Learning to Pay Attention
I’ve written previously about what I like to call Experience Deniers, a term a friend and I coined for anyone who downplays the experience of another. Lately, with the world being as it is, this country especially, I’ve been thinking about how much the denial of others’ experiences has played a role in this mess. This goes in all directions. In truth, some of the most dangerous people I’ve encountered have been highly educated. The problem? They already knew everything and had nothing left to learn.
With all this, I’ve been thinking about how I’ve had the unique opportunity to live in the North, South, and Midwest. In rural and urban areas. Be amongst blue-collar workers and academics, predominantly white communities, and highly diverse ones. I’ve also traveled many places and have the kind of personality that quietly watches the interactions going on around me. I don’t know much, but I am curious, and I notice things and I ask questions. So, this is the first of a series of entries about different events I have witnessed or experienced that have shaped the way I understand the world and the way people interact within it. I believe all of these have made me a better listener.
I went to high school in Massachusetts. In my junior year, I took American Thought. It combined US History and Literature and met two periods a day. Having moved there from West Virginia and having family from Arkansas, I was the token Southern girl. As a result, my thoughts on the Civil War were immediately suspect, regardless of what they were. This was incredibly frustrating, especially when you consider how West Virginia came to be a state.
Anyhow, we read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. While I can respect the historical value of this book, I did not enjoy reading it at all. One thing I disliked was that the darker the Black people were, the dumber they were. It was like the amount of melanin was inversely proportional to intelligence. Yet, when I tried to voice this, the class – and teachers – responded as if the poor Southern girl just didn’t understand. Making matters worse, the discussion went on to the scene when the Ohio River freezes overnight, so Eliza can make her escape. The question was asked if this was something that could literally happen or an example of mystical realism. I answered that it was definitely mystical realism because I used to live on the Ohio River, and there was no way it could freeze overnight like that. Again, the poor Southern girl responses. It was pointed out that the much smaller river near the school froze over once when it was below freezing for several days. Never mind that the Ohio is the second largest river in the country by discharge. Never mind that where I lived was several hundred miles upstream from Kentucky, and it was still a quarter mile wide. Never mind that in the early 1800s no locks or other modern flow regulators had been built yet. I was from the South. They were from the North. There was no way I could know.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Dynamic DJRI write about whatever happens to be on my mind. If you'd like a bit of backstory, check out my previous blog that I haven't yet figured out how to integrate with this site. Archives
November 2024
Categories |