Last night after watching the “Making Whiteness Visible” presentation and contemplating what I had seen, I realized the drastic difference in my mood and perspective from beginning to end. At the beginning I didn’t agree with what was being said, but learned that I was just misinterpreting. I first thought that they were contradicting themselves by saying that to end racism they need to focus on whites. When I first heard this my thought was “hmm, end racism by focusing on one race?!” and it didn’t make sense to me. I also caught myself rolling my eyes to the thought of “white privilege” because I had the mentality of now in today’s society we are all equal. After watching the video, and staying for the discussion I know realize the point of this presentation.
I always thought and was taught that we are all equal and hard work is what gets people where they are. I still hold true to this, but now only to a certain degree. I think that hard work will get you far, and shows character but now I also know the advantages some have over others just because of subconscious embedded racism. Even though it’s not as obvious and intense as before, it’s just as meaningful and its impact is just as grand when it’s done subconsciously.
Now how do we stop it? My interpretation from the movie was to educate whites. One point that stuck out to me was how whites think that they aren’t racist because of simple acts, such as being nice to minorities, or hiring them. Holding a conversation with a minority or even having multiple friends that are of color does not mean that embedded within you there isn’t a slight chance of prejudice. The video stated whites need to face themselves and really dig to find if they are in fact slightly racist and vanquish the thought. I’m not at all saying every white person in America is a temperamental racist just waiting to blow, but after watching the video and doing a self-evaluation I’ve found and can recall memories of racism occurring in my household and within myself. I would never ever consider myself racist, but was shocked to recall memories of racism, from authority figures, with in me. To stop it we need to face these memories and feelings instead of suppressing them.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Motivation is Knowledge, Knowledge is Empowerment (Paper 2)
The American population is a very diverse group of people. To say that our educational system empowers or disempowers them is too broad of a statement. The fact is, when I first read the assignment, I was going to write about income and bad neighborhoods, but after talking to a few wise people and thinking about it, I think it’s much more than that. Empowerment through knowledge is about individuals themselves, their surroundings and, most of all, their motivation.
My immediate reaction to the topic was to go to the source; luckily my aunt and my mother are both teachers. My aunt teaches at a disadvantaged high school where minority feuds and colored bandanas are seen more than textbooks and laughter. My mother teaches at a less dangerous but still very poor elementary school dominated by Hispanic students. I asked my aunt the topic question, and her response was very blunt. She said, “It depends on who you run into.” I didn’t understand at first. She continued to explain, “If students from this neighborhood are lucky, they’ll run into someone that will positively guide them towards an education rather than violence or crime. If they run into the opposite, well, the opposite will happen!” This makes perfect sense to me. No matter what kind of background or neighborhood you live in, there will always be some sort of temptation to distract you from learning, but if you find some sort of motivation or inspiration, an education can empower you by giving you an unimaginable amount of opportunities. I do realize that in the more underprivileged neighborhoods there are more temptations, but if students find the motivation to move forward in those types of environments, they will have more will and drive than anyone else.
When I read the question now, “In what ways does compulsory education empower or disempower the American population?” I don’t think of it as a matter of income like I did at first. I see the question as a matter of where does the motivation lie. Some may say that where you liveor your ethnicity is the criteria of what kind of an education you will be getting. I disagree with this statement.
I truly believe that it is the motivation of those around you and the motivation that lies within you that determines your success. I can’t think of a better example to prove this to you than myself. My parents are very young. My mother had me when she was a senior in High School and my dad was a freshman at a community college in El Paso. I’m not saying this because they are bad parents-- in fact it’s just the opposite, they are amazing parents -- but growing up as the oldest of four, I had many responsibilities children my age usually didn’t have. I have 2 younger sisters, a younger brother, and a younger cousin who lives with us, and since I was old enough to do house chores and cook, they’ve have been under my care while the adults were busy working. When I advanced to Junior High, I met some people who had similar situations. My school was predominately Hispanic so it was easy to relate to people there. Most had big families and a few of my “best” friends, at the time, had very similar situations as me. Instead of dealing with it, they dropped it, meaning they stopped caring about the family and all their responsibilities to the family. When I first learned about this, I was in shock, not because of how irresponsible and selfish they were, but because, for all those years, I had been looking for a way out and never thought to just stop caring. School, family, authority, morals, manners, my priorities, everything I had been taught was non-existent. I got involved with some Hispanic gangs, skipped school, was getting arrested, and not coming home on weekends. All of this went on for 3 ½ years, the worst and most reckless three years of my life to date.
