Guest Blogger!

Once in awhile, someone in my life will write something, and I will feel compelled to have it published because I think what they are writing about needs to be heard. So, I offer you the following piece, which needs no introduction.

INAUGURAL MUSINGS
Guest Blogger
L.G.

What should have been a soaring, uplifting, memorable occasion was instead a time of divisiveness and pettiness. The inauguration of Barack Obama was marred for me by the unconscious actions of a group of children and the very conscious actions of many adults.

As I walked down the hallways of my school, I felt the hair on my arms stand up with the thrill of hearing nothing but the sound of the festivities in Washington pouring out of doorways from the televisions in each classroom. No normal “school” sounds - the cries of children coming in from recess, the excited rush of footsteps up and down the halls, the sonic bits and pieces of what every school day brings. Only the words and music of one of the greatest days in our country’s history – the inauguration of our first president of color. Our students were rapt with attention, from cynical middle school adolescents to wide-eyed first-graders. I took my place in one of the fifth grade classrooms and settled in to watch our collective moment of triumph. As each dignitary appeared on screen, one of the teachers questioned the students as to their identity, gently instructing on unfamiliar faces and titles. Sasha and Malia Obama appeared to tremendous cheers, both on the great Mall and in our tiny classroom. How wonderful, I thought, for our students to have children in the White House to whom they can relate for the first time in a long time. The mood of the room quickly turned sour when the president of the United States was announced. The raucous and extensive booing and hissing that accompanied the arrival of George W. Bush on the television screen by a group of fifth graders shocked me. It spoiled what had been a joyful, reflective moment where I was, for the first time in a while, so proud to call myself an American. The sight of tens of thousands of people gathered in spite of the bitter cold, and the thought of so many hundreds of thousands more, both in this country and around the world, watching on television, was incredibly stirring and emotional. Yet I was reminded yet again of how far we have to go as I sat there that day. Those fifth graders, most likely just aping the opinions and actions of their parents and the other adults around them, were merely a reflection of the behavior of those in our society. The incivility and disrespect that seem to pervade the political arena in this country from both sides were very real and very present in the actions of these children. What was even more disturbing was the reaction of the adults around them. Or perhaps I should say the lack of reaction. Not one adult spoke up to quell the boisterous disrespect that arose in the room. I finally had to raise my voice to be heard over the din and ask for quiet and respect, for the office if not for the man. The unspoken support for such crude and uncivil behavior was tacitly obvious. I should not have been surprised, for it was merely a continuation of attitudes and behavior that had been present throughout the presidential campaign, indeed, which seems omnipresent in this place at all times of the year.

It’s hard to see both sides of the story here. There is one overwhelming viewpoint and no other is tolerated. Oh sure, they all pay lip service to supporting all points of view, but everyone knows what is REALLY the proper way to believe. It is eerily similar to the overweening and judgmental attitude of those in the far right conservative Christian circles, that which says, “we are the ONLY true believers, our way is the right way, everyone else is a-goin’ ta hell!” No one seems to see that intolerance is intolerance, whether displayed by the right or the left. I am continually amazed by the complete blindness of those who so vehemently condemn others for the very narrow-mindedness and intolerance that they themselves display. Dare not to speak even a word of moderation, to question even faintly the party line of the far left liberal elite, or one is called intolerant, ignorant, unenlightened, and yes, racist. Children in classrooms, hallways and playground called “racist” if they were not Obama supporters. It’s such a potent, heavy word, the word “racist.” Yet we fling it around as if it were inconsequential, devoid of meaning, an insult to be hurled in any circumstance, at any occasion, without thought for where it lands and for whom it wounds. Our students are really only following our lead, but being children, they are not inhibited or careful in how they express themselves. They have not yet learned the subtle nuances of adult-speak, how to judge and wound without really saying the actual words. Children speak the absolute truth of what they see and hear around them, and we need to pay careful heed to what they say when they are unguarded, for they are only a reflection of those of us in charge.

As one of “those in charge,” it is difficult to admit that I am angry and offended so much of the time here. To have all of my words and actions judged by the color of my skin and my position in society, no matter what those words might actually be, is a startling epiphany. It is a lesson in racism that I have learned well over the past six years. To be on the other side is at the same time enlightening and painful. White privilege does indeed exist. I am not proud of it, nor do I seek it out, yet it is there whether I want it to be or not. Everything I say and do is filtered by the perception of privilege, and it is frustrating and hurtful. Yet I can’t help but think that this is everything Barack Obama has spoken out against in his ongoing message of hope. It is one of the many reasons I came to support his candidacy with such conviction and optimism, even after my disappointment in watching my long-held hope of a woman president crushed. Obama spoke so eloquently of mending the hurts, of crossing the divide that splits this country. I think that is why he resonated with so many, both white and black. I am tired of the division, of the grudging misconceptions that we hold about each other. This school is supposed to be a place of openness, of acceptance, an oasis in the desert of our divided existence. It is so very much not that, and the realization is depressing. This place is still very much US vs. THEM, and I am, apparently, one of THEM. Not by design, not by desire, not even really by philosophy. But merely because I dare to question, to be politically incorrect, to rage against the machine which stifles all dissent. To speak out for the cause of tolerance and open-mindedness, from ALL quarters.

To ultimately, silently, die a little inside each time I am condemned with a look, a not-so-casual remark, intimating that I am that which I abhor – a racist. All because I was so imprudent as to say what I really felt, to express my deepest longings for a connection with those who seem so different from me. Only expressed with the hope that we may one day “speak the truth in love” to each other, without fear of hurtful labels and unspoken perceptions about who others think we are and not who we really are. If there is anything that will finally drive me away from this place, it is that knowledge that what I think, what I feel, only counts if it lines up with the party line. To believe that anything I could say or do would change the perception of who I am, and really make a difference here, is naïve and hopelessly quixotic, and ultimately an exercise in futility.