Week Ten: Privilege, Race-as-a-Construct, and Real Estate Value- Oh My!

This week I also wrote my essay; I happened to select sexuality, as I had this tangent planned about what it means to be female, white, and heterosexual- what kind of boxes that puts you in, what social norms you'd better adhere to, and what privilege my primarily 'normal' status imparts upon me. The essay ended up going somewhere else entirely, and I'm really nervous about it fitting the bounds of the assignment, but it is thesis driven, even if it has some elements of personal details- but that is neither here nor there.

The back and forth tension I'm seeing on the issue of race in this chapter is fascinating- between the for Klan member vouching for 'white equality' (what...) and the one-step-forward-one-step-back and forth back and forth that never quite seems to balance out, and only makes racism a more pervasive part of society...

In my paper, I brought up that to me, homosexuality was invisible- and thus never became something that I considered or thought about as a child and young adult. The last bit that I wrote- about how if they didn't exist in a productive society that I could see, then if I was one I wouldn't exist either?

I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to feel that way about something so shallow as my skin tone.

My boyfriend reads comic books, and I've started flicking through them, noticing trends we've talked about in this class. As I do so, I can see it- this pervasive sense of invisibility, the non-personhood of people who aren't white.

I used to think that things were really pretty equal- there was a civil right's movement, and Martin Luther King day, right? Black people are people just like me, no big deal.

But the fact is, growing up? I was never in the same class as a black person. There were some latinos. My class had two immigrants, once. Even though we lived near the poor part of town- walking to school I'd be walking through what were called the 'Projects', government housing- I experienced very little cultural diversity aside from exchange students in my own home. Hell, none of the places I lived really had anything other than white people and latinos.

What's up with that anyway.

Week Nine: Skin deep

Looking back, it seems hard to believe that something so insidious as race is one that I've been totally unaware of as a -construct- and not a simple reality. Even at the beginning of the course, I knew that race was real- of course it was.

I can see now that our culture has a strange obsession with it, one that's been used to justify social stratospheres in which the dominant racial archetype is the one on top.

Week 8: Sexy is as sexy does

Marxist feminism has a point, even if it's rather extreme.

Sexuality is so heavily socially regulated and mandated, that to even be feminine is to be less as a man- and therefor less as a person. Unless you're a woman, because GOD FORBID women should be anything but stepping stones and objects to be used. A masculine woman is a bitch and a butch and needs a good deep dicking, CLEARLY.

Grumbly feminism rant ended.

Wait, no not quite.

One time, at one of my old (male dominated) jobs in which I was a tech support agent, I decided to put some care into my appearance for a day, just because I wanted to. I put on makeup so thick that it was noticeable; I felt like I was wearing a mask, and when I looked in the mirror, a stranger peered back at me.

It was strange and uncomfortable, but my female coworker, who was incredibly appearance oriented, assured me I looked like a million dollars.

And then, as I went through my day... I began to notice the appraising looks. The small nods of approval, the friendlier demeanors.

So wait... I have to be fake to be liked? Hygiene, I understand. Dressing flatteringly, fine- that makes sense. But piling on makeup so far as to be unrecognizeable except as something once seen in a photoshopped image in a magazine-? Spending half an hour just to garner a friendly face?

Welcome to being a straight woman in today's society.

There are many who won't look at you like a package of meat with a pretty ribbon; but there are more who will, in my experience.

Most of the time, it's easier to be alone... IE antisocial, weird, a prude, add your own negative label here just for fun.

Week 6: Bootstraps or Bootlick?

Horatio Alger, contemporary author of Rags-to-Riches books which ended up shaping the story we tell ourselves about the American meritocracy, was not a rags-to-riches case himself.

His father was a Unitarian minister, and he was ultimately well off enough to attend Harvard university at the age of sixteen.

It is my opinion that those at the top of the social stratosphere like to tell this mythology over and over again; and it's a pretty myth. It gives those at the bottom hope. It makes those in the middle believe they can rise, if only they just work hard enough- and it means those at the top must have done something to deserve their status.

