Racism at Touro College
My colleague sent me this article, http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/bronx/2008/01/09/2008-01-09_fired_worker_sues_touro_college.html and as an employee of Touro I can say that I believe the young woman who was fired. I don’t know her or her boss, but I work at the same location and have witnessed a great deal of racism directed not only towards some employees, but also towards the students.
The racism comes not only from the Russian employees, but also the religious Jews. I have heard blatantly racist comments and also more subtle ones made about people who are not white. One of the worst was said to me about a Hispanic employee. I was having a pleasant conversation with the Hispanic man, who happened to be a custodian, and after he left, my Russian colleague said I shouldn’t talk to him because now he’ll just keep coming back like a dog. My Russian and Jewish colleagues refer to students in one particular division of the college, where the students are typically not white and definitely not Jewish, dummies. My boss, who is the Dean of one of the programs, said “jokingly” that he as long as none of our foreign students turn out to be terrorists we won’t get in trouble for the way we give out I-20′s. I have also witnessed religious Jewish students treating the non Jewish students with contempt. These stories only scratch the surface.
I have worked in a number of different environments over the years, corporate, non-profit, education, and this is the first place that I have truly felt disgusted by the people I work with. I have brought some of these issues to the attention of HR, but as of yet they have not been addressed.
The Human Sardine
Last week I was late for work as usual. Shoved into the train and stuffed into the center of the car with so many others. New York, Brooklyn particularly is being rapidly built up, to the point that the subway system is literally bursting at the seams. With the exorbitant rents the landlords charge and the ever increasing subway fares one would think the MTA could run the trains more often to avoid this unpleasant experience.
Politics and Religion
When the updates about the Iowa Caucus came on the evening news came on television the other night my boyfriend and I were sitting, relaxing on the couch. We never discuss politics, not because we’re not both interested, but because we’ve both, independently, come to the conclusion that very little that we do makes a difference. Most of the country doesn’t hold the same values and beliefs that we do, putting us in the minority. Unfortunately we’ve become quite apathetic about the whole thing. Which is why I was so surprised when an argument ensued after I started up a conversation about the results.
I said I would be quite concerned about a President who wore his religion on his sleeve and based decisions of state on those beliefs. My boyfriend asked why I cared about that at all, simply assuming that my lack of religion which sometimes shows itself as animosity towards religion, was rearing it’s ugly head and the only reason I cared was so I could take the opposite side. I am not religious. I do not believe in religion for me, but I believe in the right to be religious and support everyone’s own, individual path. I just don’t think I should have to follow that path if I am not inclined to do so. My fear is that if we elect a President who continuously turns to religion for guidance, then we will all be forced to live with those same beliefs. My boyfriend is not religious either, but does believe in it to some degree. He was raised Catholic and although he has not attended church since I’ve know him, besides a couple of midnight masses for Christmas, it appears that he has a strong connection to it that I upset by voicing my concerns.
It’s interesting how you can live with someone for six years and not really understand the details of their belief system.
Drawing Your Morals in the Sand
On New Year’s day my boyfriend was offered a one day editing job that was recommended by a long time colleague. He knew his colleague from working on social documentaries so it didn’t even occur to him to ask what the content of this little job was. He thought he’d earn a little extra money while on break from teaching. Turns out it’s a short industrial for big tobacco. Neither of us smoke, and although we believe everyone is free to make their own decisions, we should all be able to agree that tobacco is unhealthy, therefore the idea of promoting it creates a sense of unease. Now he wishes that he’d asked what it was, and in hindsight believes he would have turned it down.
It’s often difficult to draw a line in the sand that determines which side of the moral fence we’re on. Everyone’s line is in a different place in the sand, sometimes it gets washed away with the tide and sometimes we redraw it with the changing landscape, but when stripped down to the barest shoreline there is only a fundamental good and bad left.
Every day at work I’m faced with the need to defend my position in the sand. The decisions I must make are little ones, ones that many people probably wouldn’t care about or think twice about, but to me they are still important. The school where I work, at least my department, does many shady things. They are not things that would bring in the police, nor are they done in such numbers that we would lose our accreditation, but they are nonetheless illegal and unethical. The challenges range from grade inflation based on favoritism, to sitting in class without proper immunization records (illegal in NY state,) to racial discrimination, to nonpayment for services. I am embarrassed to work in such a department in a school that tolerates it by turning a blind eye, and I am tired from having to defend my position.
I shouldn’t always have to argue the points; some things are simply right or wrong. I have drawn my line in the sand and will not participate in such practices, but until I find another job I am stuck trying to balance myself on the line without falling over the other side.
Bitching My Way to a New Year
So, I bitch a lot about feeling like I’m not living up to my creative potential. I get depressed about it and feel completely sure that I will never again accomplish anything of any value. I do it about once a month, and although I will eventually begin a new project and feel good about what I create, this same feeling will once again resurface and I will be forced to confront myself and admit that I’ve once again fallen into the same old trap. Wow, that’s a long sentence, but it may have given you a clear sense of how this feeling of insecurity and uncertainty wraps it’s way through my brain and warps my sense of self. A heady topic for such a seemingly small matter. The answer itself is simple, just sit down and create.