Barely making it to High School, I came in as a freshman with the same reckless,
“I’m above all authority” mentality. Then I got an invite to a presentation some Hispanic organization was putting on. As a rebellious 14 year old, I thought of it as an excuse to get out of class. I wasn’t planning on going, but three years of a bad reputation and a bad start in High School, my very familiar Assistant Principal escorted me to the presentation. I watched the presentation as other High School students talked about their experiences with the National Hispanic Institute (NHI). I was reluctant to join but my parents forced me. From my freshman to my sophomore year, I cannot tell you how drastically I changed. My appearance, my confidence, my friends, and my home life all changed, but most dramatically, my grades changed. Through the course of four years, NHI saved my life. I’ve written about NHI before and will probably again; I owe everything to this program: my inspiration, motivation, best friends, community servitude, leadership abilities, and success all came from it. Coming from a low income household, low income community, and even lower income school, I can honestly say that it was too easy to be constantly looking for and finding easy ways out because everything around you seems so hard. I think the education system in America is fine. The problem lies in the lack of concern for underprivileged youth and the lack of motivation for them. Our education does empower, it empowers the ones who give enough to take advantage of it. Anyone in the American population, no matter their race, sex, or income, has the resources to be empowered by knowledge, but not everyone has the motivation to strive for it. That is where the problem lies.
My immediate reaction to the topic was to go to the source; luckily my aunt and my mother are both teachers. My aunt teaches at a disadvantaged high school where minority feuds and colored bandanas are seen more than textbooks and laughter. My mother teaches at a less dangerous but still very poor elementary school dominated by Hispanic students. I asked my aunt the topic question, and her response was very blunt. She said, “It depends on who you run into.” I didn’t understand at first. She continued to explain, “If students from this neighborhood are lucky, they’ll run into someone that will positively guide them towards an education rather than violence or crime. If they run into the opposite, well, the opposite will happen!” This makes perfect sense to me. No matter what kind of background or neighborhood you live in, there will always be some sort of temptation to distract you from learning, but if you find some sort of motivation or inspiration, an education can empower you by giving you an unimaginable amount of opportunities. I do realize that in the more underprivileged neighborhoods there are more temptations, but if students find the motivation to move forward in those types of environments, they will have more will and drive than anyone else.
When I read the question now, “In what ways does compulsory education empower or disempower the American population?” I don’t think of it as a matter of income like I did at first. I see the question as a matter of where does the motivation lie. Some may say that where you liveor your ethnicity is the criteria of what kind of an education you will be getting. I disagree with this statement.
I truly believe that it is the motivation of those around you and the motivation that lies within you that determines your success. I can’t think of a better example to prove this to you than myself. My parents are very young. My mother had me when she was a senior in High School and my dad was a freshman at a community college in El Paso. I’m not saying this because they are bad parents-- in fact it’s just the opposite, they are amazing parents -- but growing up as the oldest of four, I had many responsibilities children my age usually didn’t have. I have 2 younger sisters, a younger brother, and a younger cousin who lives with us, and since I was old enough to do house chores and cook, they’ve have been under my care while the adults were busy working. When I advanced to Junior High, I met some people who had similar situations. My school was predominately Hispanic so it was easy to relate to people there. Most had big families and a few of my “best” friends, at the time, had very similar situations as me. Instead of dealing with it, they dropped it, meaning they stopped caring about the family and all their responsibilities to the family. When I first learned about this, I was in shock, not because of how irresponsible and selfish they were, but because, for all those years, I had been looking for a way out and never thought to just stop caring. School, family, authority, morals, manners, my priorities, everything I had been taught was non-existent. I got involved with some Hispanic gangs, skipped school, was getting arrested, and not coming home on weekends. All of this went on for 3 ½ years, the worst and most reckless three years of my life to date.
