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A brief note: this post is meant to be often sarcastic and sometimes ironic and even a bit harsh. Heaven forbid a woman use such narrative techniques to express her anger towards issues of patriarchy in and out of the classroom! But in all seriousness, this rant is in response to so many liberal men that I run into that I end up in conversations with, only to walk away frustrated at how simple considerations are completely ignored during these interactions. Enjoy.

Dear Mr. Liberal,

It has come to my attention that while all this time I have been worried that I was unable to talk to you, due to your performance of charm or wit or intelligence or social acceptability, in fact it is you who is unable to speak to me, due to your inability to actively acknowledge your privilege as a male in and outside the classroom. For your convenience, I have listed a few of your many offenses, in hopes of clearing up some of my concerns, and providing answers to the claim, “I don’t understand what the problem is”

1. Listen with your ears, not with your interrupting mouth. I’m sure you’re really eager to prove to yourself and everyone around you that you understand what I’m saying - hey, maybe I haven’t heard about that article in the paper yet, or maybe there’s something neat that happened to you last week that is sort of related to what I’m saying or maybe you found a quote in this book that adds to my point- It really doesn’t matter when I can’t get through what I’m saying because you cut me off. It also doesn’t “make it all better” to throw something in afterwards like “Oh sorry. What were you saying?” Don’t tell me what a good listener everyone thinks you are when I’m in the middle of telling you something. I know this might hurt, but sometimes, it’s ok when you can’t hear your voice in a room. It’s even ok not to be the first person to bring up a particular point. Remember, listening when I’m talking doesn’t necessarily mean that you are not engaged in a conversation.

2. If you simply have to interrupt, try to remember that I was telling a story. Mr. Liberal, you have such a tendency to go off on some sort of tangent and upon returning, you do not acknowledge that I was in the middle of a story. I shouldn’t have to use the phrase “what I was saying was…” I’m going to make it really easy for you, too and list out some of the things that I personally think are appropriate to use after your rude interruption:

“Wow, sorry for interrupting you, I got so excited about that thing I wanted to tell you. But you were talking about ____ ___ and I really want to hear the rest of the story/more about it”

“I’m so rude. So what happened with ______?”

I even have an example of what to do if you are just bored and really don’t want to hear what I have to say! (Because, yes, I’ll admit, that definitely happens)

“So sorry to interrupt. I actually have to go [insert excuse here]“

These sentences may be adapted to suit your own personal conversational style. Collect all three! Then try to remember that first point I made, about not interrupting.

3. Ask questions. You know what’s rude? When I ask you a question like, “What did you think about [insert progressive point here]?” and then you spend five minutes talking about it, narrating in circles and finally getting to a point, and then wait for me to ask your opinion about something else. It’s pretty cool when you say “what did you think?” - and yea, I know you think you do that all the time. But trust me. You usually don’t. Questions are good because they are indicators of engaging in conversation.

Don’t want to ask questions because you don’t want to know my opinion?
Good point- why am I even trying to talk to you. Good day, sir.

Don’t want to ask questions because I always ask them?
Hm…you should think about why that is a little more.

4. Don’t patronize me. Isn’t this self explanatory? Let’s hope it is.

5. Try to keep in mind that you carry with you certain entitlements that I will never understand. It’s a good thing you claim to be so well-read and brilliant, because that means you have probably encountered at least one or two texts that elaborate on this statement. It’s tricky, understanding why my eyes glaze over a little while you’re talking, I know. But if you attempt to shift your paradigm a bit, perhaps you’ll see that usually I’m taking into account why you are able to say certain things without hesitation, why you are so confident in your ability to project and perpetuate norms, why you don’t notice that I was in the middle of a sentence, or was waiting for you to engage in a conversation. When we are affirmed at every moment because of a particular part of our identity, it may be difficult to understand why every other individual around us does not “just” do certain things or “just” say certain things or “just” speak up in class. But then, it is also difficult to survive every day when one is subjected to daily violence because they are marginalized in society. So, yeah. I don’t really feel bad for you.

6. Don’t thank me for doing the work you should have done. Take accountability for the fact that you did not do it. This one needs a bit of explanation because it can be easily misinterpreted. One day, I went on a semi-tirade in class about the lack of critical discussion going on, particularly when it came to the colonial apparatus and issues of race/gender (it was a postcolonial literature class, so this was not an unreasonable criticism). After class, a member of your Liberal label approached me and said: “Thanks for saying that. I was going to say that, but I was really tired”

(Funny, so was I.)

