“I don’t even like black people,” she said.

On (the) edge: A satirical exploration of the tequila party

Author’s Note: The following piece is a work of satire. I chose to use this approach to address this issue because I have explained and re-explained cultural appropriation and its effects and I am exhausted. I said everything I had to say last semester. At this point, all it comes down to is compassion and respect. For those who are truly still confused or curious, your answers are out there. Please find them.
*All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A bizarre new conversation has found its way onto our campus. The topic—most often referred to as “cultural appropriation”—has created quite a stir. This issue seems to have taken on a life of its own, resulting in a multitude of loving nicknames. The most prominent of these epithets include “political correctness trash” and “the liberal agenda.”
The so-called conversation—moderated solely by new VP of Communications, Professor Yak—arose in response to a party held last Saturday. The party, which allegedly had a “tequila” theme, quickly escalated into a spectacle eerily similar to that of last semester’s “gangster” party.
Photographs posted on Snapchat revealed drunken white students donning sombreros and mustaches. An Instagram post showed four girls posing in front of a tapestry decorated with a sombrero, a maraca and a chili pepper. Sources cannot seem to agree on whether the “Mexican-themed” tapestry was purchased from Urban Outfitters or IKEA.
News of the party spread quickly, due mostly in part to the partygoers’ own broadcasts. Responses to the party have varied. Bowdoin’s Latin American Student Organization (LASO)—a sect of the College’s newly-founded and unpaid Cultural Issues Department—have made their exasperated rage quite clear. Numerous meetings and forums were held following the party, providing a space for open discussion.
Shockingly, sources report that same 40 students appeared at each event; their opposition is nowhere to be found. For the first time in Bowdoin history, those with differing opinions are resorting to “Yik Yak,” an anonymous phone application. The app—founded by Satan and purchased by Trump—is the preferred medium of Bowdoin’s most courageous students. Students at this week’s open discussions waited patiently for the faceless commenters to join the conversation. Unfortunately, it seems that the valiant “green boots” and “purple acorns” of Yik Yak have gone missing. Student Activities has confirmed that a candlelight vigil will be held on the Museum Steps each night until they return.
Despite the opposition’s lack of presence in meetings, the Orient was able to speak with a select group of these students in person. Most of these students had little to say about the party itself, but enthusiastically discussed who they consider to be true culprits: the offended and hurt members of the community.
“F*** their feelings,” said Jeffrey Keebler*. Keebler, a member of both Safe Space and Out Allies, claims that the idea of emotional distress caused by cultural disrespect is absurd. “Cultural appropriation is a myth. It harms no one—my cat has black fur and we talked about it. Our campus needs to continue to focus on the heteronormativity of hookup culture and the lack of male bathroom stalls in the library—issues that affect the student experience.”“To those bothered by this incident, I say: good luck in the real world,” quipped T.J. Edwards*. “These people are so used to being coddled. It’s ridiculous.” Rolling his eyes, Edwards pulled out his phone and speed-dialed the Bowdoin Shuttle. “Yeah, hi. I need a shuttle for one from Thorne Dining Hall to Hawthorne-Longfellow Library.” Turning back to me, he continued, “Anyway. The real world is cold. Grow up.”
Keebler and Edwards are not alone. We also spoke with Elizabeth Whittier*, a white Mainer and certified expert on the minority experience. Like her two peers, Whittier is not quite sure that the party was offensive.
“People are looking for something to be angry about,” she claimed. “I don’t quite understand their feelings, but I do know that they should not be having them.”
The outcome of this incident remains unclear. Many students have called for mandatory campus-wide seminars on the issue of cultural appropriation. In an interview with the Orient, Dean Johnson* stated that the administration cannot simply force students to partake in such discussions, as the student body consists primarily of adults.
“This is a college,” the dean stated. “It is not a high school. We cannot control the actions of our students. The administration has other aims.”
“In fact,” he stated, glancing at his watch. “You must excuse me now. A 22-year-old was found in possession of hard alcohol on Saturday, and I need to draft a letter to his parents.”
While some students strive for cultural understanding and genuine harmony, many students hope that the whole issue will simply dissolve. The latter—the same students whose ideal weekend includes quickly chasing their alcohol with punch purchased with “Polar Points”—are ready for the real world. They are tired of dwelling on the childish feelings of their peers—especially when those feelings interrupt their game of “pepper flip.”