Barely making it to High School, I came in as a freshman with the same reckless,
“I’m above all authority” mentality. Then I got an invite to a presentation some Hispanic organization was putting on. As a rebellious 14 year old, I thought of it as an excuse to get out of class. I wasn’t planning on going, but three years of a bad reputation and a bad start in High School, my very familiar Assistant Principal escorted me to the presentation. I watched the presentation as other High School students talked about their experiences with the National Hispanic Institute (NHI). I was reluctant to join but my parents forced me. From my freshman to my sophomore year, I cannot tell you how drastically I changed. My appearance, my confidence, my friends, and my home life all changed, but most dramatically, my grades changed. Through the course of four years, NHI saved my life. I’ve written about NHI before and will probably again; I owe everything to this program: my inspiration, motivation, best friends, community servitude, leadership abilities, and success all came from it. Coming from a low income household, low income community, and even lower income school, I can honestly say that it was too easy to be constantly looking for and finding easy ways out because everything around you seems so hard. I think the education system in America is fine. The problem lies in the lack of concern for underprivileged youth and the lack of motivation for them. Our education does empower, it empowers the ones who give enough to take advantage of it. Anyone in the American population, no matter their race, sex, or income, has the resources to be empowered by knowledge, but not everyone has the motivation to strive for it. That is where the problem lies.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Religion
I've had many experiences dealing with religion, both good and bad. I'd say my most recent experience was my confirmation into the Catholic church. This was about the time I was questioning my faith but against my wishes I was confirmed. So the whole point of being confirmed is to CONFIRM that you believe the catholic faith. My dad was a youth teacher and my mom helps with the special education at the church. That and because I am the oldest of four I was in a way forced to be confirmed. As of now I wouldnt consider myself religious. I would consider myself exploring.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Bill Wittliff Photos
In this picture, there is a scruffy old man sitting on a rocking chair on the porch outside of I think his house. You can tell he's a real cowboy! He's got his white dirty cowboy hat, white button up shirt, dirty jeans and suspenders. He's also got gloves and boots up to his knees, showing that he's not just being a fashionable cowboy but he does his dirty cowboy work. He's got a pretty cheery expression, to me this symbolizes him enjoying the simple country life. And his gaze seems like he is looking far far away, maybe he is enjoying the sunset. This picture to me can either be an all american cowboy shot, or being of mexican descent, it reminds me of a house and my great great-grandfather outside a little town in Mexico.
Beauty and the 'Stub' (Paper 1)
Angelica C. Casas
Micah Robbins
ENG1310.126
1 September 2007
Word count: 690
Beauty and the ‘Stub’
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the tragic death of a spirited young man. . .” Funerals are horrible. The worst ones of all, though, are the ones where you know that if that person had a little more time, he or she would’ve changed the world. Tears begin to fill my eyes, the priest’s voice begins to turn into an ambiguous murmur, and I start to reminisce on how I first met this astounding man.
“And now I’d like to introduce another speaker who’ll introduce to you the category of mock trial, Mr. Aaron Gonzales.” There’s some applauding, some moaning, and, as I look around the room, all I see is faces of other 9th grade students just as bored and sluggish as I am. We had been listening to speeches all day about how this National Hispanic Institute will help us in the long run, and all the components that go along with it. As I continue to look around, I can practically read the minds of the peers around me: “Whoo another exciting speech,” we all sarcastically think. The young man begins to speak and get comfortable. “Hello, I’m Aaron. I’ve been in the program four years. I can tell I’m going to like this group, so ya’ll can call me ‘Stubs’,” he said with a grin. Just then he took off his suit jacket and, for a moment, the room was in complete silence. He kept talking just as confident and articulate as before, acting as if he didn’t notice the outburst of whispers and concerned faces. You see, Stubs has only one arm. Well, technically one and a half! He was in a horrible car accident when he was twelve and was forced to have his arm amputated.