With privilege comes the opportunity to step back from the fight without consequence to your own emotional or physical health. Perhaps your friend, dear Liberal, should have simply affirmed my comment instead of making some patronizing excuse as to why they weren’t able to articulate themselves in a moment where criticism of the class became necessary. There are times to thank me for doing work and taking action, and there are times to acknowledge your lack of work. Work on understanding the difference, I beg you.

7. Just because you can point it out in academic text doesn’t mean you get it. Mr. Liberal, you are so well read! You have certainly taken steps in your academic life to educate yourself about issues of gender and possibly race or class or sexual orientation. You’re at a point even, where you can read a novel or essay or article, and point out the problematics of the text. Maybe you even get to this point before some of the other women in the class, because you’re just so eager to share your wealth of knowledge.

Maybe if I wrote a story about a Liberal Man who interrupted women, never offered to take notes during meetings, never took accountability for their lack of effort, never directly admitted to their participation in patriarchal norms, and felt the need to prove his awareness of gender dynamics at the cost of silencing women in the classroom, you would be able to see that your understanding of theory does not translate into your everyday praxis.

8. Read some articles that make you uncomfortable and possibly knock you off your high liberal pedestal.

Laurelin has a great letter to Leftist men that you should read. And in case you never got around to understanding male privilege, here’s this for you - actually that site is where I will start recommending all the Liberal Men I run into in my day to day life, who want me to educate them 24/7. Then, you should read every single thing on this site.

And so Mr. Liberal, I have reached the end of my letter. Take care and remember, you can’t call yourself progressive when you aren’t making any progress.

-obw.

It’s 2007 and I’m an adult that is not only exploring the possibilities of public policy, but is also continuing to ask myself what it means to be a progressive and socially-conscious individual; so it’s no surprise that I’ve spent the summer slowly trying to peek my head into the world of politics. By this I mean, keeping up with debates, reading publications such as Mother Jones, and wikipedia-ing as much as I can about free trade and straw polls, school vouchers and civil unions. Educating myself about politics, as it turns out, is tricky. I tried watching the news on television and couldn’t seem to do it - my brain spends so much time teasing out the imperialist and Euro-centric agenda of broadcasts that I can’t seem to concentrate on names and events. I started listening to podcasts - that was helpful, because now I have access to BBC broadcasts and NPR broadcasts whenever I want, for free. And I’m still developing a bookmarked folder of politics publications.

When Bush was elected in 2004 for a second term, I was still an underclassman in college. I teared up and hibernated for the weekend at the thought of the POTUS remaining the same, and therefore, U.S. foreign policy and agendas staying the same. Now as the next election rolls around, I find myself wanting to really look at the media coverage and debates surrounding the candidates - probably because there have only been two families in office for the majority of my life. That scares me.

Over the summer, I’ve been working as a research assistant and have had the chance to read a substantial amount of feminist theory and literary theory related to American Studies. This is a field I was never particularly interested in - but after 10 weeks of reading hundreds of essays and writing hundreds of abstracts, I’ve realized more than a few interesting things.

The thing I want to share here is this: While I have tried to acknowledge my citizenship privilege in my day to day life (these privileges include being able to travel abroad without complications, applying for scholarships and financial aid, etc.), I still have an us-vs.-them mentality when it comes to the decisions made by Congress, the House of Representatives and Mr. POTUS himself. In college, there are always general comments made about the government: “Look what they’re doing, they’ve started this war, they’ve continued the war, they’re trying to ’save’ oppressed people abroad, they’re not helping public education” and on and on. When do I begin to really own up to the reality that as a citizen, and as someone born and raised in the United States, I’m carrying the burden of my country’s actions and decisions on my shoulders as well.

When we talk about institutional vs. individual racism, we learn to rethink the mentality of “Oh, I’m not racist. Other people are racist” - we learn instead, to think about whiteness and white privilege and about what it means to be benefiting from an institution that helps certain people over others.

There is a parallel here and it is the fact that it’s easy to get caught up in claiming that as a progressive liberal, as a Democrat, as someone who didn’t vote for the individuals who are appointed to govern the nation, that there is no blood on our hands. It’s easy to just feel sorry or guilty about it and then move on - because we can move on, because we can put everything on conservatives or the GOP (My reference to political parties should not suggest that our beliefs also fall along a similar binary - I merely mentioned the Dem. Party and GOP because they are labels that often get used in the us-vs.-them debate).

