When powerful people, especially those with some celebrity status, are revealed to be abusive, harassing, exploitative, or otherwise complicit in the harm of others, I sometimes see others ask, “why are you surprised?” I’ve asked this myself; why were people surprised, for example, that Katy Perry – who wrote songs joking about gay people self-harming and equating queer love to meaningless play, who has used black and brown and queer bodies as props – sexually harassed and assaulted people she had power over?
Though I may ask why others are surprised, I have to admit I am still often surprised when I learn of the harm that people use their power for. And maybe I shouldn’t be – the status quo allows for the powerful to abuse that power; indeed, the status quo encourages the powerful to abuse their power. Police murder with impunity, billionaires and their policy-making friends collaborate to ensure the continued upward movement of money, and white people feign victimhood when they’re asked to do the smallest things in the name of racial justice. These harms, from the microaggressive to the atrocious, are harmful in no small part because our society is structured in a way that permits and encourages them. If harms are part of what is happening, they should not surprise people. And many are not surprised. Sometimes I am not surprised. I was not surprised to learn about the ways William Strampel, former dean of one of my alma mater’s medical colleges, abused women. I was disgusted, but not surprised. I was not surprised when a friend shared that a mutual acquaintance had been harassing younger graduate students on dating apps. I was disappointed, but not surprised. Why did it surprise me, then, when I learned last week that a senior scholar in my field has been cultivating a toxic environment, particularly targeting people of color? Why did it surprise me that a white woman who studies issues confronting communities of color was directly harming individuals in the same communities? At first, I chalked my surprise up to white privilege; this line of thinking was, I saw her white skin and assumed innocence. This line of thinking: Her whiteness bought her the benefit of the doubt, my whiteness clouded my judgment. As I’ve thought over the last week, the presence of whiteness remains part of my calculus, but I’m no longer sure that’s all. I keep wondering: am I surprised because I hope? Because I hope that those who have power will do good. Because I hope that people will commit themselves to solidarity, vulnerability, and justice over self-promotion and damage. Is my hope foolish? Maybe. Is it from white, patriarchal socialization that tells me the powerful can heroically do right, save others, and still retain power? Maybe. I don’t totally know. Perhaps hope is a mechanism of self-defense; if I do not hope for at least the occasional reprieve from the damage of the powerful, then I cannot bother to leave my home in the morning. By hoping for solidarity, I may find some; by hoping for justice, I can work toward it. I am surprised, pulled up, taken aback when my efforts are interrupted, not entirely because I am foolish but because I hope some of these powerful people may be possible collaborators, co-conspirators in transforming our field, our academy, our society.
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AuthorI am a higher education professional and sporadic blogger. I have opinions and tell puns. Archives
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