In the Thick of Things

Seth Godin posted on his blog today about the world of possibilities in relation to a hiker called Wolf who carries 14 pounds of weight on his treks. For you non-hiking, non-camping people out there, 14 pounds is sort of like the four-minute mile: theoretically impossible, but somehow achievable by the elite few.

In the the story Godin referred to, the McDuffy couple was inspired by Wolf. Each time the McDuffy couple returned from their hikes, they gave away more of their stuff, including a boat, pickup, and windsurfer. Ultimately, they stopped paying for insurance on their home and belongings because they knew that they could live, "...in a much smaller house with drastically fewer possessions."

Having just renegotiated my homeowners' insurance and purchased an umbrella policy to further protect all of my things, this story struck a chord with me. Just how much stuff does one person need to survive? How much food, how much furniture, how many cars, how many toys? I probably spend more money on flowers to make my deck pretty each spring than some families spend on food in two months. Then I water those flowers three or four or five times a week, and they die at the end of the season.

In mouse type at the bottom of the article, it says that both of the McDuffys were killed in hit-and-run accidents (two separate accidents two years apart) while riding their bikes. It struck me how unjust that was--they were doing a fantastic job figuring out the whole life thing, and then they were taken from it. But then I realized that they had probably learned all they needed to in this world and were ready to move on to another plane of existence.

My umbrella insurance policy and I are nowhere near that plane, but I am inspired. I am thinking.

An Eye for an Eye

Driving through a neighborhood last week with my sister, not too far from my house, she pointed out a bumper sticker that says, "Hatred of homosexuals is a family value." I'd like to make a bumper sticker that says, "Hate is not one of my family values."

Talking with a neighbor a couple of months ago, I learned that some neighbors were very vocal about "those people" (Latinos) moving into a house down the street. "Those people" volunteered to help us move our mountain of mulch just to be nice, by the way.

In a meeting with a few faculty members at DU, one person talked about how she cried her way through her PhD program. It's where she experienced full-fledged "body hatred" by others (the PhD students in the program) for the first time.

I am in support of the first amendment. I acknowledge that everyone is at a different point on a continuum of experience and awareness. I try to meet people where they are, and I expect them to meet me where I am.

But where's the love, for cryin' out loud? Where's the understanding, the patience, and the caring? Where's our humanity? Are we so wrapped up in ourselves and our own problems that we have not an ounce of compassion left over for anyone else? I wonder how to stop the cycle, and two of Gandhi's teachings come to mind:

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.

We must become the change we want to see in the world.

And to that I say YES!

Inclusiveness in the Classroom

I joined the Inclusive Excellence Faculty Community at the University of Denver this fall, and we had our first orientation meeting this week. One of the participant's comments keeps coming back to me: "It's not always the responsibility of the underprivileged to point out the mistakes and privilege of the people in power." Some of the black folks and white allies in the group agreed that they do get burned out on it. Then another participant quoted Bishop Desmond Tutu who said something to the effect of, "To be silent in the face of oppressor is to be allied with the oppressor."

Can you tell that these people are some of the best minds in the academic world? And then there's practical, realistic me. When we talked about barriers to creating inclusive excellence in the classroom, I said that it reduces my hourly rate and cuts into billable time. Seriously, I tracked my hours spent on class last quarter, and after accounting for my time and expenses, I grossed (that's before taxes) somewhere around $13.50 an hour. Another adjunct tells me, "You're better off working at Wendy's." Well, not quite, but it is a labor of love, for sure.

What is the driving force that pushed me to become involved in this group, which means more meetings and discussions and emails? One of my core values is continuous improvement, and that's high up on the list of motivating factors in this case. I want to constantly evolve into a higher state of being, and I want to be a better teacher every time I teach. And it's also a forgiving group that will provide some basic peer support, which is pretty much absent for adjunct faculty. I get to talk to people who struggle with the same issues I do, and they'll tell me it's OK when I screw up; it's all a journey.

Forgiveness and support and a push to be a better person. It's like Nirvana for me, actually. So forget my hourly rate. I'll consider it a cheaper solution than therapy.

Deconstructing the Movie "Up"

The Pixar movie "Up" was the first kid movie I've seen in the theater in a long, long time. I took Consuelo, my mentee, to see it because it got excellent reviews and it was not about violence. (You try picking an appropriate movie to take a 13-year-old girl to see; it's tough. Holy bursting bombs, Batman.)

On the face of it, it's not your typical superhero movie. An old white guy with a big schnoz and a little round Asian-American kid were the heroes. The evil crazy guy was white. The little girl likes to pretend she's a pilot. The dopey dog is the one who finds the treasure. In the end, the old white guy ends up subbing as the Asian-American kid's dad, so it's obviously pro-nontraditional family.