I guess what I’m saying is that for those of us who are not already, for those of us who are U.S. citizens and have citizenship privilege, we are responsible and all need to continue engaging ourselves in issues of national and local and foreign policy; we need to read feminist and antiracist materials that look critically at nationalism and imperialism and colonialism and globalization and the War on Terror; we need to get past feeling sorry and guilty and, as Audre Lorde urges so well, do our work.

I might try to rewrite this post soon - these are thoughts that have been swimming around me since 2001 and it’s the first time I’ve tried to ‘pen’ them down.

I’ve been doing well for the most part - busy but well. Doing work, but doing good work. Attempting to start many posts only to have them as saved drafts that linger on the top of my wordpress write-post page.

Then yesterday I was thrown off of my steady course. I had applied, about a month ago, for grant money to do research for my thesis - it was a considerable sum of money that I would get in exchange for doing research on food as a metaphor for diaspora identity, gender, etc. in contemporary South Asian literature. This is a topic I’m interested in, that I’m passionate about, and that I think is unique in comparison to many of the English proposals that are put in.

My proposal was rejected. I received a very diplomatic response that told me my proposal was interesting but not refined enough, that there were many applications received, and that I should take an independent study course over the summer.

Dear grant committee

While I understand that there may be many reasons why you did not select me as a recipient of grant money, please do not suggest that I take an independent study course over the summer. Your grant gave me money to do the research I wanted to do because I cannot afford to do it over the summer without being paid. You have suggested I take and i.s. course, which is something I would have to pay for. Instead of paying me to do this work, you want me to pay to do it. Sorry that I am not part of the wealthy elite that roam the hallowed halls of this institution - I would say that you couldn’t be expected to take class into consideration, but I’m going to refrain from making such claims, because the institution has one of the largest endowments in the country.

Furthermore, I noticed that a lot of the grants go to science majors. This is perfectly understandable, but also reminds me that you don’t think humanities work can be considered research. Though I did hear an example of a white man who received a grant for studying African-American business in New England. Does it seem less legitimate to give money to a south asian woman wanting to research South Asian postcolonial literature? This is the second year in a row you have rejected my proposal, so I’m inclined to be a little irrational. Now you put me in the position to ask myself where I can find a job this summer that pays me the money you pay to do work that will help me get into graduate school.

To top it all off, you will probably be sending me another rejection letter on Monday regarding another research proposal - perhaps next year when you come across students like me, you can put both rejections in one email so they can get past their insecurities and frustrations about being dependent on money sooner.

Thank you for your time,

-obw.

Now I am desperately looking for some sort of paid internship - which is difficult, and far more difficult than it should be considering the college is supposed to have amazing career resources. Turns out resources means business and finance. Turns out the college does not provide a stipend for unpaid nonprofit summer internships.

Of course, the thing that upsets me the most - along with the money issue - is that this experience makes me doubt the work that I’m doing. I keep asking myself - is postcolonial studies and doing work in south asian literature and in food and in colonial hospitality in victorian literature really valid? Maybe this isn’t work I should be doing. Maybe there are just people who are better thinkers, better writers, who are doing this work and I should stick to something else. I’m pretty confident that that isn’t true, but I hate doubting myself.

Rejection is a difficult thing - and the experience is helping me gain the thick skin I know I need if I want to be in graduate school and/or in academia in the future - but it feels….awful.

It’s been almost a month since I have really written a post. Turns out, February brought along a lot of things to write about, but with no additional energy or motivation to actually write.

It’s March now - time for a change.

In February, I realized that I want to go to graduate school.

Let’s rewind to where I was at the end of 2006.

I was going to graduate from college. Then I was going to work. I was going to find a job with a non-profit organization. I was going to win a fellowship that allowed me to study abroad. I was going to find an opportunity to teach abroad. I was going to work at a public school. I was going to take time away from institutional education.

All of that felt pretty good. Many of the people I work with now were all going to be doing these sorts of things. Joining Presidential campaigns, teaching English abroad… very wonderful things.

Then I went to India.

I reconnected with my grandmother - we were able to pick up right where we left off 5 years ago. I was able to look into her eyes and see a woman who is surviving the trauma of partition in ‘47 every day. A woman who was praying for her daughters every day. A woman who is doing her duty as a wife every day. I was able to see what she was really saying to me while reliving and retelling stories about her life:

Do your work. Live a life that was better than mine.

