La Linda Writes

What do I mean by paper cuts? I am a middle class Latina, with lots of formalized school education. I own a home and a Prius and I can speak English with great pizzazz. AND yet while that means I do not pick tomatoes or clean people's houses or take care of any children but my twelve year old queridos Teo y Gina, I get paper cuts almost every day. It is not because my hands are clumsy.

It is because my privilege, especially in the grand progressive town of Berkeley, puts me into contact with well meaning folks who just don't understand that I am not like them even if I can speak like them. Without further ado, let me share a few recent cuts:

I am at a School District training because I am the chair of the school governance council. These councils are supposed to represent the students' demographics in a district, like most, with a huge achievement gap that locates African Americans and Latinos at the bottom. My workshop has about 15 parents. One is African American, there is one Latino father and me.

In my small group we are "digging into data" and noticing how many kids don't meet basic standards on a mathematical test that we doubt we could pass. I express concerns about this rate of failure.

One woman states: "Well, my experience is different than yours. I was volunteering today and the teacher gave instructions. Some kids got right into doing what she said and some just didn't even care."

OUCH. She didn't say the ones who didn't care were Latino, but the words "didn't even care" cut me. I know people think Latinos don't care about education because some pull their kids out of school to help in family emergencies or go on one month trips to México during the December holidays. They think we don't care because we don't come to meetings like this. I didn't come until this year because I feared this very moment.

I snap back a retort about not blaming the victims and she is silenced. I don't care that I was not kind or curious. Why? Because this is the fourth paper cut since I decided to engage the folks in the school district by running for the council.

My first cut came when I saw the ballot and that I was the only Latina/o running. I emailed the new principal who took two weeks to tell me there was nothing he could/would do to make the ballot more representative.

My second cut came at the first meeting, where I saw that the white people had won, and therefore there was only one African American parent on the council, even though three had been on the ballot. As chair, I had to sign a form the principal filled out outlining all he had done to let people know about the council and voting. Under the complaint section, he had noted one person (that would be me) had complained about the representation issues.

"You see, I did listen to you." He smiled. I did not smile back.

My third cut came at the district-wide training later that same evening as I surveyed all the other councils and saw ours was no anomaly.

So by the time I got to that small group and that woman shared her punto de vista, my heart was, as they say, all tore up.

Paper cuts are a nick here, a slice there. You can feel a bit exagerada if you complain - they are even more invisible than an actual paper cut, but they don't go away as easily as the real cuts because they are pervasive, cumulative and they hurt, damnit.

As a writer, I love to look up words' actual meanings, and this one resonates: "To injure yourself or somebody with something sharp, usually enough to draw blood." These comments and environments injure everyone, it's just that it is people of color whose blood boils.

Later in that same training the instructor showed us the ugly, brutal truth of the achievement gap in multi-colored graphs. The graph that seemed to surprise the majority (you all remember who they are) showed the gap exists EVEN when the parents, like me, are middle class and educated. One man said, as if he had no idea of this reality: "Can this info be distributed more widely?"

I wondered what he thought that would do. Would that change that first woman's perspective that some kids "don't care?" I wanted to say something, but I feared I would be arrogant or burst into tears. I wanted to say that no one with eyes and ears needs graphs to know what is going on in our schools.

All they need to do is have the highly sensitive antenna of many people of color. They just need to watch the playground and see which kids get into trouble as I have for seven years. They just need to see the veiled rage in the eyes of the predominantly white teachers and staff.

It is probably why I am so drawn to Buddhism. I need to feel connection when I am pushed into dualism with each paper cut. As my heart constricted with each cut, I breathed deeply and whispered: May I be free from suffering and the root of suffering. May you be free from suffering and the root of suffering.

It is my antidote to the cuts that keep on coming. Share your cuts with me. I will not think you have a chip on your shoulder or "don't care."

What do I mean by paper cuts? I am a middle class Latina, with lots of formalized school education. I own a home and a Prius and I can speak English with great pizzazz. AND yet while that means I do not pick tomatoes or clean people's houses or take care of any children but my twelve year old queridos Teo y Gina, I get paper cuts almost every day. It is not because my hands are clumsy.

It is because my privilege, especially in the grand progressive town of Berkeley, puts me into contact with well meaning folks who just don't understand that I am not like them even if I can speak like them. Without further ado, let me share a few recent cuts:

I am at a School District training because I am the chair of the school governance council. These councils are supposed to represent the students' demographics in a district, like most, with a huge achievement gap that locates African Americans and Latinos at the bottom. My workshop has about 15 parents. One is African American, there is one Latino father and me.

In my small group we are "digging into data" and noticing how many kids don't meet basic standards on a mathematical test that we doubt we could pass. I express concerns about this rate of failure.

One woman states: "Well, my experience is different than yours. I was volunteering today and the teacher gave instructions. Some kids got right into doing what she said and some just didn't even care."

OUCH. She didn't say the ones who didn't care were Latino, but the words "didn't even care" cut me. I know people think Latinos don't care about education because some pull their kids out of school to help in family emergencies or go on one month trips to México during the December holidays. They think we don't care because we don't come to meetings like this. I didn't come until this year because I feared this very moment.

I snap back a retort about not blaming the victims and she is silenced. I don't care that I was not kind or curious. Why? Because this is the fourth paper cut since I decided to engage the folks in the school district by running for the council.

My first cut came when I saw the ballot and that I was the only Latina/o running. I emailed the new principal who took two weeks to tell me there was nothing he could/would do to make the ballot more representative.

My second cut came at the first meeting, where I saw that the white people had won, and therefore there was only one African American parent on the council, even though three had been on the ballot. As chair, I had to sign a form the principal filled out outlining all he had done to let people know about the council and voting. Under the complaint section, he had noted one person (that would be me) had complained about the representation issues.

"You see, I did listen to you." He smiled. I did not smile back.

My third cut came at the district-wide training later that same evening as I surveyed all the other councils and saw ours was no anomaly.

So by the time I got to that small group and that woman shared her punto de vista, my heart was, as they say, all tore up.

Paper cuts are a nick here, a slice there. You can feel a bit exagerada if you complain - they are even more invisible than an actual paper cut, but they don't go away as easily as the real cuts because they are pervasive, cumulative and they hurt, damnit.

As a writer, I love to look up words' actual meanings, and this one resonates: "To injure yourself or somebody with something sharp, usually enough to draw blood." These comments and environments injure everyone, it's just that it is people of color whose blood boils.

Later in that same training the instructor showed us the ugly, brutal truth of the achievement gap in multi-colored graphs. The graph that seemed to surprise the majority (you all remember who they are) showed the gap exists EVEN when the parents, like me, are middle class and educated. One man said, as if he had no idea of this reality: "Can this info be distributed more widely?"

I wondered what he thought that would do. Would that change that first woman's perspective that some kids "don't care?" I wanted to say something, but I feared I would be arrogant or burst into tears. I wanted to say that no one with eyes and ears needs graphs to know what is going on in our schools.

All they need to do is have the highly sensitive antenna of many people of color. They just need to watch the playground and see which kids get into trouble as I have for seven years. They just need to see the veiled rage in the eyes of the predominantly white teachers and staff.

It is probably why I am so drawn to Buddhism. I need to feel connection when I am pushed into dualism with each paper cut. As my heart constricted with each cut, I breathed deeply and whispered: May I be free from suffering and the root of suffering. May you be free from suffering and the root of suffering.

It is my antidote to the cuts that keep on coming. Share your cuts with me. I will not think you have a chip on your shoulder or "don't care."