But this is how privilege works. On the surface, it's fighting a lot of the stereotypes. So hooray for them, right? But then I started thinking about it, and I found a dozen reinforcements of the messages of privilege. Hmm, let's see:

-The bad, evil dog is black. How obvious can you get?
-The black dog gets his comeuppance and is put in his place in the end.
-The little kid is fat and is portrayed as weak because of it.
-The kid doesn't have a mom and a dad, because how could a person of color have a happy family?
-Not being able to have children causes the white couple much sadness, because it's not normal for couples not to have children.
-The little girl who wanted to be a pilot and an adventurer ends up being a housewife.
-Only boys are adventurers.
-The fat kid can't control himself when it comes to eating. (Well, duh, because that's why all fat people are fat, right? They eat too much chocolate.)
-The old guys either get fat and ugly or mean and crazy.
-The bird, who is different from everyone else, is hunted her whole life.
-Marriage is between a man and a woman.
-Heroes are able-bodied and able-minded.

I'm sure there are many more that I didn't catch because I'm too immersed in the social messaging associated with my privilege. But scrutinizing what seems OK at first and realizing that it's maybe not so OK after all helps me to not perpetuate and support the status quo. I do wonder, though, what messages Consuelo took from it. We'll have to discuss.

Out with the Old

I was doing some research for an article, and I ran across this blog called "stuff white people do" (written by a white guy, by the way). One post was about the casual way American's toss around the word "Nazi," as in "the soup Nazi" from Seinfeld, the "parking Nazis" who give you tickets, etc. Perhaps you have used this word in passing or in conversation. I have. And in so doing, I have cheapened it and made what the Nazis did much less horrible by comparing it to my own inconsequential problems.

How many other words do we use every day that trivialize people's pain and suffering and cover up our own bleak history of privilege? Here are a few I can think of that really have no place in our lexicon:

rape, as in "The banks are raping us with those high interest rates."

butt hurt (I have not used this one--it's new on the scene of twenty-somethings and makes my stomach flip every time I hear it), as in "She was butt hurt because he didn't call her back right away."

slave, as in "That intern will be your slave for the summer" or "I slaved over a hot stove all day."

retarded, as in "Those song lyrics are so retarded."

And don't even get me started on swear words. We live in a Christian-dominated society, yet "Jesus Christ" has become an accepted curse, even when used by Christians. Being a non-Christian, I started thinking about how my use of these words would be offensive to some of my more faithful friends and have begun retraining my brain.

Does your language reflect your respect for other people, their beliefs, and their lifestyles? Mine doesn't always, but I'm thinking about it, and trying hard to match my mouth to my mind.

The Pretty Privilege

I attended the Pedagogy of Privilege conference at DU this week. After a day of self-evaluation, reflection, identifying the roots and triggers of my prejudices, and talking to others about how I fight oppression and whether it's enough, I was utterly exhausted. Another attendee said to me as we walked from one building to another, "I feel this so much at the core of my being. I feel everything so powerfully. Now I want to go home and put on my sweats and read a trashy novel." I knew exactly what she meant.

I purposely started the day with something that I thought would be a bit lighter, a workshop on "the pretty privilege." Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I think that any privilege is laughable or unimportant, but you know me when I have to get up early: I just couldn't face workshops about pornography or race hatred first thing in the morning. I need copious amounts of coffee before I can deal with the heavy-duty stuff.

The pretty privilege is this: in Western culture, we value women who are young, thin, and have symmetrical features. And there are lots of other characteristics that make one young, thin, symmetrical person prettier than another: blue or green eyes, long hair, blond hair, white skin, large breasts, tall (but not too tall), full lips, beautiful clothes, straight white teeth, and no wrinkles. But a preference or bias does not a privilege make. There has to be power, too.

So is pretty a privilege? One could argue that there are plenty of women who don't fit the profile who have power and money. One could argue that pretty is fleeting, because once you age or gain weight, you're not considered pretty anymore. But do the ones defined as pretty have more power than those who aren't? Do the good-looking ones enjoy privileges others don't? Oh, you betcha.

Research quoted in the workshop stated that people who were shown sets of faces assigned these characteristics to the prettier ones: happier, smarter, more balanced, and more successful, among others. Research shows that teachers give prettier girls better grades regardless of performance and regardless of the gender of the teacher. And there are plenty more examples where those came from.

The pretty girls who were studied had scathing and hateful comments about women who were older, overweight, or not dressed right. They called the women "whiners, socially inept, and lazy." "If they just tried harder and were less focused on immediate gratification [referring to fat girls], they could look better." Better, but not pretty. In fact, the researcher argued with them for hours about the fact that overweight women can and do see themselves as pretty. It was beyond the pretty girls' comprehension. "How could they possibly feel good about themselves?" they queried. Sigh. When asked how the pretty girls are stereotyped by those not part of the group, workshop attendees threw out terms like stupid, vain, shallow, self-involved, slutty, thoughtless, and rude.

