Freshman Convocation
Let’s workshop this dystopian speech delivered by a professor to all and only those freshmen who do not fall into any of the main gravy-train victim categories
Freshman Convocation
Welcome to the main stage: college. Look around. Survey the space, rife with palpable history. Is there something strange—or, perhaps more likely for all of you, welcoming—about this auditorium? Yep, you got it. I can tell by your vanilla eyes of unearned privilege. If you are seated before me, you’re an oppressor. And for that reason, you are in need of special guidance.
Why am I the singular beacon of diversity here—the only black soul, the lone queer voice, the only person in a wheelchair, fat and chronically ill? Because I’m here to help you. I’m your compass, your guide. As many of you know well from high school (and if you’re coming from some redneck town, you're on the precipice of a harsh reality check, let me tell you), it’s hard to have a social life in spaces of liberal learning if you don’t fall into any category of marginalization. You’re only visible to be mocked. This is an obvious fact. An unfortunate one? To some, yes. Justified? Absolutely. Every cold shoulder, every whisper behind your back is a recompense for the torments you and your kind have meted out on countless minorities—a small token of repayment for the echoes of trauma you have and will impart on countless souls!
Why exactly do I stand at this podium before you today? I’m here to school you on your first day of school. I’m here, specifically, to lay out a few rules for surviving—as non-minority oppressors such as yourselves—four years at this prestigious university. Why am I doing this? Why do I, of all people, care? Well, my heart hasn't completely ossified from the intergenerational traumas. I am human, after all—and despite perhaps what your racist and ableist and phobic spirits might believe. But let's not kid ourselves. There are pragmatic reasons too. Universities still needs your attendance, don’t they? To be a professor, don’t I need your numbers? Your very kind fuels my lectures, after all. Besides, we need you educated. As history has shown, an uneducated version of you—that's the very definition of peril, a concrete threat to the safety of me and my kind.
Rule # 1 is the cornerstone: don’t question us. You especially want to avoid casting shadows on the foundational beliefs that validate our experiences. For instance, never criticize—say, for being too “narrow” or “unfair”—the notion that is the basis for this very meeting: that one needs a victim status in order to fit in or be acknowledged as someone with worth. You can cry your tears about victimhood being a golden ticket to relevance and recognition, but that truth has been a long time coming.
And don’t think I won’t toss a damn cracker out of here, with my own black hands, for just one smirk. Yeah you! The one I’m looking at. Nazi Alert, ladies and gentleman. No, no, no—save it. I’m a black man, boy. Your flimsy justifications mean nothing to me. Besides, I know what you’re going to say. It was something else, right? You weren’t smirking because of what I said, right? Maybe you want to add that you have a fat girlfriend with cerebral palsy. Spare me your bullshit.
Isn't it fitting that this little disruption perfectly illustrates our rule? Do. Not. Question. Us. This is about our truth, our lived experience. You don’t know how your smirk made me feel because you are not me. It is the feelings of the marginalized that matter, not your intent. This cracker might feel that I have him all wrong. Look at him. I can see it in that white boy’s eyes, that burning need to explain himself. But every attempt to clarify or defend is a blatant challenge to my perceptions. Otherwise, why would he even clarifying? You know why you smirked, boy? Because you think I’m saying all this to keep riding some gravy train of power. That’s my truth, no matter what you say.
I am telling you this for your own good. Questioning the victim paints a bullseye on your back. Historical blind spots are no excuse. They're a neon sign of unchecked privilege. Get the context straight, people. Just by breathing among me and my kind, and the countless others who've been historically suffocated and shoved to the fringes, you are a trauma. Jam that into your tomato skulls now. Questioning us, especially questioning the norms by which we finally get a chance to enjoy some time in the sun—how can that not be foolhardy? You have heard the stories. You aren’t blind to the news. I’ll just leave it at that. Whispers float. You will not have a place in this institution, or much of a life for that matter, if you go that route. Is this unfortunate? Maybe. But is it justified? Absolutely. Do you know how much hurt your kind has done and continues to do simply by living? We are owed. Simple as that. You didn’t want to be colorblind before, but now—when it’s time to pay the piper of accountability—you do? How conveniently self-serving!
Rule #2.—Do not pretend you are a victim like us. Masquerading as one of our kind might seem like a tempting solution to your problem of fitting in. But it is offensive. It takes away special dispensations from those who really deserve it. Appropriating another's identity or struggles is not only disingenuous but a slap in the face to our legitimate suffering. Now you might not care that the path of fakery is morally disgusting. In some sense, it’s your birthright not to be deterred by disgust. Just look at the horrors you have committed. How could your legacy of misdeeds not have warped your ethical compass?
