When I
was offered my first position in higher education at a primary white
institution I thought I was prepared. I
had twelve years of professional experience, having worked at various
governmental and non-profit agencies over the years and with individuals from
diverse socio-economic backgrounds. I
had also encountered those who were intimidated by my degrees and compentencies
in certain areas, but being young and naïve, I often chalked up those
experiences to me being an outcast because I had chosen to go to Tulane
University versus the state flagship school, Louisiana State University, where
most of my supervisors and peers in the field of social work hailed from. There was a certain air about attending what
was then considered the ivy league of the
South, and also some animosity from those who could not afford to go. I had been told that I thought I was
privileged or an elitist, which I also ignored because I knew where I had come
from; a lower middle class minority family that lived from pay check to pay
check. I was far from being bourgie or
thinking I was better than others. If nothing else, my family made sure I
always remained grounded, even with my ivy
league of the South degree. But it
wasn’t until I began working in higher education that I started to encounter
and experience sexism and racism that took me outside of my immunity, i.e.
comfort zone. After my first encounter
with adversity I quickly realized that yes I was very prepared as a
professional to educate students, but that I was not prepared for the blatant discrimination
that would follow me for the next ten years.
Despite the significant roles that women have
played in the field of education and how they have struggled for centuries to
overcome barriers that were put in place to keep them oppressed, I would soon
learn that it would be those who looked just like me in terms of breast, hips
and feminine ways that would try to oppress me as well (Essed and Goldberg,
2002). According to Bell Hooks, “black women are more aware of sexist
oppression than any other female group in American society has ever been,” and
boy was she right! During my second year
at the PWI I had the honor of working with two female students who were
experiencing complicated pregnancies. As
there instructor I reached out to both and offered accommodations. One student was Caucasian while the other was
an African-American. The Caucasian
student was allowed to take an incomplete grade and finish her studies that
summer while the African-American student was told that she was making up
excuses and was deemed as lazy and incompetent.
I was astonished when the same courtesy was not extended to her, even
after she was hospitalized and eventually placed on emergency bed rest, all
verified with documentation from her physician.
Later that semester she gave birth to a daughter who was born several
months premature. After being
hospitalized the institution gave the student of color a failing grade and
because I spoke out I was “laid off,” and never invited to return back. During that moment in time I could have
easily identified with the black female suffragists of the 1920’s who became
disillusioned with women’s rights (Hooks, 1981). As a social worker and now an instructor, I
felt I was doing my job by supporting both of my students, but it would take me
a moment to realize that black women in higher education were sometimes there
to be seen but seldom heard. I was at
this particular institution of higher learning to fill a hiring quota, nothing
more, nothing less. My educational
background, professional experiences or the ethical guidelines that the
profession of social work and its workers were bound by didn’t seem to matter
to anyone except me.
The silence that was expected of myself
and other black women was not a coincidence as I had tried to explain what had
transpired, but my next academia position at a for-profit, national technical
college proved that the second time around it is truly shame on you. Taking on a promising position as a research
instructor at a technical college I was excited to be working with a group of
non-traditional students i.e. construction workers. If I could guide them in completing a
research study this would be a major accomplishment not only for myself, but
for the institution as well. After working
with a small group of students for twelve weeks, they presented a completed
research study based on the career services department of the institution and I
was asked to return for a second term.
But to my dismay, my second installment as an instructor did not go over
as well. The institution experienced a
change in administration and the new administration was a by-the-book regime
that did not understand that non-traditional students learned through
non-traditional methods. I did not hold
my students hands as the institution was requiring. I instead made them accountable for each
other through the distribution of group work.
My method was working until the administration got a wind of what I was
doing. I was reprimanded once, over the
telephone, during my off hours. The white
male administrator had no regard to my private time and said so. Deciding that I would finish out the semester
for the sake of my students I made the adjustments and moved forward. It wasn’t until this same administrator came
into my classroom and began to reprimand me in front of my students that I’d
had enough. Agreeing with Peggy
McIntosh, I too believe that “whites are carefully taught not to recognize
white privilege, as males are taught not to recognize male privilege. The administrator could not identify with me,
and he had no desire too. Feeling beyond
humiliated I quit on the spot and never looked back.
Now if I didn’t learn anything from those
first two experiences I would with my third and fourth. My confirmation with sexism and reverse
racism came when I took an instructor position at an HBCU. During my 2 ½ years
at this institution I was ignored by my co-workers and often looked down upon
because I did not have a terminal degree.
I was encouraged to return to school, but then given the heaviest
teaching load along with a slew of additional responsibilities which made
attending school impossible one semester.
Working in an environment where you feel isolated is very stressful and
I think the added put downs from other African-American women didn’t help my
case. My students would define me as
being cool, but unlike them, I often got the impression that my co-workers felt
I was the total opposite when it came to following the rules and working in
higher education. Wiley (2013) states
that “cool while difficult to define, is something you can feel, like the real
feel of temperature…People who protest too much are hard to consider cool
because cool listens…” My employment in this
position came to an immediate halt when I had the audacity to ask to be
promoted to an Assistant Professor. This time the sexism and racism came from a
multitude of sources, from both males and females who were in leadership
positions. According to McIntosh, “the
extent to which men work from a base of unacknowledged privilege is enormous.”
This experience would take a toll on my health and end as the most dehumanizing
of them all. I was informed that I was
an angry black woman and that if I
continued to be difficult that the university would not give me a favorable
recommendation if I took employment at another institution. And if I thought my co-workers and peers were
not speaking to me, this turn in events left no doubts in my mind as they began
to physically disassociate themselves from me, taking great strides to make
sure that our paths did not cross so they would not have to “entertain” me or
answer any further questions or better yet, make eye contact with me in the
hallways. After a week of silence; no
emails, no phone calls, no meetings to further discuss why I could not be
promoted, I decided that my season was over and it was time for me to move
on.
From sexism to reverse racism, the number
of degrees, the amount of success and the level of competency that a black
woman has are often disregarded in higher education. African-American women are expected to simple
come to work and do their job; be seen, but not heard and accept whatever is
given to her. As stated best by Audre
Lorde, “I was born Black, and a woman."
I am trying to become the strongest person I can become, to live the
life I have been given and to help effect change toward a liveable future…I
usually find myself part of some group in which the majority defines me as
deviant, difficult, inferior or just plain wrong…I have learned that oppression
and the intolerance of difference comes in all shapes and sizes and colors and
sexualities; and that among those of us who share the goals of liberation and a
workable future for our children, there can be no hierarchies of
oppression.”
References
Davis, A. (2002). Education and
libeation: Black women’s perspective. In Race
critical theories.
Hooks, B. (1981). Black women and
feminism. In Ain’t I a woman black women
and feminism
Lorde, Audre. There is no hierarchy of
oppression.
McIntosh, Peggy. (1990). White privilege
Unpacking the invisible knapsack. Independent
School, 49 (2), 31-35
Wiley J. W. (2013). Of Being Cool. In The Nigger in You Challenging Dysfunctional
Language,
Engaging Leadership Moments pp 87-113.
