Tag Archives: privilege

Prejudiced students

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In the past, I’ve talked about how prejudiced faculty members can be a barrier for students who are just trying to get through college without having to experience racism or sexism or whatever. But here is another piece: what happens when students alienate faculty members?

So, I used to go to a very “intellectually-rigorous” school; the student body was mainly composed of white upper-class individuals. Many were genuinely smart people who cared about intellectual discourse, but there were definitely some people whose parents had bought them education and schooling. One semester, I signed up for a course in African History that covered the slave trade, colonialism, and modern-day post-colonial issues. My class was pretty typical of the rest of the university: white upper-class prep-school graduates.

The professor was the chair of the department, and he had a PhD in the medical history of an African region (which I won’t name because I want to maintain my privacy). He had been studying African History for thirty or so years, and he had actually grown up in Africa, so I definitely respected his knowledge and range of experiences. One of my friends who had taken one of his classes said that he was very good at bringing in all of his knowledge and experiences – for instance, he told stories about the atrocities that colonizers had forced his grandparents to do, and then he’d tie it back to the lesson. So I was looking forward to the class.

However, from the very first day, many of the students acted as if they had superior knowledge to him. They were smart enough to get into this elite school, so they acted as if they were the smartest people in the world – which is a common problem at Ivy-League type schools. It’s just insulting how little they respected his expertise – it’s like a group of first-graders thinking that they are smarter than their teacher. Even if the student is naturally bright, the teacher still has more experience.

I don’t know if the students realized just how prejudiced and rude they were being, but they often would just keep carrying on the discussion among themselves instead of letting the professor chime in – they’d often talk over him, too. They would talk about their interpretation of the text, which was often full of racist and inaccurate notions that had absolutely no basis in fact. And they would often disrespect the terminology that my professor had outlined at the start of the semester – for instance, he pointed out that it is offensive to call African countries or ethnic groups ‘tribes’ because of the association of African peoples with primitive peoples, but the students would constantly say “tribe” in a context where it was not appropriate.

On the last day of class, our professor just didn’t moderate the discussion at all. He just sat back and let all the white kids say crap about Africa. That discussion was pretty horrible.

Throughout that entire semester, it was clear that the students’ unconscious or conscious racism – “black men are unarticulate and unintelligent” – was leaking through and affecting the class. It was awful. I had no idea how to handle it at the time. I ended up not doing anything, which I probably wouldn’t do today. Our professor often seemed weary in class, as if he dreaded coming to class – and, honestly, with that hostile attitude of the students, I don’t blame him.

It was disappointing because he couldn’t share his knowledge and expertise and experience. I did learn a lot from that class – for instance, we had to read How Europe Underdeveloped Africa by Walter Rodney, which caused me to completely rethink the relationship between Europe / the US and Africa. But I really wish that my fellow students could have respected my professor enough to let him share the knowledge that he had gained over his life of studying African history.

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Advice Animal

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Recently, I asked a queer coworker for advice about a queer-related issue. She gave me solid advice and I thanked her. Later that afternoon, I told another coworker – a straight woman who basically hadn’t even heard of LGBT people until a few months ago – about that conversation. Even though she is ignorant, she’s very willing to learn and is open-minded, so we get along. I told her about that conversation so that she’d see some of the nuances of the queer experience, but she offered me advice instead. Interestingly, she gave me the completely opposite advice than my queer coworker did.

Honestly, I’m going to take the advice of my queer coworker. As much as I respect and love people who belong to the privileged population, they simply can’t give advice as relevant as a fellow minority person’s. Someone who is in the same minority as I do has actually lived through similar situations, whereas somebody in the majority culture has no clue what it is like to be in that minority.

It was an interesting situation because I realized that this wasn’t the first time that I’ve gotten advice from non-minorities. That conversation with my straight coworker seemed awfully familiar. After I thought about it for a while, I realized that it reminds me of the advice that I got from my parents. My parents did the best they could, considering that they had had no exposure to queer culture or deaf culture prior to having me, but they were still straight and hearing when all was said and done.

When I was young, my parents were very big on me self-advocating with regards to my deafness. This was, for the most part, a good thing – many colleges and professional environments expect the deaf client to request what they need in order to get services, so learning how to advocate for myself from an early age was an extremely useful skill.

However, what my parents didn’t know is that there are times when a minority individual should choose his or her battles. Sometimes it is exhausting to constantly advocate for oneself. I learned on my own that, as noble as “advocating for myself” is, sometimes I just do not care about the small details in the face of much more oppressive problems. Thankfully, I had access to books about Deaf role models, so I could read about how they handled stuff and apply them to my own life.

Later on, similar things happened with my sexuality when I came out as queer. At first, my parents tried to explain my own sexuality to me. “You’re just confused,” that kind of thing. Of course, I ignored them in this area.

Then, later on, they tried to give me advice – my mom, especially, was very concerned about my safety in a manner disproportionate to the actual threats I face out there every day. I had to remind her that people aren’t gonna automatically know that I am queer and jump me; besides, I know how to handle myself and what social rules to follow in this world as a queer man.

It is all really interesting. I wonder about the motivations of people – sure, they’re just trying to be helpful, but what makes them think that they have advice to offer? I don’t mean to hate on advice-givers – it’s just that it’s a topic that’s irrelevant to your own life, so how do you expect to have knowledge about that topic?

Put it this way – it’s like if I tried to teach somebody how to crochet a baby sweater. I know absolutely nothing about crocheting or babies, so it’d be pretty ridiculous, right? Likewise, I think it’d be ridiculous for me to try to give a person of color advice about dealing with white racism.1 So… as much as I love straight people and hearing people who can be an audience for my venting, I don’t expect them to have any real in-depth knowledge of my experiences. So, I appreciate your intentions, but I can find my advice elsewhere, thank you very much.

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  1. Actually, this is something that I come across every day in work – what is my role in, for example, a discussion between two Hispanic students about the semantics of Hispanic/Latino/Mexican-American? []
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