However, statistics will show with pain-staking clarity that this idea of meritocracy is nothing but a myth- when viewing IQ versus annual income, the results were all over the chart, without demonstrable indication that a higher IQ yields more profit. IQ is only one of the many ways in which we can measure merit- but one thing that has nothing to do with merit is who your parents are, and who you were -born- to.

It is possible to climb the social ladder, but again, statistics show the incredibly high probability that where you're born is where you're die, economically.

Meritocracy is a lie perpetuated by the benefactors of the belief system and supported by those who wish it were true.

Week 5: Enter Foucault

I wasn't able to snag Discipline and Punishment from the library, but I've got it on back order for interest and reference.

I've never really thought about criminality much; my sense of justice is that you do wrong, you get punished. But the statistics of punishment are pretty eye opening. It doesn't seem 'just' in the slightest. I'd always assumed that prison was a rehabilitative experience; far from it, I guess.

I found this program that I'd love, love, love to participate in- but I don't see it happening, unfortunately. I guess there's one down in Eugene. Laame.

http://contexts.org/articles/fall-2009/learning-from-the-inside-out/

Exploring the idea of criminality also raises the compelling point Mr. Cushing brought up in class- is there any one behaviour that has always been considered criminal or taboo? The answer is... no. Not really, no. So then why the hard-ass way of looking at crime? If it's all just a question of breaking social norms- well, what is normal?

Durkheim's theory of suicides is interesting too. I think I'm adding that to my Amazon wishlist, as it seems an interesting read and I can't possibly keep up with reading required in classes and my own interests.

As far as Strain Theory goes... I'd be really interested to see statistics on that. When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to become a retreatist. I always felt very estranged by that desire, very isolated

I'm so tired that I can't sleep, sit and drink Pennroyal tea...

Alright. Well. I'm in less shock this week than I was last week. It's still rough, though. I'll post a partial transcript of what I sent my mother, as I'd mentioned I'd had a minor mental crisis and she was worried. I feel like I summed it well.

"As far as my little crisis, my sociology class got to the concept of
Hegemony and the media, and how 95% of the media is controlled by six major
companies- and that's it- and how those companies are guided by the advertisers
who pay them... when I was younger, my biggest fear was being manipulated
without knowing it. I'd been manipulated so many times by my peers because of
how gullible (remember Alex Lazar??) and I was -aware- of being manipulated by
the school system... as I became more and self aware, I began to question how
much of myself was -me- and how much was what other people told me I was, and I identified the thing that made me most afraid was that I wasn't in control of
myself, was that I -wasn't- actually the one making decisions and thinking for
myself.

And then in sociology, we get to this understanding of hegemony- the way
the dominant social group shapes the very thought constructs of every group in
society to maintain the status quo, be it willful- advertising- or subconscious
reinforcement of unfair social constructions, like sexism. I used to think that
the latter was kind of conspiracy-theory-ish, and sort of rolled my eyes at
people whining about the patriarchy or racism because 'It's so much better now
it isn't even a problem!!' But then I started seeing it more and more in
everything I did- I watched a movie, there it was. I tried to read a fantasy
novel, only to start noticing that the protagonists were all fair skinned and
that the big evil they faced was darkness from the south born of dark skinned
women. I mean. I never even SAW these things before. And now I'm seeing them
everywhere- EVERY WHERE I LOOK. ... but... I guess a part of me always knew
that the things I perceived as natural and normal- weren't, really, outside the
boundaries of specific society.

There was a part of me that already knew my deepest fear was a reality.
So, yeah. It was jarring to suddenly realize how insidious it was... but... life
goes on. I have to accept that my thoughts aren't truly my own, and that my
opinions are bound to be strongly influenced by both upbringing and the messages
sent to me every day, everywhere I go. I can't hide from it, but maybe being
aware of it- all of these subtle and not so subtle reinforcements- will help me
to avoid being trapped by it."

