When I was 18 and starting college I was amazed at how people who were not Latino, Black, Apache Sioux etc. thought they were experts at what it meant to be Latino, Black, Apache Sioux, etc. Not only did they think they were experts, they thought they should share their expertise with entire classrooms of fellow students.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Race
I would sit quietly, not understanding how so many people could share the same opinions. How could they not know how offensive and ignorant they were? How dare they assume to know anything about my ancestry, my history, my raza, my family, my experiences, my thoughts, my motives? How many times were they the only white person in a room, at a grocery store, at the movie theater, at a retail store, at a social function? Was I the freak to think this way?
Then I would remind myself to breathe, and raise my hand to speak and attempt to educate from an actual Latina's point of view.
I would get so frustrated and angry at these "experts" and also at the apathy of the other Latinos, etc. They would sit at their desks like good girls and boys. As if the master had told the dog to "sit" and that dog wasn't going to move. My poetry usually focused on Sex, Love, Heartbreak, Lust (get the picture?). For the first time, I wrote about something else.
Ignorance raises its hand
"Call on me, I know the struggle of the colored man
he is where he wants to be
it's not my fault he is not free
I give him whatever, whenever he wants
Why can't he let go of the memories that haunt
That was then, a long time ago
Now it's not the same why can't he go with the flow?"
(Because the hammer that shattered his face
has made a strange, mutant race)
"They think and look interesting
Subjects to be studied, not human beings."
(He learned to speak without a tongue
his language understandable to none)
"I'll talk for him
I'll help in his plight
We can be friends and I can use his fight
to try to satisfy the rest of them
maybe a morsel of 'victory'
is what he and them really need
then their fight will end."
(He watches as his race forgets
all turned into domestic pets
who sit and roll over upon command
slaves to the bait of the ignorant hand)
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I remember walking into a class at a traditionally black college to teach a class on African American history, and the class nearly rebelled. . .as I am white bread for sure! It took a while for them to understand that I was not there to teach them what it was like to be black, no, but to instruct them on history, things went smoothly for the most part. But I understand what you are saying.
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