No Respect for Public Space
I have become one of those people who cannot stand to have little kids running around near me in a public space. I am currently in the airport waiting to board my flight and there just happen to be some little kids nearby. Now, I will admit, that by all respects they are actually pretty well behaved. What is actually bothering me the most is the constant talking. Talking to each other, mom, dad, and themselves. They do not have any understanding of the “inside voice” or of socially acceptable public behavior in a shared space.
Should I go so far as to suggest that there be a separate waiting area for kids, with their parents of course? Of course it’s not just kids who often fail to recognize the unwritten, but widely agreed upon terms of behavior in a shared public space. Who would actually designate who got to wait in the quiet, respectful area, and who was relegated to the anything goes pen? It seems to me that anyone who was intelligent would be able to figure out who belonged in what area.
This is certainly not the worst display of unwarranted public behavior, but who really ever wants to deal with it when traveling?
Design is the New Art
So much of art is tired and trite. Often I go to a gallery and see the same old work, the same theme of a decade ago simply re-purposed for this new age. It is a shame that most artists and art critics have not developed past the seemingly adolescent stage of art, but are stuck on an ever rotating broken record that harps on feminist, racial, and sexual orientation issues. It is all part of the same art movement that began in the 60′s. For a time in late 80′s and early 90′s the art world appeared to move past this tired theme and focus on societal trends such as commercialization and consumption, but since then we have progressed very little.
The artists who have seen the light and understand that although all of these issues are still important in society they are not being addressed in any new or interesting way, therefore they must move on to more pressing and pertinent issues. They must find their way back to the art of subtle revelation of a piece, allowing the viewer to partake of the work using all their senses, contemplating the overt, and covert meanings. They must retrain the audience to want to work to get to the meaning of the art and find a satisfaction in not being given all of the answers up front.
Away from Home
So I’ve finally decided it’s okay to just be a regular person. I thought it would be fun and exciting to travel and go away on business, but it’s just more work. All I’ve wanted since I left home was to be home with my boyfriend and the pets.
This week I traveled to an educational conference in Philadelphia, and had been looking forward to it for a while. I’m a slightly nervous traveler so right off the bat there is a little anxiety attached to it, but I challenged myself to overcome it. I challenged myself to walk around the city and to talk to strangers at the conference. I did both.
The hotel I’m staying at is not near the conference. This is the case because I’m trying to stay in budget with the hotel allotment given by my school. I wasn’t smart about it when I booked the hotel, but I thought I was. It was further away than it appeared to be on the map, and as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think I searched hard enough for an alternative. It turned out just fine though. I’ve been taking the subway into the heart of the city where the conference is being held. I felt really proud of overcoming my nervousness about being in a different city by myself, but I’m from New York so I figure I can handle myself.
Tonight when I got back from day 2 of the 3 day conference I happened to pick up a local paper and read a story about just how dangerous Philadelphia really is. Murder capitol of the world it said, people being shot in all parts of the city it said. I’ve been careful, but certainly have been walking around by myself and taking the subway. The article made me nervous enough about traveling on my own that I changed my return ticket home tomorrow to an earlier train and am going to miss the last lecture in the morning.
I don’t like to feel stupid or balk at a challenge, but I really just don’t want something bad to happen. I want to be smart about it and it seems that the smart thing to do is not to push my luck by traveling on a day when it is likely that there will be fewer people on the subway because it’s a Saturday. I have to admit that I’m not as completely adaptable as I’d like to pretend I am and that I’m not always smart in the decisions I make. Oh well, live and learn.
Self Voyeurism
I am a voyeur, but not of others. I find myself drawn to my reflection. Standing in the shower gym this morning my eyes were riveted to the reflection of my naked body in the frosted glass door. I don’t look at myself out of a feeling narcissism, but out of curiosity. I am fascinated by the image I project and constantly wonder how others see me. Not how the view me, or whether or not they like me, but simply how they see me. I think of it in terms of a photograph — what does that one moment in time project.
Gray Dawn
There are parts of my life that do not feel like my own. They are as real as a mid-night dream, dim, and uncertain. I know they are actual, I know that I participated in the event or the activity, but it is just hazy. The memories recompose themselves as if I am remembering them from the pages of a book I read in high school. They do not have the same tangibility or sensory recall that others have.
What makes it so confusing is that these real memories carry the same weight and importance as many dreams I have. After waking from many such dreams I wonder, no, feel that they are the real memories. They have more substance in my mind than the average dream, more of a weighted sensibility and true emotion than many real memories.
These two intertwine and grow like weeds up the side of the house, eventually covering the glass of the window, or my mind’s eye, making it near impossible to make any distinction between the night and the day. It is a gray dawn that never truly comes to light, never revealing the new day, or the clear mind.
