“There’s too much diversity in the show” was just the first of many racially charged microaggressions committed by my grandmother while we were driving to have birthday dinner with my mom. The conversation about television had started innocuously, but quickly developed into a debate about the “diversity quota” and the “overabundance” of representation. The conversation particularly focused on Shonda Rhimes’ “How to Get Away with Murder.” (more…)
Liz Stevens is a Senior here at Pacific University. She’s an Anthropology and Politics & Government double major, and plans to go on to work in public policy and social justice fields after she finishes her formal education. She’s a non-traditional student who has moved a lot, loves books, Netflix, and video games, and misses having a real kitchen to bake in.
The question of the right to live, to exist as a valued person in this world, usually only brings one issue to mind in this country—that of abortion. But all issues of bodily autonomy, reproductive rights, and fetal rights aside, there is another group that we repeatedly deny the very right to exist: the homeless.
Homelessness is an ongoing issue in this country, one that dates back to colonial days. While most individuals might identify homelessness as a social problem, few would have any idea of how to address it other than ‘make those people get jobs.’ (more…)
Talking about social justice is easy when those around you are working for the same issues. The real work begins when you talk about social justice issues with those who don’t see the world through the same lenses. Teach them what you know. Convince spectators to take action. Embrace the uncomfortable. Know that means you’re doing something right.
It’s okay to be vulnerable. Just because you see injustices that other people suffer from, doesn’t mean you don’t suffer from injustices of your own. Your struggles are not any less valid than theirs. Let down your walls. Take time for self-care. Vulnerability is not weakness.
Just because you see your privilege, doesn’t mean you are any less of a social justice worker. Privilege is not something to feel guilty about. It does not mean you cannot do social justice work or that the work you do is less real. Being an ally is a powerful tool.
Never stop learning or listening. If you’re brand new to social justice work or if you have years of experience, consider the value of other’s experiences. Listening to new ideas could very well improve your own movement.
Our guest writer Sophia Backus is a first year student at Pacific University who plans to double major in Creative Writing and Literature with a minor in Editing & Publishing. Originally from Wisconsin, she has lived in Salem for the past three years before deciding to come to Forest Grove for school.
Ten more minutes, I think to myself after glancing once again at the clock. This is what you get for coming to the doctor’s office early on a busy day. There’s hardly any seats and there’s a delay because everyone’s here to get routine procedures done. Despite the mass of people, I don’t have any neighbors. To my right is a table and to my left is an empty chair, a true score. I can use both armrests and spread out after being confined in the car on the drive here. Then, disaster. A new person enters the room. I watch apprehensively as he scans the room and starts to make his way over to the open seat in the room. Half a second before he sits down, I murmur a quick “Oh, I’m sorry,” gather my purse, relinquish the left armrest, and huddle to the right side of my chair. After the cursory smile and nod, he spreads out over the relinquished space, by claiming the armrest and by spreading his legs an inch or so past the armrest of his chair, and pulls out his phone. While this relegates me to three quarters of my chair, he is , the image of contentment.
A flash of rebellion crosses my consciousness, but I squash it down. I did the right thing. That space had to be shared. It would’ve been rude not to move, to keep the armrest within my personal space and not give him room to sit. Though, if I was honest, he wasn’t so much sitting as he was lounging–taking up way more space than necessary. Looking down at my own crossed knees, I frown. I now have no room, I’m confined even more than when I’m driving, and I still have eight minutes before my name will be called. So I pull out my phone and begin to skim blindly through it as my mind only focuses on the tiny space I am now forced to inhabit. (more…)
Seven white college students sit around a dorm room at their private university playing King’s Cup when a Jack is pulled. The rule of choice? End every sentence with the N-word. Everyone nods and the game goes on with laughing, screaming, and the vulgar word flying around every ten seconds. There weren’t any African Americans in the room, so it doesn’t count, right?
Wrong. When this happened to me at the beginning of first semester, I didn’t know what to do so I did nothing. I did not want to say anything in fear of my new friends saying, “So what? It’s not like they’re here.” Even as a minority myself, I could not bring myself to say anything even though I knew I should. I felt exactly what any sane student would: Uncomfortable and afraid of being challenged, teased, and laughed at. I mean, why should I stick up for them if they’re not in the room?