It's changing the way I think. I'm seeing things I never saw before, and- like in Ishmael- I'm shocked that I never saw them.

But I'd rather see the bars to my cage than pace it and wonder why- why- why...

... at least now I know. And I can fight, regardless of how little it may or may not change. I feel a little more in charge of my own being, and I can only do my best not to let myself be trapped in fallacies and soothed by the status quo.

There's a part of me that hates being right.

The rest of me is resigned. Somewhere inside, I'm certain I knew it all along. Being an outsider, I felt it in my heart- this dissonance. The control.

It's not paranoid if they really are out to get you.

We spoke of hegemony and the power of the media two days ago. Already, I've seeing the world differently, but something about Saturday's discourse really kicked my ass, to be blunt. The visual representation of Middle Earth as Europe, maybe? The idea of Hegemony itself, which I had somehow never explored?

I guess this is all hitting me really hard. I feel overwhelmed by sudden realizations everywhere I look.

I tried to read a popcorn fantasy novel to take my mind off of it, and instead, I'm noticing more and more the inherent racism in my contemporary fantasy, the stories that are whispered through our societies- the hidden messages of what is normal and what is not, what is good and what is bad, even subconsciously. Every word I read, every character archetype I encountered- even in this fantastical imaginary world, it mirrored the truths of our own society.

I tried to watch a romantic comedy, cynically aware that I probably wouldn't enjoy it as I had enjoyed such movies in the past. I picked 'Penelope' at random from Netflix.

As I watched, the story was about a girl with a pig's nose and ears. Otherwise everything a person 'should' be (IE, rich, white, kind, intelligent, drop dead gorgeous even with the damn pig's nose,) men would literally run screaming at her 'ghastly' appearance and have to be strong-armed into not alerting the media to the young woman's horrifying deformities. She has been raised in utter seclusion her entire life because of this.

She 'comes out' and it is presented as this WONDERFUL, EMPOWERING THING that this horrifying monster woman can be accepted by mainstream society! Yay women's rights, we are EMPOWERED because even an ugly chick can be seen in public!! WOW!

The curse is eventually lifted, and she can then start a romance with the romantic interest, who was not of the correct social class to marry her and supposedly lift the curse. It is AMAZING because, like, he would have married her EVEN WITH THE PIG NOSE! WOW! What a guy!!

... I am appalled. A fictional talented rich intelligent white good-natured woman is seen as deeply shameful because of one physical flaw, to the point where every victory she encounters is all about overcoming the adversity of her 'hideous appearance'. Everything she does is in spite of being 'ugly'. What the fuck. OBVIOUSLY a woman's primary value is in her appearance, and, if her appearance does not strictly conform to a rigid idea of modern beauty, anything she DOES manage to do is an incredible feat because, oh my god, she's ugly.

You know what?

I probably would have watched that a week ago, shrugged, thought 'cute movie', and never thought about it again.

These messages are so insidious that I haven't even heard them consciously before. The moral of the story is that if you can somehow find it within you to love yourself despite being ugly, maybe you can be pretty. The outwardly stated moral is apparently one of self esteem and 'inner beauty' or something- I don't even know, it's so distressing that I have a bitter taste on my tongue.

The story of who we're supposed to be is fed to us day in and out, it's just incredible. Who would we be if we weren't born into this culture?

October 4th- Public Transit: Faceless Mosh Pit

"I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity."
-Albert Einstein

Mr. Cushing brought up an interesting point in class when we stepped back to examine aspects of our lives in regard to three different sociological lenses. Cars were brought up, which led to how we get from one place to another; I brought up the bus and the crowds, with a horrified shiver lilting my voice.

Mr. Cushing raised an auditory eyebrow at that, and began to talk about how the bus is a great equalizer of mankind. People who might never otherwise interact, who walk streets in opposition to one another, are all forced into limited space. The classlessness of the bus can cause great discomfort for those privileged who are now forced to share experience with the unprivileged.

