Wing// Personal Thoughts
When I was small, I was enrolled into a series of tutoring classes, extracurricular activities, and summer school camps. Like many immigrants in the 1980s, my mom had fled to Canada seeking a better future for her children. My mom was adamant that my sister, cousin, and I had the best education growing up. She would even go so far to as to visit a teacher’s resource store to get us workbooks to keep us at the top of our classes!
Of course, I was never an exceptional student. Rather, I was far from it. When I was in elementary school, I barely studied for tests, occasionally finished homework, and seldomly received the teacher’s praise. I was a horribly lazy and unmotivated student.
It was even worse with my mom’s workbooks. I had often blazed through to completion by decorating each page with a false answer or a “scribble” of a word. I did this for two reasons. First, my mom did not check my work. Not that she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t. Often times, my mom didn’t understand the content in the workbooks due to her language barrier. Second, my mom would reward us with a gift of our choice once we completed a workbook.
The “mini” binder looked something like this…
When I was in the fifth grade, my friends were engaged in a fad which got us to trade cute craft papers with cartoon pictures. These papers came in tiny little binders which followed a certain theme. Take Mickey Mouse, for example. The tiny binder, which could fit in the palm of your hand, would be fashioned with Mickey Mouse pictures on the cover. Inside, there would be an assortment of papers decorated with different pictures of Mickey Mouse.
Anyways. I had my eyes on one of these stupid binders which came at $15-$20 a piece. I remember blazing through my French workbook and submitted it to my mom. She took me to the gift store and I picked out my gift.
A couple of weeks later, my mom confronted me about my poorly completed workbook. I could never forget the disappointment in her eyes.
Being a first-generation Canadian comes at a great cost. Not from the child, but from the parent.
As a child, my mom provided for me and my sister by driving children from our neighbourhood to our elementary school for $2 per trip. After the rides, she would babysit those children until dinner time. After that, she would sometimes clean houses for extra cash. At night, she would take some of our completed workbooks and fill them out to learn from. Every summer, she would worry incessantly because she was afraid we would not survive. In many ways, only God could have brought us through.
Later on in life, when I entered into my twenties, my mom would admit that she would buy discounted produce and the poorest quality breads in order to buy the workbooks for my sister and I. However, she didn’t want to tell us because she didn’t want to scare us or worry us so much.
I was at a loss for words. How much did she have to endure to give us the best she could? I cannot even begin to imagine her hurt when reflecting upon the ways I’ve faulted her for not doing enough for me. How did she deal with her disappointment that day?
Today, I try my very best to remember what my mom has done for me. I don’t always, but I try very hard.
In my opinion, in order for individuals to identify their own set of privileges, one of two processes must occur in order. The first process is involuntary. Discovery of privilege may occur when one loses their privilege or gains it from a previously “marginalized” state. The second process comes from an individual’s intention to think reflexively about themselves.
Reflexive thinking occurs when one tries to situate their own social standing by thinking about how their influences and upbringing create who they are now. Reflexive thinking about privilege means to think about how an individual’s upbringing, economic standing, race, gender, and sexual orientation allow them to experience certain comforts in life.
To say, “I have never experienced White or patriarchical or heteronormative or _______ privilege” is to be blinded by such privilege. People are born into privilege. It happens. What’s important is that one shares their privilege and power. By denying that privilege does not exist is to perpetuate the structural injustices that marginalize certain individuals. Further, by dismissing privilege as a joke or as a fashion choice is to deny the potentially offensive impact of privilege as imposed upon others.
I write this in response to the on-campus costume party which occurred at Queen’s University a couple of days ago. Link here:
I find it horrifying and frustrating at the quick defence for the costume party by students both involved and otherwise. What’s more offensive is the heckling of those who have called out this event as outward displays of racism. The degree of denial is disturbing.
As noted in my first post, it is important to acknowledge that everything is charged with meaning. A costume party with students posing in straw hats and plastic machine guns cannot simply be a costume party. It connotes structural racism and violence. It trivializes the offensive nature of cultural appropriation. It reveals how layers of privilege are compounded together to make it seem like the party is a completely permissible thing.
My disgust for this party stems not from my ethnic background. Rather, I am offended at the ways in which basic human rights are violated and disregarded time and time again. I urge those who took part in the party to seriously consider their privileges and to consider ways to use and reconcile their privileges for good.