Red Beans and Rice: December 2007

December 5th
(posted by emily)

This is the most disappointing collegiate day of my life. I am so disgusted with the lack of standards and expectations. I am appalled, disgusted. I prepared all afternoon and evening yesterday for a big Urban Affairs test this morning. The professor made it surprisingly easy to prepare by providing us with a pre-test which included all the answers. Beyond this she allowed us to make flashcards and use them during the test for all the short answer and definitions components (this in itself is a joke and creates an absolute non-learning atmosphere). I came to class prepared. Immediately each student let out groans of complaint. They weren’t there last class…why are there so many questions? Can she please write vocabulary words on the board? The professor began by saying we could take out our old study guides to see vocabulary and definitions. She then proceeded to give us several minutes to bring out the pre-test with all the answers. Then she called each one of us individually up to her desk to directly give us the answers to five questions of our choice (I awkwardly declined). Finally, she allowed us to take out our books to find any final missing answers. All throughout this class period she was laughing and calling us “welfare” (we just take and take), “un-studious,” "sad,” “pathetic” (these are the same students who wouldn’t dare come in late, leave their phone on, or “forget” to study for tests in other classes. It’s the professor’s job to create standards and an environment that nurtures learning. It’s up to students to apply themselves. After all, most of us are paying for this education.). During the test the professor received and accepted three phone calls and spoke loudly with her little robotic ear piece at the front of the room.
I told myself not to be self righteous. Why was I worrying about these other students? Yes, it’s a little disheartening to spend hours of preparation and then watch as every other student who did not study literally be given each answer. But an explosion was growing within me beyond this injustice. This professor was stripping the dignity right out from each one of us. She was treating us like idiots and we were gracefully accepting this stigma. It was all I could do to finish that stupid test and rush out of the room (thankful all the while that I would never have to set foot in this room again).
This was the worst class I have ever taken or could ever even imagine. I can honestly say that I did not learn one thing the entire semester (oh, except what an edge city is and that I surprisingly have no more interest in urban studies). Every other class period was canceled and when we did attend class we discussed things like whether or not Sponge Bob Square Pants is gay. The professor would open up class with the same phrase, “what ya’ll want to talk about today?” Any assignments were laughable and we never once received anything back graded…or back at all. What an atrocity to keep students from learning. The atmosphere that this professor created was one of ‘do the least to get by,’ ‘cheat when possible,’ ‘bullshit your way through life,’ and ‘nothing is worth learning or being impassioned about.’ Then she has the nerve to call her students dehumanizing names when she was our leader. How dare she aid to the stigma and injustices of these young black people. This is a University but far worse than any middle school or high school class I’ve taken. I am disappointed in my University. Don’t get me wrong. I have had a few wonderful teachers who challenge me, notice hard work and reward it. They drive me to do well, learn, and build up my confidence (isn’t that why we are here?).
After class I immediately went to the foreign exchange information area desperate to get out of here. I plan to look into Millsaps College and Portland State University. I plan to complain to JSU administration and also to send an email to my professor voicing my deep discouragement.
This experience was just another reflection of a history wrought with cycles of oppression and poverty. We stripped Africans of family ties and dignity when we made them our slaves, we stripped away their man/womanhood and self-respect when we made them dependent sharecroppers. We didn’t apologize. We didn’t provide mules and land, we didn’t fix things. Now all I see around me is materialism, consumption, check cashing storefronts, pawn shops, dollar and liquor stores, and boarded-up businesses. A laughable minimum wage, no diversity, trash everywhere, stray and starving dogs, enormous potholes, no bike lanes, burned down and abandoned houses. People are stuck. There is no travel, no cultural enlightenment.

Hopelessness is contagious in this ghetto.

Black people are obviously not stupid; they are full of potential, beauty, intelligence, humor, grace, and dignity. But around here they are taught at a very young age that they are dumb, disobedient, unworthy, and powerless. They accept this role in the public schools (taught by those who experienced the exact same thing just a couple of generations earlier), and it seems almost impossible to shed this identity. It’s almost like people here become teachers just to gain power that they never had…even if it’s used negatively toward their children.
Yes, I am deeply grateful for my upbringing. I was abused, carrying life-long scars. I was hungry at times and was made fun of. However, this did not take place in the South and my skin is not black. I got a good public school education and was lucky to have older people in my life that gave me wisdom and exposed me to life experiences. By the grace of god I grabbed onto the fact that giving is living, that simplicity brings joy and that there are answers tucked away in this complex universe.
I tell myself to believe in the power of redemption. I usually look around and see a god that is good. These very sad and confusing issues are not fair. I don’t see a solution, and I have accepted that I don’t have the answers.
Lately I’ve thought more and more about going to a third world refugee camp and living out my days in the midst of poverty. At least there may be an air of gratitude in a place like that; a sense of community striving together, using what little resources are available to create a simple, yet joyful experience.
I believe that life doesn’t end here and that utopia will not be reached in my human existence. Yet I feel that I was created for it.
I honestly don’t know how I ended up in this god-forsaken city. But for now I’ll keep riding my bike, waving to strangers, recycling my beer cans and speaking up in class. How we spend our days is how we spend our lives…some are just given a better shot than others.

pot holes