I am on the bus and I am thinking about these things. I can smell the thick scent of spices and incense on the heavy face covering of an immigrant woman with three curly haired children; I listen to the sound of the man in front of me breathing. It seems unnaturally, outrageously loud to me. He is old, and possibly sick. From across the aisle, a kid in skinny jeans with too many piercings has his knobbly knees tucked up against the back of the seat in front of him, head turned to stare out the window so that I may see the back of his disheveled head and the patch-laden grungy backpack at his side.

Would I be more comfortable if, instead of the diversity here, I were surrounded by people of my age and ethnic groups? Probably not; I am prickly. I don't particularly like people my age, and while I am aware that the story of our culture has imbued me with a certain us/them mentality in regard to race, I don't feel like I have a problem with people of other races.

However, my detachment from my 'group' has more to do with poor socialization as a child than it does with any inherent saintliness and lack of race/age/sex/nationality-isms. Having thought on it, I have come to the conclusion that I wouldn't be comfortable surrounded by people on a bus unless they were people I already knew in some fashion. Even those who share common interests with me would still be perceived as threatening and unpleasant in my view until they became not strangers.

I believe that my discomfort on the bus is partially a story told by my own subculture, a sphere within the American individualistic hard working truck driving apple-pie culture: I am the nerd that gets picked on in school. I am the girl with the acne and tangled hair who never quite fit anywhere, the verbal punching bag for anyone who felt the need to let off steam by the systematic ritual of abuses suffered in early education. And though there have been many stories I have been a part of and am still a part of, that early narrative still runs strong.

I am still acting out this story, long after the days of its relevancy.

On the bus, every stranger is armed and unfriendly. Even the ones who smile.

Especially the ones who smile.

In fact, I feel less threatened by the woman who smells of incense and spices with her three curly-haired children. I make assumptions about her; she is speaking another language. She is an outcast, too. Her head is covered; is she Muslim? Her story runs counter to the norms of our shared society- I glance at her toes and note that the palms of her sandled feet are an unnatural shade of orange. Henna? I don't know. I will look it up later.

I try to make my glances covert. Maybe she sees me, though. Maybe she doesn't see me with the same warmth that I see her; can she see the story written in my posture, the way my arms cling to each other as if for safety, the way I can't meet her- or anyone's- eye? Probably not. I am just one more face in the crowd, one more pair of eyes with black eyeliner, just another stranger in a surely strange seeming land. Just another set of lips pulled tight in a surely disapproving line, making her feel all the more an outsider.

I try to stop looking. I know what it is like to be an outsider, though I'll never know to the depths of not understanding the scornful words directed my way... does she dream of a home country far away? Or was she raised here, and can, in fact, understand each scathing comment- but whispers in her native tongue to her children, imbuing in them the power of national identity?

I'll never know.

I pull the garrish yellow wire; a bell chimes. I swing my heavy backpack over my shoulder, and exit the bus.

I never see the woman again.

October 2nd: Through the looking glass

Class today was, as expected, fantastic despite my reluctance to leave the warmth and comfort of my bed this morning. And I got some much-needed clarification on the nature of sociology itself.

See, my mistake before was assuming too personal a relation to the study. Sociology isn't a way of understanding any individual; sociology doesn't particularly care about the individual. Sociology wants to understand societies and the way they move, the social constructions they invent and the realities they inhabit. This is something I need to remember, because my fascination lies more in examining the specific... but the grand scheme is just as interesting, so why not?

I never thought I was interested in politics or economics or- well. Anything large and unwieldly that I feel unable to have any real impact on unless I dedicate my life to it, and even then it would be a long shot. I had long ago written it off as boring and depressing and not something I felt like dedicating my mental capacity to.

But this is part of what I'm missing, isn't it? How can I possibly hope to understand the individual- or the species as a whole- when I do not understand the fundamental institutions that govern and guide the behaviour of the individual? Of the society that the individual roams through?

