"The 'Woke' Side of Assembly Hall" Revisited

First confession: I struggled with the form that this follow-up op-ed would take. My initial idea was to mimic a FAQ section, in which I would respond to every question about the first article, every concern, every accusation voiced or not voiced with an exposition of my intent.

That felt right at first, and then very wrong. It was too much of a defense, an explanation, an attempt to shift the responsibility away from myself. Some have suggested an exercise in self-critique, a paragraph-to-paragraph analysis of intent versus impact starting from the very title: The ‘Woke’ Side of Assembly Hall. While this was certainly something helpful for me to do, I don’t see it as the primary objective of a follow-up article.

So I finally settled on this form of three confessions, to help me be as honest to myself and to you all as possible. It has its limitations, but it will do.

Second confession: I felt a pang in my stomach when I got the first email about the op-ed, right at noon last week when it was published. Not that I haven’t received strong responses to my articles before—last year, someone wrote an op-ed to counter an argument I had made about elitism at Exeter. The day I found out about that was one of the most exciting days of the term; that particular op-ed was one which I had mulled over, edited and re-edited, so I was ready, even eager for debate.

This time around, however, my first reaction was fear. Fear, not because of the weight of the accusations themselves or the prospect of responding to them, but my own inability to say that I had done justice to my own article. To be completely honest, I wrote it on a time crunch—not that this is any excuse—and failed to go through the necessary steps of close-reading, editing and weighing the potential benefits and harms of using certain terms.

I can firmly stand by the point I was trying to make, but not by the article’s language or structure. So when my friends reached out to congratulate me on being “brave” and having “the courage” to speak my mind, on writing about an important topic, I did not share in their jubilee. Language is powerful, and I have used it with inadequate care.

The phrase “self-segregation,” in particular, is one I deeply regret in hindsight. When employing it so heedlessly to express the spatial divide of students in the Assembly Hall I did not consider the historical connotations of the term: how it had generally been used with accusatory intent and how the systems of oppression in place in many parts of the U.S. had rendered segregation a reality in the first place. It gives me pain that an anonymous Facebook user casually referred to my op-ed as “the article about self segregation,” that, the Friday after its publication, someone reportedly Snapchatted: “Are we snapping too loudly now?”

Let me state this plainly: this is not what I intended my impact to be. My intention in writing the op-ed was to point out the divisions on this campus, and how concepts that PEA officially champions, namely equity and inclusion, do not illicit the same enthusiasm to some as they do to others.

I was not trying to find fault or make fun of any group, either those who are engaged or disengaged. My motivation stemmed from frustration, frustration at the situation and how little things had changed despite the school’s language. Those who care continued to care; those who don’t care continue not to care.

I saw Dr. Bramlett in her role as part of the administration, the adult leadership of this campus, and thus specifically directed to her the call to be more proactive in not just bringing everyone to the table but making sure they all meaningfully engage while there. I am not saying that she should be the only one responsible for such a huge task, but then I also wonder how and where change could start. If you have already made up your mind that something is unimportant, would an article in The Exonian suddenly change how you think? 

So what about the white hockey players who sit in the back of assembly hall? some people have pointed out to me since the publication of my op-ed. Why don’t I add to my original map of the space by calling them out too, in addition to the groups that sit at the front?

The appropriate way of remediating harm is not by creating more harm equally. I have learned, the hard way, that naming specific groups for group behavior, even with no judgement attached, only puts people on the defensive rather than pushing a wider recognition of the bigger issue at hand.

It is only natural to be hurt and withdraw further into our own groups when someone seems to infer, however vaguely, that we are the impediment to community-wide understanding and acceptance. Me, with all my legitimate personal struggles with clashing identities, hidden or unhidden?, we say. Me, who’s also trying, day by day, to reach for an unattainable mainstream, an ideal self?

Wokeness is a spectrum, not an ‘either or.’ Hence, the quotation marks. It is tempting, however, to interpret others’ actions as belonging to either extreme, almost as a substitute for having much harder conversations about what’s happening deep inside.

The problem we see on Exeter’s campus is one that is present at educational institutions across the U.S. where there is diversity in the student population. A big part of why I am so unsatisfied with the first article and am compelled to write a second one also has to do with how it seems almost impossible to get this topic right.

So there I was last night, or rather, in the wee hours of today’s morning, contemplating what I had put down on this page when I started reading Kenji Yoshino’s book on covering—the downplaying of stigmatized identities—for a religion class. A scary feeling it is, stumbling across a passage that felt as if it was meant directly for you and the questions you are asking at a certain moment in time. 

“When I lecture on covering, I often encounter what I often think of as the ‘angry straight white man’ reaction,” Yoshino wrote, quoting a typical response from audience members. “ ‘Why shouldn’t racial minorities or women or gays have to cover?’ After all, the questioner says, ‘I have to cover all the time.’ ”

Yoshino thus recognized the hostility expressed towards civil rights and equity as a reaction to what some saw as a sense of entitlement, a right to fully express one’s full humanity that had been denied to every individual in different ways. He then called for a new mode of understanding in which the civil rights’ paradigm is shifted away from group-based equality rights toward universal liberty rights. The quest for authenticity, for once, is applicable to us all.

Third confession: I desperately want to believe Yoshino. I don’t think I yet see how this paradigm shift would take place, or even believe that it ever can, given the skepticism towards vulnerability inherent in this culture, where abstract perfection is worshipped. This myth of the American dream, where different identities come together, happily, in a “melting pot.” 

I guess what I hope would be the silver lining, if such a thing can be, is that what happened last week spurred more dialogue. Conversations are happening—that much I have gleaned from talking to adults and student leaders of different groups.

What saddens me is how those concerned about my article’s message have not talked to me directly about it; I have heard from representatives and mutual friends, but not the individuals themselves. I want to believe that I have not hurt anyone so deeply that dialogue becomes impossible. Dialogue is not going to be easy, no matter what form it takes. It is going to take time. But it is absolutely necessary in order for us to move forward.