For the next two years, Aaron and I were inseparable. I was a young naïve freshman, and he helped guide me in most major aspects of my life. He was my hero, my best friend, and the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not only was he wise way beyond his years, but his determination was endless. He had always loved music, but after the accident he stopped playing. When I met him, he was then seventeen; he had mastered the piano, drums, and trumpet! He was constantly bursting with advice; “Always keep your head up, kid” or “Strive for the best, it’s what you deserve” were guidelines he continuously gave. Stubs expanded my views in many ways. He never imposed on me what he believed but always showed me there were different thoughts out there. His way of life and character is what defines beauty.
“Mija! Mija! Angelica, it’s over.” Suddenly, I’m shaken awake from my memories, and reality rushed to greet me. The mass was over. Now it was time for me to go see him for the last time. I walked up to the casket to see him laying there. He looked so handsome. His suit jacket was off, and his white button up was rolled up at the sleeves to his elbows, just like it always was at our mock trial meetings. His tattoos, always a “form of expression,” were showing, his pride and personality glowing within them.
Being forced to cope with the death of one of my best friends has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to bear, but knowing that people like him exist is the most beautiful thing in this world. He had a way of inspiring people, not just through his story and hardships, but through his enthusiasm and love of life. People who could give up and become bitter, but instead embrace life and use their life to inspire others are truly beautiful.
Micah Robbins
ENG1310.126
1 September 2007
Word count: 690
Beauty and the ‘Stub’
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the tragic death of a spirited young man. . .” Funerals are horrible. The worst ones of all, though, are the ones where you know that if that person had a little more time, he or she would’ve changed the world. Tears begin to fill my eyes, the priest’s voice begins to turn into an ambiguous murmur, and I start to reminisce on how I first met this astounding man.
“And now I’d like to introduce another speaker who’ll introduce to you the category of mock trial, Mr. Aaron Gonzales.” There’s some applauding, some moaning, and, as I look around the room, all I see is faces of other 9th grade students just as bored and sluggish as I am. We had been listening to speeches all day about how this National Hispanic Institute will help us in the long run, and all the components that go along with it. As I continue to look around, I can practically read the minds of the peers around me: “Whoo another exciting speech,” we all sarcastically think. The young man begins to speak and get comfortable. “Hello, I’m Aaron. I’ve been in the program four years. I can tell I’m going to like this group, so ya’ll can call me ‘Stubs’,” he said with a grin. Just then he took off his suit jacket and, for a moment, the room was in complete silence. He kept talking just as confident and articulate as before, acting as if he didn’t notice the outburst of whispers and concerned faces. You see, Stubs has only one arm. Well, technically one and a half! He was in a horrible car accident when he was twelve and was forced to have his arm amputated.
For the next two years, Aaron and I were inseparable. I was a young naïve freshman, and he helped guide me in most major aspects of my life. He was my hero, my best friend, and the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not only was he wise way beyond his years, but his determination was endless. He had always loved music, but after the accident he stopped playing. When I met him, he was then seventeen; he had mastered the piano, drums, and trumpet! He was constantly bursting with advice; “Always keep your head up, kid” or “Strive for the best, it’s what you deserve” were guidelines he continuously gave. Stubs expanded my views in many ways. He never imposed on me what he believed but always showed me there were different thoughts out there. His way of life and character is what defines beauty.
“Mija! Mija! Angelica, it’s over.” Suddenly, I’m shaken awake from my memories, and reality rushed to greet me. The mass was over. Now it was time for me to go see him for the last time. I walked up to the casket to see him laying there. He looked so handsome. His suit jacket was off, and his white button up was rolled up at the sleeves to his elbows, just like it always was at our mock trial meetings. His tattoos, always a “form of expression,” were showing, his pride and personality glowing within them.
Being forced to cope with the death of one of my best friends has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to bear, but knowing that people like him exist is the most beautiful thing in this world. He had a way of inspiring people, not just through his story and hardships, but through his enthusiasm and love of life. People who could give up and become bitter, but instead embrace life and use their life to inspire others are truly beautiful.
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