I came back and now it literally feels like every breath I take is coated by this verbal framework.

I started to feel very incomplete in my answers to the question “So…do you know what you’re going to do after you graduate?”

I started to feel like I was hiding something from everyone; there was a feeling in me that felt…off, somehow - to be honest, I wish I could explain it better. Actually, I can.

It was Guilt.

Guilt in wanting to continue to pursue higher education. Guilt in not wanting to be eager to answer the call for secondary public school teachers. Guilt at wanting to be an academic in postcolonial studies. Guilt in choosing theory over praxis. Guilt in having to put myself into more debt than I can even conceive of right now. I feel guilty because the work that I feel called to do doesn’t seem like great work.

And of course, at the root of all guilt lies privilege. And it’s a privilege for me to be able to even think of graduate school. It’s a privilege that I’m at a private institution that can give me the resources and advice I need to get into graduate school.

But all we can do with privilege is tell guilt to go to hell and do the work we can do with it. Putting privilege to good use is all we can do. It doesn’t go away no matter how much we attempt to banish or ignore it. And it definitely doesn’t go away when we coat it over and over with superficial recognition, whining, and guilt.

I think it was Audre Lorde that asks in her letter to..Mary Daly I believe: I’m doing my work, are you doing yours?

So the question is, what does it mean for me to do my work. It means pursuing what I am passionate about, finding the means to doing this, and then using this as a space to influence and motivate others to do their work. Theory doesn’t need to be mutually exclusive from praxis.

Graduate school, here I come.

Now all I need to do is figure out how to go about graduate school. Because I don’t really know. And I’m very scared of so many things, including not getting in, not being able to afford it (actually I know I can’t afford it — I guess I mean, not being able to find a way to manage the costs), not being capable or qualified enough, not finding a program in California, and of course, having second thoughts about going at all.

Will it be worth it?

There is much more to say about it. But I will bring it up again when I’ve done some research.

Well I’m settling into classes and all of that so it’s time to write about something (no, unfortunately not India this time - the posts will begin soon - it’s still too personal to reveal without some serious emotional drainage) that has been on my mind a lot in the last few days.

My friend Sarah said something along the lines of this the other day:

“It’s taken me 21 years to get to a point where I know that the things I say are smart. That I am smart. There isn’t going to be anything I say in class or wherever that is completely stupid. I know what I’m saying. So I’m going to say it.”

Many if not most women of color I know undermine their intelligence. Not out loud or very explicitly but there it is. I am one of these women. I sit in a literature class or history class, sometimes even a gender studies class, with something to say formulating in my mouth even before I sit down. And then as quickly as I’ve formulated the thought, doubt slips in,

“I’m probably wrong. I don’t know what anybody in the class is talking about. What I have to say is probably not related. I feel stupid. I am stupid. What am I doing here? I don’t belong here. People are going to look at me and will be able to tell that I don’t belong here. I’m forgetting what I wanted to say. I’ll probably jumble all my words if I open my mouth…”

I become intimidated by professors, white men, white women, vocabulary. And this is something that hasn’t, until recently, gotten better over time. In fact quite the opposite. I have become more introverted and terrified in academic spaces as each semester passes (with the exception of gender studies classes - those classes have tended to be my ’soap box’ classes, where I rant, aggravate, educate, and occasionally storm out).

Until recently. Something happened (hm, I guess this is a bit of an India post) in becoming further absorbed in the concept of “doing one’s work”. And that is not wasting one’s voice. This means staying quiet when it is necessary to stay quiet. And speaking up when there are things to say. Because nothing at this educational institution should encourage me to maintain silence and convince myself that I have nothing valuable to say.

I made a goal for myself last semester, after being reprimanded by a professor for not “participating in class”, to speak up in every class, at least once. It was so difficult - I’m almost ashamed to admit it. But finally it becomes easier more possible every day.

It hasn’t fully settled into my head that I am intelligent enough to speak up without hesitation - I don’t think that will change for a long time. But it is about remembering everytime that I have the ability to make my voice a stronger one every time it gets used. And that it has the power to start dialogue, to encourage other ‘underminers’ to speak up, to shout, to sing, to rant, to yell, to whisper and to laugh. The privilege of those things is too useful and filled with possibility to be smothered while I’m sitting at my desk.

“When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid” -Audre Lorde