Photo by the wonderfully talented Rena Chung
My grandparents are known to never be stressed out by people—a lesson that’s absolutely hard to master. Whenever faced with increasingly stubborn and misguided individuals, they’d simply repeat a piece of spiritual advice that’s been passed down in my family over and over again:
An ignorant person will make you hurt yourself.
When I was in college at a university known for its troubling, racial history, this advice became one of my philosophies.
Last week, a religion professor who once taught at my alma mater posted some racist vitriol in the form of an “article” on his social media. Immediately, people sounded off in the comments about how ridiculous this man’s claims were and how he definitely needed to check himself.
Among other things, he:
He lumped Black people into a group, as a whole, needing liberation from “drug addiction, violence, and promiscuity.”
He decided to equate the Black Lives Matter movement with terrorism and violence without seeking fuller context.
After I read his post, I wasn’t surprised he’d penned such a demeaning post about Black people—I’d had my run in with him before.
It was February 5th, 2018. Just one day after I’d been attacked on social media for responding to a post claiming that my entire campus was full of hateful, racist individuals, and just two days after a banned student walked onto my campus to post horribly racist and malicious content online. (You can read plenty more of the context behind my efforts here, the story, and the history behind my school here).
I entered this professor’s classroom at 7:50 in the morning. He taught World Religions, a class based on understanding the world’s most popular religions and how they relate (or not) to my own—according to him, of course. Yet, World Religions wasn’t really on my mind that morning.
At 8:15am, I was to have a meeting with the president of the university as well as all of the vice presidents and marketing to address yet another racial conflict on our campus. They called me in to help them understand and perform crisis communication tasks—I was only too willing to assist (a moment that required more of myself than I’d ever given before—I learned some powerful lessons, that’s for sure).
The World Religions professor’s policy was that even if you came to class just to take the quiz and leave as soon as it was over, it would be annulled. Makes sense. Professors don’t want you to just come for the grade at 8am, they want you to come and engage and learn the material for the next fifty minutes or so. I can’t fault him for that.
As I said, though, I had some bigger things on my mind.
I promptly got up after the quiz, as inconspicuously as one can in a lecture- style classroom setting, and walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” he said, almost with a smile.
“I’m sorry, sir. I should’ve told you, but I have a rather important meeting this morning and it can’t wait. I understand your—“
“You do realize that your quiz will not count and you’re skipping my class. Oh yes, go ahead and run off to your little meeting. It doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be one of those students that doesn’t learn anything.”
He made me to be an example in front of his entire class. I really wasn’t expecting that. I needed to keep my emotions in check.
“Sir, I get that, but—“
“I have nothing more to say to you. Go ahead and run off to your little meeting,” he said, waving me away as if I were some bothersome insect.
You’re not going to make a fool out of me. I think I have enough on my plate due to real-life racist encounters and a weekend full of navigating through horrible teasing and anger directed at me. Please just leave me alone.
“Sir, I have a meeting with the President,” I blurted out as he began to make more snide comments to the class about the failure of a student he thought I was.
“What...did you just say?” He finally turned to me in confusion.
“Yes, there’s a serious situation happening on our campus right now and a lot of people are hurting. This is why I have to leave today. I’m sure it won’t happen again, but this is important. I’m sorry. I can have him contact you if you don’t believe me.”
I didn’t want to seem like I had all the power in the world or something, but spreading unkind statements about me in front of a large class was not something I was willing to add to my plate that day.
He looked at me a bit dumbfounded, then regained his composure.
He rolled his eyes.
“It’s my classroom and what I say goes. Now, run off to your little meeting.”
“Sir, I mean the President. Your boss. I’m not making this up, but you will hear from someone today.”
Photo by Changbok Ko on Unsplash
I walked out of his classroom and prepared myself for what was sure to be an emotional day, but that was definitely not the way I wanted to start.
I profusely apologized to all of the campus superiors for arriving late to the meeting and when I told them why, the dean of that department was quite embarrassed.
“I’m extremely sorry that you had an issue with this professor. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to have a conversation with him. I promise you it will not happen again. Again, I’m sorry.”
The dean of the department met with the professor and the professor was brought in to speak with the higher-ups in administration.
But when I decided to go to this professor’s office to let him know what had happened without such a massive audience of onlookers, I was not met with an apology—not that I was even demanding one.
I just wanted him to understand that there was someone who wanted to cause some real hurt and division over the weekend, using words like “nigger” and posting videos on Snapchat to dehumanize Black people while they were celebrating their culture at an approved school function.
“That still leaves you no reason to leave my class. It is my classroom. I will not be disrespected. Do you think tattling to the President about me will change anything?” He shouted at me from behind his comfy desk with his pictures of all the souls he’d evangelized throughout the world.
I felt more than anger and more than pain. If you’ve ever felt the sting of rejection when someone refuses to see your culture and your struggle, you know what I’m talking about. To me, this was about more than simply leaving his classroom. This was about hurting people. You can’t claim to preach Christ and act as if the hurting of Black folks means nothing to you.
“I don’t care what’s happening, you make sure you never let this happen again,” he nodded his head as if to force me to agree with him and submit.
I did not.
I looked at this Latino professor full in the face and prepared my final statement. Maybe if I brought it home to him, he’d get it, right?
“Well Professor,” I drew my breath and met his steely gaze. “How would you feel if they called you a wetback? Huh? A beaner? What would you do?”
I refused to let this man win. Not when he was being so blind and insensitive. I spoke from a place of deep frustration and anger. How had this man continued to have a job? Why did I, an African American student, always feel like I had to call out even my own professors (which includes those who were not white) about their racist and horribly prejudiced notions? It wasn’t fair and he needed to know he was misjudging my experience—an experience he didn’t even try to understand.
“I-I...Uh..,” he stammered.
“Exactly. That’s what I thought,” I said, leaving his office and hoping he would one day have to answer for his ignorance.
He and I never uttered a single word to each other ever again.
I share this story to remind us that there will always be people in our lives who refuse to see our stories, struggles, or situations. Some people thrive when they have a misguided sense of power. They use that power to make others feel inferior, incapable, and insufficient. But when I think back to my conversations with Grandad riding in his trusty Toyota Avalon, I try my best to remember:
“An ignorant person will make you hurt yourself.”
But what’s the purpose of this post? To add to the pot of controversy surrounding this individual? To further isolate those we wish would change?
I want to remind you to be cognizant of those you’re talking to, even if you don’t always fully understand their context. I want to remind you to always listen to the experiences of others, even when you can’t fully understand, yourself. The world’s a lot bigger than your worldview and for a religious professor teaching World Religions, I would have hoped he could have some form of compassion for Black lives as well as all the others we’d studied throughout the world.
But I also want to remind those of you who hold positions of power to hold people, like the man in this story, accountable for their actions. Don’t just give him a serious “talking to.” Call him into the office. Help him understand why his ignorance is not tolerated. Document it and keep it on file; however, show him the example of compassion he did not give to others.
If he refuses to see that?
You already know what the next logical step is.
Always remember, no matter who’s watching. No matter if they post racist, prejudiced, and absolutely awful messages on the internet:
An ignorant person will make you hurt yourself.
That doesn’t mean excusing their ignorance or coddling them, but it certainly means controlling our emotions when faced with people who blatantly refuse to seek further understanding. Show them compassion, sure, but don’t always expect to try and change them yourself.
And if you are that ignorant person? If you’re that professor? Keep learning. Keep growing. Your influence can build others up or tear others down. Do the former.
Bless up.