My views have thus far been incredibly culturally skewed; I'm more American than I ever realized. I guess I always knew that my thoughts and belief systems were based on the culture I was brought up in, but I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to overcome that. The very things that fascinate me are a direct result of the culture I inhabit! I realized some years ago that I would always, always be coming from a subjective point of view; that there can be no absolute objectivity, because I can't not be human. I am able to distance myself from my own beliefs and see with what I believe is relative objectivity, to play the Devil's Advocate quite compellingly against myself to try to discern more objective truths... I can also accept that I don't understand things as fully as I wish I could, but all I can do is try.

... ever get the feeling you write like an asshole? I am sounding REALLY egotistical, but whenever I write about this stuff, I feel the need to pull out all the fancy verbiage I pick up in books and in classes. All the things I wish I could say day to day, but that never occurs to my brain to produce. I guess it's just as well. I sound like an asshole.

Anyway, I am thinking I have a major now. Maybe not sociology specifically- I'm too interested in the individual to dedicate myself solely to understanding society. But Social Sciences. I mean, that IS a degree, isn't it? I figure it can encompass all the things I am most interested in- psychology, sociology, anthropology, history, religion, philosophy, even linguistics... unless I'm way off my mark, isn't social science the study of what makes people?

With a degree like that, I could go into a field I am actually interested in- social work, criminal justice, teaching, ESL(?), or possibly research stuff. I don't know. I keep trying to tell myself not to take the classes I'm interested in because they aren't practical. But maybe just HAVING a degree in SOMETHING will be enough for me to escape this ten dollar an hour bracket.

Someday, I won't be working in a call center repeating the same things over and over again. I have no illusions that I am capable of being a business owner, but I know I can do something that doesn't make me feel like a miserable cog in a machine, just spinning endlessly and going nowhere.

Week 1: How I Learned To Love The Bomb

So far, this class has already impacted the way I think- that's a good sign, one week in.

I'm looking around and starting to question, though as I reflect upon my reflections, I do have to wonder if what I'm thinking is more anthropological in nature than sociological. Still, these are things I have thought about, though the specific knowing of the names and people who started this discipline has been interesting.

Walking out of class, I saw a flyer tucked away in the top shelf of one of those clubs fair/volunteer opportunity/bus schedule catchall paper holders. It was pink and caught my eye- the header was something along the lines of People of Color Mentor Program. I stopped and stared and thought about the things we'd learned in class that day- the common perception of the black man as 'dangerous' and 'violent', themes engrained within society hundreds of years ago, still tugging at our perceptions. I hadn't even been aware of it.

Even as I sit here in my grey cubicle, filled with silent loathing and boredom, I find myself feeling aggravated by the length of last names. 'Why is it,' I grump, 'that these latino surnames have to be so damn long??' But then, thinking about that from a sociological perspective, we would want to examine the length of surnames from different parts of the globe and study the social reasons as to why those names are long. What types of societies and cultures create those long last names? For that matter, why are 'typical' (IE anglo-saxon) last names shorter as opposed to longer?

Sociological linguistics- I wonder if that is a 'doable' thing? How would you begin to analyze -that- field? What sorts of questions would one ask? 'Why do some languages have gendered articles and others do not?' might be a good one. And then you could cross-examine the cultures with gendered articles and those which do not, and so forth and so on. Or you could work the -sound- of the language- why, for example, does German sound so guttaral? Why so heavy, in comparison with nearby France? Although, come to think of it, some of the throat noises in French sound similar... so why do these Europaean countries have throat noises, when Japanese does not?

For that matter, isn't it kind of a Euro-centric viewpoint I'm taking?? What about the question of why some languages- Vietnamese, I believe some Chinese dialects, others that I don't know- lilt as part of the function of the language, while others- English, German, ???- do not? Whereas in American culture, tone and inflection shed emphasis or impart emotion, in other cultures and languages, tone and inflection COMPLETELY CHANGE THE MEANING OF THE WORD. Like, from duck to candle.

Am I even doing this right? In the textbook it talks about comparing non-specific incidences to try to shed light on an issue or example. I'm basing these off of that... but I have the feeling that I'm not 'doing it right'.