Living The Words of Audre Lorde

Living The Words of Audre Lorde

By Zakiya Lasley

     How fitting at a time like this in my life is the concept of this question. A topic that up until recently I tried my best to stay clear of. Before this year, I felt I had strategically and carefully averted the blatant racism/prejudice/homophobia that exists on this campus. Of course this is my conscious mind talking, fully aware that there is no escape from the vices of racism, the penetrating glare of homophobia, or the disturbing and downright exasperating nature of prejudice. “Every woman has a well-stocked arsenal of anger potentially useful against those oppressions, personal and institutional, which brought that anger into being” (The Uses of Anger” Women Responding to Racism,” Sister Outsider: 127). Yes, we do, I respond. Until recently, I had only toyed with my feelings of anger, and unfairness, unwilling to accept that these feelings existed, always there bubbling at the surface waiting for the perfect moment to unleash. My freshman year of College I wanted to set forth goals that I knew may or may not be achievable,  yet in the long run would not only provide me with a genuine liberal arts perspective, but an education worthy of my Ivy League peers. In achieving this goal, one of the ways I wanted to implement a unique experience was by studying a critical language. In this case I selected Chinese. Not only because of the spiritual reasons that connect me to the teachings and philosophies of East Asia, but also due to my natural curiosity and love of learning. Needless to say, my first memories of Chinese class were very unpleasant, uncomfortable, and embarrassing. Finding myself not at the head of the class or even in a position of authority, I felt off-balanced and un-centered.                                   

      Automatically I relied on my personal strengths, frustrations, and anger to carry me through the semester. Apparently this was not enough. One day in my 120 Chinese Class second semester of my Freshman year. I returned to class upon using the restroom to find two of my pages torn from my Chinese book (which cost $100.00), and characters (written symbols) in the margins of my open pages. I was shocked; I had only left the room for five minutes. At first I thought it was a joke played on all of us, quickly searching the materials (and faces) of my classmates, to find nothing. Not even an incriminating sound. So I did what I felt at the time was appropriate given the cruelty of the situation. I sat down, closed my book, and waited silently for my professor to return. Unfortunately, in the Chinese department we have all visiting professors one-year, two years at the most.  Men and women who dedicate themselves to teaching students a critical language. I immediately deflated. How can I approach this woman, who might not have any clue as to what I’m experiencing? Later, as I asked my Chinese native-speaking friends what the characters meant. I realized they were not the common epitaphs I expected from a predominantly white class “Black bitch…nigger” were among some of my cynical assumptions. I quickly learned that my case had suddenly become an attack on my sexual orientation. Which at that point I hadn’t realized had become such public knowledge.

     I immediately felt ashamed, and stupid. Eventually I notified my professor who discussed it with the head of the department. The final result was a deduction in everyone’s grades, given the fact that my classmates refused to come clear. As humiliating and stupid as the situation was. I found myself laughing, commenting that whoever took the time to learn the characters for Dyke must have learned something in the process. Yet the anger that surrounded me throughout the semester only served to motivate me and support my decision to stick with a language that everyone seemingly felt I would ultimately fail.

            Institutionally speaking, I now find myself in a situation where I have come to terms with my own responsibility in a matter of Academic Dishonesty. I find myself straddling a fence of depression, shame, embarrassment, yet mostly outrage. The outrage stemming from the unshakable belief that there are practices and systems in place at predominantly white institutions, to not only break the student of color, but destroy them. The system of institutional racism I have come into contact here at Hamilton has left me more depressed than any “real-world” experience I have encountered in my short lifetime. I feel the reason for this is the knowledge that even in my academic naïveté, I believe in higher education to overcome the barriers and blockades of racism. Sadly, my own faith in the educational system has been tried to the utmost. However, I have not given up all hope, since in this instance; my anger is my most powerful tool. I realize that ultimately the decisions made by my white peers, administrators, and professors will not be overturned in the immediate future. Yet I know that any action that occurs between now and my “gentle separation” from the college will result in a change of the power and oppression that exists in my eyes as the most transformative department at any college or university; the Women’s Studies Department. In reading Audre Lorde’s essays, specifically ‘The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism”, I now realize that anger is not just a reactionary emotion to an oppressive system but a mechanism of change and solidarity. I hope that in my future studies I continue to utilize anger until all my sisters of color understand the precarious legs of support that come from these predominantly white institutions.