On (the) edge: Don’t underestimate the power of representation

The second coming of Harriet Tubman

On Wednesday afternoon, the United States Treasury made an unprecedented announcement; in 2020, Harriet Tubman will grace the cover of America’s twenty dollar bill. When my phone’s news notifications alerted me, I called foul. I checked other sources in disbelief. Eventually, it became clear that the announcement was legitimate. The excitement that ensued was shared by many. In fact, my Facebook timeline is still overrun by photos of Tubman’s face. Though I’m still excited, my initial glee has somewhat faded due to a preoccupation with a number of questions.
I first began to think critically about the news after reading a critique published in The Washington Post. The editorial asserts that slavery existed as the primary foundation of American capitalism; thus, by tying Tubman to American currency, the Treasury inadvertently undermines her legacy. The author also notes the unsettling irony of the Treasury’s decision to place Tubman, a black liberator, on one of black America’s greatest oppressors—money. According to the author, the printing of this new currency serves only to hide the perpetual oppression of black Americans.
In my social spheres, this argument has become almost as popular as the announcement itself. I remain hesitant. The questions the author raises are convoluted—honestly, a “correct” answer may not exist. The concerns she and others have raised are valid, however, such a hasty and complete dismissal of the new prints gives me pause. Indeed, our society is still deeply entrenched in white supremacy, but to reject this long-overdue recognition is counter-productive.
The concerns seem to stem from the fear that society will use these Tubman prints to sweep racism under the rug. This consideration is not far-fetched. Barack Obama’s presidency is currently used as “proof” of a mythical post-racial society; Tubman’s bills could easily take its place. Obama’s election did not better the black condition and it did not keep white supremacy at bay. Yet, it was progress—if only symbolic—and we rejoiced. We rejoiced because despite the stagnation of the condition of the masses, his election gave us representation. Through representation, it changed our self-perception.
The election of Obama is a testament to the power of representation—a power that will be revealed yet again upon the printing of the Tubman bills. You do not need to be a person of color in order to understand the effect that the 2008 election had on Black America. I vividly remember that November night—my seventh-grade, newly-empowered self, sobbed. I was not alone. A wave of newfound ambition was instilled in many. This was especially apparent in black youth. Though some may have erroneously read his election as a sign of racial equality, many knew otherwise. Thus, the strive for black advancement did not pause. The fight continued on the same trajectory. If anything, the election served as fuel.
The Tubman bills clearly differ from the 2008 election. However, like the election, Tubman’s bills have the potential to uplift Black Americans—and more importantly, black youth—through representation. Black heroism is a neglected component of America’s historical narrative. To ignore the impact of this omission is irresponsible. Tubman’s placement on the American dollar affirms her rightful status as an American hero. Instead of being relegated to a separate box labeled “black,” she is being thrust into the mainstream historical narrative. Moreover, because the medium is currency, this change pushes the her—our—narrative into the everyday sphere. Though the printing of these bills may seem relatively arbitrary, I know that the impact will be anything but.

On (the) edge

“I don’t even like black people,” she said.

A journey through implicit and explicit racism

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

Adira Polite

Columnist

April 7, 2016

“I don’t even like black people.” My stomach dropped and I put down my fork. “I’m from Miami, I’m allowed to say that I don’t like black people,” the woman continued. Her words were loud and directed towards her friend, yet her eyes were on us. I guess my mom was right; nothing good happens after midnight.

This past Saturday, I experienced blatant racism for the first time. You would think that a black Southerner would have encountered such absurdity before —alas. I’ve mastered the art of responding to instances of shrouded racism. Comments that fall into this category are often made by people who are unaware of the racial biases that their words reveal. The actions or words that their unconscious biases propel are known as implicit racism. This is the type of racism to which I am accustomed. This is the masked and obscure problem that exists at Bowdoin.

Implicit racism is the more acceptable form of racism; it is indirect and easily concealed. Thus, it is racism in its most prevalent form. Because of this, I have not spent much time familiarizing myself with implicit racism’s bolder sibling: explicit racism. Explicit racism, wherein the offender demonstrates a conscious understanding of their racist attitude, is considered unacceptable by most members of our generation. It is the racism bred behind closed doors. Because of this, I was not prepared for The Diner Outburst.

When it happened, my friends and I laughed. By brunch the next morning, it was no longer funny, but we remained mostly unbothered. By the end of my Sunday, I had grown concerned about my reaction—or lack thereof. I realized that I was much less affected by this blatant act of racism than I had been by all of the more nuanced racially-charged incidents on campus.
On one hand, knowing that woman’s hostility would never be tolerated on our campus pushed me to view Bowdoin as a safe haven. On the other hand, her unabashed antipathy was somehow easier to swallow than the complicated—and often, anonymous—conversations and events occurring on campus. Her brazen statement was undoubtedly worse than any Bowdoin comment or event that has come to my attention; yet, it was somehow less threatening than the recent campus climate.

The difference lies in the ways in which our society receives implicit and explicit racism. To many Americans, explicit racism is obviously wrong. When the Diner Outburst began, our waitress hurried over and apologized profusely. You do not have to be cognizant about social or racial issues (read: “woke”) to recognize an instance of explicit racism. Thus, white Americans often rally around people of color in the wake an explicitly racist incident.

In contrast, implicit racism is convoluted. It rests on a foundation of unconscious bias, making it is much more difficult to navigate. Someone whose experiences have not forced them to recognize the signs of implicit racism may not recognize its presence. Thus, following an incident of implicit racism, people of color are often left to their own devices. To them, its presence is clear—and it falls under the definition of “racism.” To those who know only of explicit racism, the incident raises no red flags. This dissent can make a shocking, explicitly racist comment less maddening than one that reeks of toxic, yet subtle, implicit racism.

I choose to believe that our campus is mostly comprised of good people. This belief is what makes navigating conversations regarding race so incredibly difficult. When students label a comment or event “racist,” the accused immediately become defensive. As a result, conversations quickly disintegrate. In many cases, the discussion ends before it even begins. I believe that this problem stems from a faulty understanding of the distinctions between implicit and explicit racism. Students become defensive because they feel that an attack is being made on their character; in other words, their idea of “racist” aligns solely with incidents of explicit racism.

I hope that this cycle can be reversed through a few crucial changes. One should not assume that an offensive comment is derived from a conscious, malicious bias. Moreover, an accused person should not immediately infer that the accuser believes that your comment or action stemmed from racist intent. Unconscious bias exists in everyone; it is the byproduct of living in a racialized society. Ideally, our campus climate will shift into one that allows for productive discussion on both conscious and unconscious racial biases. Like most difficult conversations, it may not be comfortable, but it will be worthwhile.

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