How does a washing machine get the dirt and grime out? Agitation. And if things are going to change in this country, if we are going to make this a better place to live, we need to never stop agitating.
I should be doing homework...or the dishes...or something constructive right now, probably both. However, the blender that rests atop my neck is full of all kinds of things that need to be mixed up and poured out or else I will not be able to concentrate on anything else today.
The other day in Public Policy class, we had a lesson on messaging, and we led into it by having a short discussion about the most recent meeting of the Governing Board of the Maricopa County Community College District, which we all attended as part of a lesson in parliamentary procedure. The actual scheduled business of the meeting was pre-empted by about an hour of public commentary by a group of DREAMer students from a few of the colleges. They were there ostensibly to offer personal thanks to the board for its just policy of allowing them to be considered in-state residents, thus eligible for a lower tuition, instead of out-of-state or alien residents.
They did offer their gratitude, some eloquently, some graciously, some nervously, and some with impassioned agitation. A theme that most of them touched upon was that what the colleges had done was good but, ultimately, not enough. They are still being denied driver’s licenses by Gov. Brewer, and they made a point of accusing her and Attorney General Horne of being guided by racism above anything else in their persistent oppression of DREAMers.
As a lead-in to our discussion in class, we were asked what our opinions were about the messages these students gave, about the repetitive accusations of racism and the persistent references to the state government’s conscious choice to keep them on the outside looking in. It seemed to be a point of agreement by the class and the instructors that, indeed, they were a little over the top and inappropriate in using that forum to make a political argument. As our lesson that day was about how to always tailor one’s message, it was a good discussion point, but I found myself disagreeing with nearly everybody.
I felt that the students were wholly appropriate in taking that opportunity to speak their minds. They were not just addressing the Governing Board; they were addressing everyone in that audience and, if they were lucky, many people outside that room. And they were speaking honestly: we ARE a racist state. Rather, we are a state governed by racists, living in a county that is policed by one of the most bigoted and shameful law enforcement officials in the country. Every single day, these students and countless others in the same situation have to get up and try to live and, hopefully, work in a city and state where they are scorned instead of appreciated, and the basis of that scorn is their race.
The message we were being taught was that they erred in not playing by the rules, by not following protocol, by not adjusting their message or its delivery in order to conform to proper procedure.
To which I cry, “Bullshit.”
Sometimes (and then was as good a time as any), you just have to say, “Fuck the rules.” It’s “the rules” that placed these students in the position they are in. It’s “the rules” that are being used to keep them there. It’s “the rules” that allow people who errantly consider themselves the betters of these students to remain in power and create the kind of policy that perpetuates this oppression.
It’s “the rules” that make the façade that is the American Dream an American Nightmare for most of us, and, thus, it’s “the rules” that need to be flouted. Not only flouted -- tossed out completely along with those who would use them to disregard the dignity of others. This American Dream is one that says that if you work hard and play by “the rules,” you can be successful, which is nearly always identified as a condition of financial comfort and, more importantly, assimilation. For that reason alone, I reject “the rules.”
My mother’s family were immigrants, her grandparents all coming from Hungary to try and make a better life here in the United States. The first generation which came here were part of an ethnic group that was despised and degraded by people who had already successfully assimilated into American life. The Hungarians were considered “less desirable than Negroes” (to quote a contemporary publication), and to them were applied the worst stereotypes and scorn. To that end, the second generation worked very hard to move away from that identification, refusing to teach their children the language, wanting them to be good Americans. That strategy worked, but I would contend that the goal was a dangerous one. My relatives assimilated, for sure. Today, the majority of them are conservative bigots and proud to be so. Modestly middle class, they worked hard and made some money, and now they sit around and spend their leisure time making racist comments about Puerto Ricans and Mexicans and African Americans, safe in their assimilation. This is what adherence to “the rules” does if you let it, and clearly, most people let it.
If I could say anything to this group of students (or any similar group), it would be this: Kudos to you! Don’t let up. DON’T ASSIMILATE! Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t have a right to make your demands in any way you see fit.
The more comfortable a situation a person is in, the less likely he is to care about your discomfort, so do all you can to make him uncomfortable.
Shout it when and where you can, and always keep in mind the words of Frederick Douglass: “Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation, are people who want crops without plowing the ground; they want rain without thunder and lightning; they want the ocean without the roar of its many waters. The struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, or it may be both. But it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”