You Should Care
All I want to say, is that they don’t really care
They don’t really care
About what?
about us.
We sang words of a master
of an
artist.
We wanted to scream
we’re tired
of injustice.
We kept to the beat
she smacked
the side of the lectern.
And we recited that still
We Rise
… but what does
it all mean…
I look down and my skin is white, eyes blue, brown hair
Typical white girl.
Until now, until these people,
I have been unaware of the privilege my skin gives me.
Now I feel guilty. Guilty that my color is something I can’t
control.
Something that no one can control. So why is it hated?
We talked
about bridges:
You can’t expect one person to be a bridge
You can’t use other people as a way to find yourself
You can, however, grow from the experiences of others
and from
how they made you feel.
Individuals.
Explanations.
They
all become the same.
Or
are they different?
You need to think for yourself, they say.
Learn for yourself.
Open your mind to love. Open your mind to:
DIFFERENCES
Everyone is different. Everyone has their own experiences.
That,
Is what
makes the world beautiful.
What does it mean though? “I’m sick of explaining, of
mediating, of translating.”
“of being a bridge to self discovery,” what does it mean?
What does
it mean for someone who doesn’t belong to a minority?
Like
me with my white skin and blue eyes?
Do you
become aware?
To become
aware to preach love instead of hate?
What do you
say to someone who has white privilege?
How
do you react?
To know
that I am an indirect cause of what they are angry about?
Perhaps
direct….
I
hope not direct.
We talked about s t r e t c h i n g or Dying.
What do I need to
stretch?
My muscles?
NO!
I need to stretch my understanding of differences
of stereotypes and their effects
of appropriation
of culture
of studies
of hatred
of love
how to
accept: how to solve injustice
The question is: Do you stretch? Or do you die?
I must open
my mind or forever die with out having truly seen the world
and the beautiful people in it.
I must
stretch my limits,
My experiences.
I must
stretch beyond my comfort zone….I don’t learn anything when I’m comfortable.
I sit in a
bubble. Bubbles that POP and SHOCK
A
bubble that until now I had unknowingly kept intact.
They took a needle to it, and popped it.
I, am now thanking them.
I, am now thanking them.
They took a needle to it, and popped it.
A
bubble that until now I had unknowingly kept intact.
I sat in a
bubble. A bubble that popped and shocked.
I must now
stretch beyond my comfort zone….I don’t learn anything when I’m comfortable.
My experiences.
I must
stretch my limits.
and to see the beautiful people in it,
I must open
my mind. Or I will forever die with out having truly seen the world.
The question is: Do I stretch? Or do I die?
How do I
accept? How should I solve injustice?
Love
Hatred
Studies
Culture
Appropriation
Stereotypes
Differences
These have all stretched my understandings.
My muscles are
now stretched. YES.
I’m
ready to go.
ready to raise awareness.
ready to break barriers.
ready to speak out.
ready to educate.
ready to learn that:
RACE is arbitrary.
WE are tired of all this injustice.
WE just want to scream.
HEAR THIS: You really should care.
About
us.
I am in awe of this poem as I feel that through its weaving words and empty spaces, it has perfectly captured my reluctance to speak (or should I say sing?) about race and all of its ramifications in our shared reality. I especially enjoyed the references to the mash up song we performed in class as well as how you put an extra space between each letter in “stretching” and then added even more space between it and “dying,” further proving that there are only two options so you have to start trying or you will be dying. I also felt that the reflection technique you used with minor changes between the two sets later in the poem was powerful. It really embodied the developing understanding and methods of articulation that I know that I am gaining from class too.
ReplyDeleteI am happy that they burst my bubble as well. I struggle with the same guilt that you mentioned and I think that I might even seem more of the stereotypically white girl, all blonde hair and blue eyes. Except that, as even I forget, as of relatively recently my hair has been on the reddish auburn spectrum. People have always identified me by these two characteristics so I have consequently defined myself thus. Its quite hard to break out but even more difficult to deal with the racialized assumptions that follow not far behind, between the fetishized goody-goody Catholic schoolgirl to the pristine little porcelain doll with each and every hair in place. These assumptions are dangerous to make, not only because they rely on narrow racialized expectations of concepts like dolls, schoolgirls, girls in general, etc., but because they are forced. I am made to stretch myself to fit these criteria to make life easier, more predicable for others. These are by no means the worst things to be called and I have been reminded that being seen as “angelic” is not so bad. I acknowledge that I cannot understand true discrimination because of the color of my skin but these things people call me are still damaging. They are based off of arbitrary characteristics and only promote judging based on preconceived notions of appearance. I hope I didn’t take too big of a leap with this response and hurt myself as Dr. Gómez would say. I hope that I didn’t use you as a bridge and a way to find myself. I hope that I grew from your experience and how it made me feel.