So how can we fight pretty privilege? I make sure to show my self-confidence and my happy, outgoing personality around them (thus fighting the perception that I am lazy and socially awkward) and befriending them when possible. There is truth in the idea that once you know "one of them," you are less likely to stereotype the entire group. That works both ways.

Conspicuous Consumption

Along with the rest of the world, I've been rethinking how I spend money. At first it rankled, having to cut back and cut down. But in combination with the lessons I've learned (and continue to learn) about privilege, the "reducing, reusing, and recycling" is now something I'm proud of.

I'm refinancing the house and shopping insurance coverage. Gary does the grocery shopping more often because when he goes, nothing comes home that isn't on the list (this is an excellent use of his single-minded focus). Rather than making me feel put out, I now like leftovers because I used all the vegetables before they went bad AND I don't have to cook again. Rather than spending $50 on new plastic organizers, I found a perfectly serviceable wood alternative at the thrift store for $3. I think long and hard about buying anything if it's something I like to make myself and can do in a reasonable amount of time.

This is a sea change for Gary and me. We were conspicuous consumers (and still are relative to most of the world's population). I hope these lessons stick when things look up financially. But I feel it in my heart as well as think it, so I'm pretty sure they will.

Lessons in Collectivism

Mentoring someone from a different culture has been quite a lesson in humility. I thought I understood privilege, but I still get taken off guard when my assumptions come back to kick me in the teeth. I've noticed it the most with my ideas around giving and possessions. When I give someone a gift, I expect that it will remain the property of the person I gave it to and that the person will treasure it as a token of my esteem and affection. Not necessarily so.

Look, I understand regifting and giving stuff to the thrift store if you hate it, if you really hate it, or it doesn't fit or something. For years, my grandma gave me frou-frou sweaters that were two sizes too small for me. Wishful thinking on her part--that I liked teddy bears and sequins on my clothes and that I would somehow magically be thin. So those went to Goodwill. But having your sister or your mom or your grandma just take the gift that was given to you and do with it what she pleases is absolutely foreign to me.

And I guess that's the essence of cultural misunderstanding and privilege, isn't it? I judge that behavior, and I want to intervene. My big-sister protective gene kicks in. Who takes a little kid's stuff anyway?

My sister Lindsey, wise person and counselor-in-training that she is, says, "They're collectivists." Of COURSE! How did I miss this? Me, who believes that socialist medicine can peacefully co-exist with capitalism. But my training is so strong, and my individualism so carefully maintained, that I needed someone with a different perspective to point out the flaw in my thinking. My mentee's mom had hinted that I was spoiling her daughter--apparently taking her to free craft classes, giving her a pumpkin at Halloween, and going out for chicken at Boston Market is a big deal. And giving her things? I think somehow that doesn't fit with their idea of what a mentor should be and do.

So I'm adjusting my thinking. Gifts should be for the whole family. Everything is considered community property. The pumpkin was turned into food rather than the jack-o-lantern I expected. A necklace that little one made with my expensive vintage beads was broken on the first day, and the beads were lost. A birthday gift card was appropriated. And this family gave up a whole room for a relative and his kids to live in for several months until he can move back to his country of origin. They took in a third dog and fostered him until they could find him a home. They eat dinner together around a big table in the kitchen.

I have much to learn.

How Sustainable Are We?

Do you think about sustainability? I do--for nonprofit organizations, animal life, plants, and yes, my lifestyle. I live in a beautiful suburban neighborhood in a little 60s ranch house with big trees and a garden I've spent seven years creating. In Mexico, eight family members would live with me. We'd raise some of our own food on the land. I buy cooked, sliced chicken at Costco that comes in a plastic resealable bag that isn't recyclable. But it's convenient.

I also think about privilege (race, religion, gender, socioeconomic class, heterosexuality, gender role identification, education, body shape/size... the list goes on and on) and how it affects sustainability. Clearly, those who have privilege get to make the rules at the expense of the have-nots, even if that means we ruin it for others. Throwing away trash, throwing away recyclables, throwing away productivity, throwing away people.

Oh, I do "my part"--don't get me wrong. I recycle more than I throw away. I buy used cars. I shop at the thrift store and get perfectly usable stuff for $3.50 instead of $35.00. I check out books at the library rather than buying new ones. With my money and my time, I support nonprofits that promote economic self-sufficiency and sustainability for women and girls. I make changes in my language to change perceptions about those who do not have privilege.

But my part seems so, so tiny.