|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The following was originally presented as an IAP lecture in January.
What I would like to do this evening is share with you the story of what I have done in my academic career, speak about diversity work at elite institutions, and pose a series of questions.
The Story: Prior to coming to MIT I went to the University of Puerto Rico where I stayed for one year before going to Wellesley College. I graduated from Wellesley. Wellesley was a continuation of my experience in all-girls/women's schools. You can imagine what happens to anyone that comes from that background and lands at MIT.
My first year at MIT was not a happy one. I came to MIT in the Wellesley College bus. I used to cry on the way back. MIT was quite a lonely place where people worked constantly – during holidays, Saturdays and Sundays, where buildings had numbers and people looked as if they were in another planet – all by themselves. People at MIT had a weird sense of fun; fun meant working at the Institute and not having "a life." My sphere of action was only the Political Science Department and once a year I crossed over to the Student Center for registration. It was then and only then that I realized that there was a larger institution: an institution that for me was quite alienating even when faculty and students in my department were very supportive. The larger institution was an enigma and one that I did not care to decipher since it did not seem to be inviting.
But, I adjusted to and even came to appreciate MIT. Let me explain. At MIT what matters is the ability to do the work. I have to say that in my seven years at MIT all I did was work on the research question that I wanted to address. I found that being a Puerto Rican, which was at the center of my research, was never seen as being a problem or made me feel as if I was "less than" others. Who I was and what I was researching were both valid and celebrated. This, I soon found out, was not the case elsewhere. At MIT I found the space to think about what was important to me.
However, neither MIT nor Wellesley prepared me for life after 11 years at elite institutions. I actually believed, or was trained to believe, that I could go on being an elite researcher doing what I wanted to do. The tense interaction between believing that I could continue working in this manner and the pressure to become part of the discourse on diversity has resulted in moments of frustration, even anger, but also intense joy and hope. I can assure that there has never been a dull moment.
When I was about to finish my Ph.D. at MIT, it dawned on me that I had spent 11 years in libraries. I decided that I had to move outside of the safe spaces provided by academic institutions. As a way of leaving these safe libraries, I accepted a position in a Latino community agency creating four peer tutoring programs in two middle schools (Boston High, Charlestown High, Martin Luther King, and Edwards) and two high schools. The program was called the Hispanic Drop-Out prevention program. I worked for the Latino Parents' Association. This began my own education about mis-education and powerlessness. I also worked in English High and organized another peer tutoring program. What I saw in the public schools, specifically the condition of students of color, radicalized me: to say to parents that their children deserved the kind of mis-education that I witnessed was, and continues to be, not just unacceptable - but immoral.
As a result of this experience, I moved my family out of suburbia to Boston and accepted a position as project director of the Student Support Services program at Salem State College (SSC), which works with 300 students of color and a staff of 11. Again, suffice it to say that neither MIT, nor Wellesley, prepared me for what I experienced. I failed miserably. I know that people at elite institutions do not use the word failure or the construction "I have failed," but I did and had to resign. Throughout this experience, I insisted that I could change the organization and the College alone. My training at MIT, which emphasized individual work, achievement, and competition, had me convinced that if I did what I knew how to do, I could "fix" things. I also assumed that I could change the place without understanding the history or the culture at the institution. I assumed that I could figure almost everything out because of who I was and where I came from. I learned an important lesson: beware of diplomas from renowned institutions that may cloud your ability to learn from and with others and which may do serious damage to one's humility. This, of course, assumes that we arrived here with humility.
I accepted a position at SSC in the Interdisciplinary Studies Department where I taught Women's Studies courses and also created a program for students for whom English is a second language. I then accepted a faculty position at Harvard working with students who are getting their teacher's certification and with those who are planning to work in urban schools, teaching a course titled Education for Social and Political Change. I also co-chair the Diversity Committee. There are days where all I do is diversity work.
I want to share with you my analysis of elite institutions and diversity work. I share this with you so in case you start to observe similar things you can say "Oh, I remember hearing this somewhere." First, research institutions often have a divided intelligentsia: those who do the "real" work: these are called researchers and are engaged with the "external" world; and those who do "un-real work" or diversity work and are engaged with the "internal" workings of the institution. While the first group, those who do "real" work, views the institution/the context as not relevant to their construction of knowledge; the second one views the changing demographics of their institutions as a site of contestation, both intellectually and in practice. Those who manage to do both real and un-real work are called successful, stressed-out, superhuman beings. Of these superhuman beings there are a few and you need to make sure you take good care of them. The question for me became, if this is my analysis, what do I do now? Where do I stand?
I believe that diversity work at elite institutions requires the disciplined and uncompromising stance that every faculty and student at the institution must be committed to becoming an intellectual and diversity worker. While I argue that everyone must do the work, I want to speak directly with faculty and students of color. I hold the conviction that within our communities we cannot tolerate being divided between those who are the "real" researchers and those who do diversity work. Those that have been co-opted into thinking that they are the chosen ones to be the researchers ought to reconsider. As Paulo Freire would say, "this is an error in analysis."
I want to make an historical argument and want us to remind ourselves that too many people fought for all of us to be here. I don't think they fought to have us become organic intellectuals of the elite whose main concern is to address the issues of those in power. I believe they fought for the right to enter any and all spaces, to conduct ourselves with dignity and to work hard for the next generation.
I believe our mission is to construct knowledge with others about those issues that concern our communities; to do the very real work of being constantly aware and connected with other faculty and students of color and all those who, like us, are struggling to be in these kinds of institutions. Our mission is to remain whole and help and take care of each other so that together we can go back to our families and friends ready to make a meaningful contribution, ready to contribute to social change. This, I believe, is what so many of our parents, grandparents, great grandparents, and other members of our families and communities fought and died for.
I would also argue that faculty and students of color ought to reject the idea that individual competition and success are sufficient to make a significant contribution to our communities – to social change. We must educate ourselves – even within institutions that value individualistic competition in democratic collaborations and collective social action. Impossible, you may say. I want to tell you that my experience at the Harvard Graduate School of Education confirms that it can be done. For example, there are two very significant spaces where I have seen democratic collaborations and social action: the teaching community that I teach with in the course Education for Social and Political Change, and a small seminar of doctoral students. What is distinct about both of these spaces is the commitment of all members to work together, to construct knowledge together, to challenge each other, to take care of each other with the objective of educating ourselves for social action.
I have also seen a whole School – the Harvard Graduate School of Education – led by courageous and visionary student/leaders who have decided that the time for change has come and that they are willing and able to move the School to a space of justice and hope. This process has not been easy, it has taken many years, a lot of work by those who chose to do the work. They have experienced a lot of pain and a lot of frustration. They have also shared the laughter, fun, and the deep sense of accomplishment that comes from having done good work.
Those who fought before us did not deceive us into believing that it would be easy, that we would not be required to make huge sacrifices. Somewhere along the line we began to believe that the work was done, that we could relax, that we had arrived. This is not the case. Recent anti-affirmative action measures signal a new, very aggressive move against people of color. I leave you with the following questions: What position will you take in the struggle? What kind of work you will do? Who do you stand with? What are you willing to sacrifice?
Because I have seen the work of the next and younger generation, I have hope and trust that you will do the work, that you have what it takes, and that you will continue the tradition of struggle.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|