Reflective Essay
by Israel Zarate
My stepfather, he was a stranger, yet we lived with him; it felt like I did not know him. Fabian would stand before us, his forearms like tree trunks covering his chest; his poorly sketched prison style tattoo peered out of his black short sleeve shirt—it was a snake. His bushy eyebrows like caterpillars on his forehead, still—not moving, giving him a perpetual look of anger. I thought of Fabian as constipated. It brought me laughter.
I think of the time before I enrolled in my first American school. I knew no English and we had just moved to Pasco, Washington. It is as obscure of a town as it sounds. The weeks prior to school starting were spent practicing my English with my mother. My favorite part was the ABCs, especially when I had to say the letters L-M-N-O-P, the sound the letters made when touching the roof of his mouth brought about a pleasure that to this day manages to produce a smile.
We both laughed, I could never keep a straight face. My mother would anticipate my laughter by looking away as soon as L came up. We had to be quiet. Fabian worked late. I do not know what he did. He slept during the day, woke up at 4PM, ate what was made and went to work. I never saw him come back. She would warn that if he woke up before 4pm he would be angry. So they sat in the living room, mouthing the ABCs in a hushed whisper.
I remember telling my mother what I thought of Fabian. Never in front of him. She would laugh, but warn him against feelings of animosity towards him. She would way, pretend to like him, just listen and do what he says. Why? I hated that response, do what you are told, as if I had no autonomy of my own—no agency.
For a long time, like Lugones, I found myself having a deep inability to love my mother. I despised her for her lack of action, her seeming inability to protect me; and I blamed her for the many mishaps and misfortunes that plagued my childhood. My mother to me was a bystander, a side character in her own life. I hated her. I hated her for her lack of strength in standing up for herself. I hated her for allowing a tyrant to run our home. I hated her. Reading Lugones’ piece, Playfulness, “World”-Travelling, and Loving Perception her concept of arrogant perception provided a different framework with which to take on this journey of healing and unlearning. It pains me to somehow think of my mother as anything but what she is—free. Maybe not in the practical sense, but in the sense that throughout my childhood she practiced her own agency, she found peace in her daily acts. She was able to protect me and herself and get us through our quotidian life in a pragmatic way. Her way.
Further, it was this pragmatic way of getting through life that angered me as well. I think Lugones’ piece does a wonderful job at outlining the nuances of systems of oppression, pointing out that even in our conception of love, we still manage to hurt those we care about. Lugones says “there is something obviously wrong with my having been taught that love is consistent with abuse, consistent with arrogant perception,” (Lugones, 6). I see that in my relationship with my mother as I constantly abhorred her job, her wage, and at times her identity of ‘immigrant’ which I blamed for our many economic difficulties growing up.
Having to go through the bins to find new clothes for school, or standing in line at the grocery store to end up paying with food stamps. It was surviving. I thought it ugly. I looked at my classmates, with their holeless hoodies and brand new shoes. A stark contrast from my purple University of Washington hoodie that was two sizes too big and had yellow paint splattered on the ‘w’. This fascination I had with whiteness and white supremacy disallowed me from finding beauty in the present. It prevented me from traveling to my mother’s world—it prevented me from seeing her small acts of kindness for that—instead any action she took was put under a microscope and found to be insufficient.
Q.With over 500 liberal arts and sciences colleges in the United States, what inspired you to apply to Colgate?
A.Colgate is an institution that appreciates academics, but what draws me in even more is their appreciation for the humanity in people.
My first week at Colgate someone said, ‘oh you’re Mexican, well aren’t you a cute little spic.’ Looking back on it, I am not sure I thought that then and I am not sure I think that now.
I think about this moment and it makes me wonder about the education system and its many flaws, but more importantly it makes me wonder about education as it relates to curriculum. I wonder what made that kid think calling me that would be okay; doesn’t he know that my people, Mexican people, were uprooted? Does he not know that I also do not want to be here, speaking a tongue different from mine, assimilating and losing myself and my people all in the name of progress and education. Growing up I was constantly told “we are in America, speak American.” My Mexican roots were never nurtured, never given the love they deserve because at every turn I was thrown in and submerged in a sea of whiteness, telling me the only way to survive was to give in. At school, things were no different, as it did nothing to help dismantle the colonial schema that was so deeply rooted within me. In fact, at school, it seemed that these ideas I encountered on my own were merely reinforced. When learning about the Alamo, textbooks make Mexicans seem cowardly and weak.
Q.How could a significantly smaller army defeat a much larger one?
A.Through hardwork and determination!
Classmates would be quick to point out things like this, laughing at me, as if I was the one who lost the war. It felt personal, both to them and me. Personal in the sense they enjoyed their Nationalist pride, and for me, well, because it only fueled the self-loath that came with learning. This became evident to me when watching the ‘Precious Knowledge’ documentary in class. I found it fascinating that in Arizona, a state with a large population of Mexican people, they make an effort to introduce ‘Raza Studies.’ I think to view education as a formulaic system, functioning more like a recipe than as a tool to nurture the mind is a disservice to everyone subjected to ‘formal’ Western education. I think this film shows the necessity to take a social approach to education and center people’s humanities rather than the self-interest of White Supremacy; “The White Savior Industrial Complex is not about justice. It is about having a big emotional experience that validates privilege,” (Cole, 4). As outlined by the current state of our education system, one centered on painting the United States, and further, the Western world and benevolent and utilitarian. This is demonstrated by constant practices of erasure and epistemic murder. Education is marred by Western practices, and further, it does not allow for any different epistemic forms to thrive, in turn causing indoctrination; leading to an unwavering love for White supremacy. As Cole states, “the effect of this enforced civility is that those voices are falsified or blocked entirely from the discourse,” (Cole, 5). Meaning not only are marginalized people’s voices silenced through ‘civility’ but further, their capacity as students, and more importantly, their capacity as humans is lessened; it is taken to be less deserving. When looking at education through this critical lens, one can see, Education is in fact about having a ‘big emotional experience that validates’ white supremacy.
Citations
Cole, Teju. “The White-Savior Industrial Complex.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company,6June2021,https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/03/the-white-savior-industrial-complex/254843/
Lugones, María. “Playfulness, ‘World’-Travelling, and Loving Perception.” Hypatia, vol. 2, no. 2, 1987, pp. 3–19., https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1527-2001.1987.tb01062.x.
McGinnis, Eren I. Precious Knowledge Revolutionary Education. Kanopy, 2011, https://www.kanopy.com/en/colgate/video/155997. Accessed 16 Apr. 2023.