its amazing qualities to a more comprehensible level.

I had several "Aha!" or "Yes!" moments while reading through this text. On page 21, Hoff writes "...the simple and the quiet, the natural and the plain." in order to describe Pooh's mindset. It was only after reading this phrase that I finally started to understand why Hoff chose to use these characters in his book. Though I used to watch 'Winnie the Pooh' as a child, I was often angry at Pooh and especially Tigger because Pooh seemed completely apathetic to anything and everything and Tigger consistently hurt others without getting into real trouble. In reality, Pooh is just in such a peaceful state of mind he has no need to over complicate life or situations and he sees true beauty in everything, even things often considered simple or plain. And Tigger, well, Tigger is still mean.

Another favorite quote of mine is, “Wisdom, Happiness, and Courage are not waiting somewhere out beyond sight at the end of a straight line; they’re part of a continuous cycle that begins right here.”(p. 137) Those of us in America seem to be constantly searching for the next best thing, for true happiness, or the item or person that will finally make our life complete. We do this as if we are going to be walking along one day and see happiness laying on the ground, waiting for us to pick it up. Pooh, on the other hand, has come to the realization that everything he needs to be happy is right in front of him, or rather, within him, and therefore he need not look any further.We have wisdom, happiness and courage every moment of every day but are too busy looking outside ourselves to utilize what is within us.

Next we have: “If people were Superior to Animals, they’d take better care of the world.”(p. 77) Take a moment to internalize that one. I know you've thought the same thing. Yes, animals fight and kill one another, but they do not do it for any reason other than survival (even males who fight other males over a female are simply trying to be the best in their pack, to survive.) Animals do not lie, over complicate things or analyze ideas to death. They simply exist. They respect the environment in which they live and they respect their neighbors. They don't eat when they're not hungry. They don't destroy things just because they can. We create so many problems for ourselves and blame others when we cannot find the right solutions. And People still think they are better than Animals?

Finally, I call upon this quote to brilliantly express my last point. “An Empty sort of mind is valuable for finding pearls and tails and things because it can see what’s in front of it. An Overstuffed mind is unable to.” (p. 146) When we are empty, we are at peace. We do not worry or stress or get upset or fight or get angry or desire. An empty mind is free to enjoy life for what it is and has everything it could want because it's not looking for anything. Emptiness does not mean you are dumb or blind or apathetic; it means you can allow all of the potential within you to come out in full force because it isn't being blocked by the cares of the world. Go ahead, strive to be empty. 

Did you read the book yet?

Hoffman Week, Day 2: Intro to World Literature

I must admit that I do not remember anything about this class, however, I know that as long as I make a good argument for my work, she will accept it. 

I miss you.

But I don't know why.
It's not as if I knew you that well, I mean
how well can you know someone who had an entire life before you.

So why should I miss you? I left for good reason.
I was happy to go because I wanted a new life.
I wanted to move on. To learn, to grow, to change.
Like you should.

I miss you. Time has passed but this remains true. Why can't I stop?

You never treated me specially. I was just another person in your life.
You hardly knew me and I know you didn't try to.
This made it easy to leave. But it was still hard.

Sometimes, I thought, I could walk away and never think of you again.
Sometimes, I can't stop thinking of you. I hate that I miss you.

But at least I admit it.

I'm sure not many people do.


I miss you. You were all I knew since birth. My home. My country.


But I would rather miss you than spend another minute within your walls.