I feel privileged

There are moments when I am amazed, really absolutely amazed, at my life. I was at a meeting recently where we had to go around the room and talk about our "professional autobiographies"--how did we get to be where we're at, academically speaking. And like many people, I never thought I'd be a university professor. My parents, themselves, never went to college. The stakes of getting into a PhD program, finishing, and landing a tenure track job are just SO HIGH that I really am in awe of how I ended up at Southern U. And the fact that I feel passionate about what I do--about the novels I teach and research and the topic of race in America, just adds a cherry to the top of my sundae.

So all in all, I feel privileged.

I was reminded of this feeling last night when sitting around a dinner table with some pretty high caliber folk. Because I want to remain pseudonymous and because such things are confidential, I will only say that at one point, as we're having this lively dinner conversation about how to make the Humanities matter and how to make what we do in the ivory tower more accessible to spheres outside--and the question of knowledge production versus dissemination (are they the same? what counts as good knowledge?) I really just felt privileged, both in the sense of being honored to be part of this conversation but also privileged in having access to being invited to such a dinner, to having my voice heard and my opinions considered.

And it's really about access. And about who feels like they get to take part in the conversation. And language. Who has the language to be part of this conversation. We were, for the most part, a bunch of liberal academics with strong social justice agendas, either in our personal politics or professional lives (or both). I actually disclosed that I "blogged" and that I'm doing this, in part, to try to have conversations with people about race whom I wouldn't normally have conversations--both because I can't possibly be flying to Canada and Oregon and California and all the other places where people who comment live. But also because, in my day to day life, my friends and my co-workers are mostly like me--PhD holders, liberal-progressive, and immersed in life in a university.

So this blog was partly a way for me to practice what I preach--to try to really talk to people about race where it's not just preaching to the choir. And to really have conversations with people about race where we can agree to disagree and try out ideas and be uncomfortable but also to be respectful and to create knowledge, together.

I've often wondered who is reading this blog--especially since I added the nifty map of the world which shows you where readers are coming from (although I know very well that google searches probably account for 80% or more of the traffic, which means it's people accidently clicking on). So if you've never left a comment, here's your chance, just to say why you are reading this blog or even if you just came across it by happenstance. But really, what I want to acknowledge is the kind of privilege I have--to be able to think about race in America, to research mixed-race issues, and to have the time to blog about such things. Because I've had some great conversations with people and have really appreciated all the comments I've gotten, I think especially when they've pricked me, because as a wise person once said, getting people angry and upset doesn't mean there isn't knowledge going on, it means that you've pushed someone's buttons to the point where you are making them think.

Talking about race

Why is it so hard to talk about race? This may seem a naive/obvious/pointless question to ask, but I come back to it, again and again, when I find myself in situations where race is either the main issue or subtext or pretext of the issue at hand. And all of a sudden it's like there's the proverbial elephant in the room and no one wants to offend and everyone is well intentioned and no one wants to utter the "R" word (racist/racism) and so things get swept under the rug, or not, and people get tense and everyone wants to avoid the confrontation. And more likely than not, this discussion occurs among mixed groups of whites and non-whites, of people of color and non-people of color, and even among people of color and whites, points-of-view don't always adhere the way you think they will.

I'm thinking of a particular case-in-point, but professional courtesy as well as issues of confidentiality prevent me from giving particulars. Suffice it to say, the group in question are all highly educated, liberal minded, people, trained in critical thinking and dedicated in their respective activist causes. And yet, even in such a group of people there is a tendency to hide behind politeness and an unwillingness to probe further the real role of race and white privilege, in order not to offend or because people are well intentioned.

And I admit, I hold my tongue sometimes. Because tension is hard to deal with and everyone wants to be liked and respected and it's hard to be the sole person speaking truth to power, especially when there are things like pre-tenure review and politics of academia. But I also think that at heart, I sometimes hold my tongue, not only because I don't think it's an educational moment or because it's not politically expedient but because I don't want to offend--I am caught up in my gender role of compliant female, of quiet Asian American woman. And perhaps it's not gender or race, perhaps it really just is the desire not to be mired in conflict, not to create tension, to let sleeping dogs lie.

But in my classroom, I espouse and encourage my students to speak honestly about race, and I have made this my top pedagogical priority, because I think there are far too few places to speak honestly and openly about race, particularly in mixed-race settings.

I just feel discouraged over this particular professional incident, because it seems that if the best and brightest and most liberal in our midst can't come to the table to talk about race--if we continue to feel hemmed in by a need not to place blame or not to make people feel uncomfortable, how are we going to address the real issues of inequality, oppression, and racism?