Notes from My Classroom as a Professor of Color: Emotional Labor & White Fragility

This is Essay #33 of The 52 Essay Challenge, a series in which I write a new essay each week during 2017.

Yesterday, I offered up the opportunity for students to speak about the events in Charlottesville over the weekend – its terror, its violence, its racism. I did my best to create a safe space (which is something I strive do on Day One in my classroom anyway as I try to encourage risk-taking in their creative writing. But, you know, safety is an illusion.). I set some ground rules for people to respect others’ opinions, to allow for people to finish speaking, to ask questions, to ask for clarification, if need be. I’ve been with these 13 students for the past 5 weeks –four days a week!—and I’d like to think we have been successful in creating a supportive community. So these ground rules were really only reminders. Also, it’s a small class, so this was manageable. To have this kind of conversation in a lecture hall of 200 students looks very different.

I think it’s important to provide the space for students to speak freely about moments like Charlottesville so that they can process and learn in ways that are productive rather than stuffing it deep down inside because it might not be the “right” response or the “right” opinion. Stuffing things inside only leads to festering, which leads to outbursts that are counterproductive, sometimes violent.

As can be expected, it was a difficult conversation. We fumbled with our words. We preempted a lot with “I don’t mean to be offensive…” We forgot how to breathe. But we also found ways to help each other articulate the offensive things into more nuanced language, into compassionate expression. We shared resources, exchanged vantage points. We found ways to laugh at our own stumbling. It was difficult for all of us, but, overall, I think my students felt better having been able to voice their thoughts, their questions, their confusions. Me, I felt a little hopeful.

For context, I have a very diverse group of students, where 25% of the class is white. The rest are students of color.

*

I was telling someone the other day that I am the person I needed when I was an undergraduate: a professor of color. Though, admittedly, I didn’t know I needed that when I was 19 years old. Representation is important. For students of color to see a woman of color at the front of a university classroom illustrates for them a possibility that they might not have ever considered. I am aware of this. I am very aware of this.

I am also aware of how this, my position of authority as educator and my position as a woman of color, plays out in the classroom on an everyday basis. Many students don’t take me seriously. I mean, who takes creative writing seriously to begin with? And then a woman of color? It’s a piece of cake, they usually presume. Until I tell them that I am a hard professor and a strict grader where, on average, only a quarter of the class earns an A. Instantly, all those looking for an easy A to boost their GPA drop the class.

What I find is that my students of color, more often than not, take it as a challenge, stay in the class, and work their butts off. I’ll admit: it makes me smile.

*

At one point during yesterday’s conversation about Charlottesville, one student, a white male, got up and left the room. He needed to take a walk, he said. He was uncomfortable.

Generally, I try to honor people where they are. If he needed to practice self-care, I was all for it. I let him leave. He did not return to the classroom until the period ended.

And while I try to honor people where they are, I also do not let them off the hook so easily. As everyone was leaving, I asked him to stay so I could check in with him.

I asked him what happened. After admitting his discomfort and just needing to leave, he then said that the conversation was the same conversation he’s heard and keeps hearing over and over. According to him, nothing new was being said.

“You could’ve called us out on that. You could’ve challenged us. You could’ve shifted the conversation into something that wasn’t something you’ve already heard. But you deprived us of that opportunity by not coming back.” I said.

He nodded. Agreed.

“You missed the part of the conversation where we discussed that gray area between taking action, inciting change and self-care, self-preservation. Yes, you needed to leave the room – for self-preservation. But then you didn’t come back. That was an opting-out. Yes, you needed to do what you needed to do –and I honor that. But now, consider your actions and how they are an illustration of white male privilege. You can opt-out with no consequences. Nothing will change for you whether you participate in the conversation or not. Me? Us people of color? We cannot afford to opt-out – our lives, our livelihood depends on it. And I am not exaggerating.”

He did not disagree, but he began to talk about how I was treating him as a symbol of whiteness rather than as an individual. He told me that I was “mishandling” the situation, given my position as professor –which puzzled me & I asked for clarification. He said that because I am his professor, my words carry some impact (of which I am well aware) and that perhaps I should consider this when talking to him and treating him as a representation rather than an individual.

Oh.

I see.

Deep breath.

“It is because I am your professor that I am having this conversation with you. It is my responsibility to educate you, is it not? I want to challenge you to see beyond your line of vision. If you are uncomfortable, good. This is how change begins. If you are uncomfortable with being seen as a representation then welcome to the daily lives of people of color. You have to learn how to navigate these kinds of conversations without taking them personally. We are talking in a larger systemic context. Yes, you are an unwilling participant, but you need to own that in order to begin to be able to affect change. You can have your feelings, honor them & acknowledge them, but then, don’t hold on to them like a rock. If you are truly interested in social justice and change, you will let that rock go, move on, get over it, and get to the real work.”

He expressed his difficulty in articulating how he was feeling. I told him that it was normal, that it was alright, that this is part of change, of growing. He can think on this –on all of this—and in time, he’ll be able to process in ways that are best for him. I told him that he might not agree with all that I’ve said –that he might indeed outright disagree. But, I said, later, over time –maybe ten years from now – who knows!—over time, he’ll see more clearly what I’m talking about (This is my hope. There are no guarantees. All we can do as educators is plant seeds. Whether they flourish or not and how –that’s out of our hands.). For now, I told him, just sit with it –it’s a lot—and digest it.

*

This is some serious emotional labor.

At one point during our conversation, I gave him an example from my own life in which I was seen as a representation of Asian and an objectified woman, not as an individual –it’s something I’m trying to write about now and it’s not easy—and I could feel the catch in my throat. I think he was taken aback by it a little bit, too. It took a lot for me to steel myself so that I could stay focused on the discussion at hand –which was his position of privilege in this system-- and not to veer off into my own personal shit (and risk emotional meltdown). Internally, I was asking myself why I offered that example, out of all the examples? Wasn’t it enough to just give him one of the many “harigato” or “you speak English so well” encounters? I don’t know. Maybe I wanted him to see firsthand, from someone he knows, just how much hurt we people of color bear.

Also this: he did not see his own privilege on display by trying to put me in my place, telling me that I was “mishandling” the situation. He even went so far as to go the "This is a writing class that I'm paying for" route. To which I responded: "Creative writing is about learning how to be human -- having a discussion about Charlottesville is part of that process -- we need to learn and remember how to be human." To be fair, he did express wariness in saying this, but felt that he needed to point it out. On the one hand, I am glad that he felt comfortable enough to express how he was feeling. On the other, here again is a display of privilege: subconsciously, he was feeling this way because I am a woman of color. Had I been a white man, he would have accepted whatever I had to say wholeheartedly, without question, without any commentary on how I have “handled” things. Because, as a white man, I would’ve handled things just perfect.

(And don’t tell me I’m making this shit up. That’s called gaslighting. Cut it out.)

This is a precarious position.

And so I must tread with care, always carrying my light of love and compassion. But also, always making time for self-love and self-care.