Let me appeal to you all another way, then. The path of fakery is a treacherous minefield. Many of you at least try to hold onto remnants of integrity. So how are you going to live with yourself everyday walking around as a lie? The inner turmoil itself will be too much. At least the constant fear of exposure will gnaw at your very soul. And mark my words: the mask will eventually slip anyway, however adept at deception you might consider yourselves! Someone will see photos of your family or become suspicious of your stories about why you do not have any. There will be an inconsistency in your fabricated tales. The person you kiss from the same sex will tell that you are not really into it. And guess what? That person will tell, if you catch my drift. And word travels fast around here, especially when it's laden with scandal. The backlash will be swift and unrelenting, let me tell you. When the storm comes, don’t expect me—just because I’m a professor—to step in on your behalf or calm the mob. The expectation itself is a scandal. I share their pain!
What should you do instead? What is the right path? You need to wear your own skin. Embrace the very fabric of your own people, however shameful they are. Acknowledge the weight of your history and find value in authentic self-awareness. Such a path won't be lined with immediate rewards. But do not overlook the dividends that can accrue over the long haul if you just accept yourself as the oppressors that you are (instead of trying to cloak yourselves in our pain). That is your only chance at true redemption.
As a person of color who embodies multiple dimensions in the intersectionality matrix, I possess a unique insight to guide you in the right direction: on a path that does not involve covering from yourself or the world that you are a Person of Too Much Privilege—a PTMP. My course “Muzzling the Traits of the Privileged” goes into extensive detail concerning how to get on and stay on that path. Rest assured, you are all pre-enrolled already. But for now, allow me to impart one more guiding principle.
Rule #3.— Build our trust and respect. Earning the trust and respect of those who have been marginalized or victimized requires a multifaceted approach, not to mention a consistent effort. A bedrock component is active listening. Actively listen to victim voices—starting, yes, right now. If you really want to be seen as worthy, you need to truly listen to the oppressed voices all around you. Listening is about silence. How can you absorb and process, internalize and understand, if you are yapping more of your breath that already takes up too much of the Earth’s air? Being an ally means leveraging your privilege to amplify our narratives. You amplify our narratives by shutting the hell up until told otherwise! Understand?
You can never really understand this, but I’ll convey it anyway because I believe some of you have enough good inside to at least behave as if you understand it. We are traumatized by your very presence. You need to give us a chance to be okay with you. Got it? You need to show us you’re not in our spaces, despite the past of you and your kind, to terrorize us or perpetuate harm. Your calamity is baked not only into America, but into our very DNA. We have PTSD. Our psyches bear your wicked scars.
Any other effective measures to foster our trust and respect? Laugh at our jokes. Find amusement in our jests—especially those at your own expense. A word of caution here—and yes, you should be taking notes. Laugh too hard and you risk seeming disingenuous—perhaps an indication of your secret in nonagreement with our truths, of your underlying resistance to our narratives. Laugh too little and you’ll come across as defensive. This is a tightrope, I do understand. Educating yourself enough to see why the jokes at your expense really are funny is your best bet. It is a continuous journey, but that’ll work wonders to making your laughter resonate just right (into a zone of authenticity). You might even consider, but never right away (otherwise, again, we will see you as trying too hard and will becomes suspicious of your designs), cracking a few jokes about your oppressive kind. But that is me getting ahead of myself. Again, I have an entire course on such specificities.
Another word of caution that just came to mind. Never make the mistake of believing that acceptance by one marginalized group translates to blanket acceptance by all such groups. That’s a common mistake. Once one group of victims is okay with you that does not mean that every other group of victims is okay with you. Each has its own unique history, struggles, and sensitivities. With every new group, then, you start at square one. And even within a group that you have proven yourself too, that you feel you have made inroads with, be aware: a victim’s trust is fragile. Missteps or misunderstandings can instantly reset your progress to zero. Always be attuned, always be considerate, and never rest on your laurels.
How else to earn the trust and respect of victims? Well, different victim groups have different needs, so we must be careful about generalizations. However, I will run through a list that we will explore in much greater detail in the course.
(1) Active Service.—Running errands is usually never a bad thing. It's a tangible demonstration that you're willing to put in the effort to be supportive. Many allies run errands for me. I find myself so calm around these good ones that I would consider them babysitting my own child.
(2) Education.—Invest the time to learn about the histories, struggles, and achievements of our communities. Read our books and watch our films and attend our workshops and seek our mentorship. It’s about expanding your worldview, about gaining a richer, fuller understanding. Join diverse clubs and organizations dedicated to raising awareness about different marginalized groups. That’s a way of showing commitment to understanding our narratives.
(3) Apologize often.—Public displays of how you go wrong, sometimes just by being the way you cannot help but being, at least takes the edge off what you have done and shows us that you know your place. Your apologies cannot undo the trauma, but they can give victims a sense of justice and power that is desperately missing in their lives.
I could say so much about trust and respect. Surprise us. How about that? Surprise us. If one of us gets accused of stealing, take the rap. Show us you are one of the good ones. Support our causes. Shop at our stores. Call out your people for their privileged ways. If you see one of us being discriminated against or harassed, don't be a passive observer. Renounce your own families if you have to. We are not dumb. Renouncing your own families we do see as a big deal. Although you should never reject your own family on grounds that your will find a protection among us, I have known many who have welcomed your kinds into their own literal homes after such displays of loyalty.
Anyway, out time is up. Navigating this new academic and social landscape might feel daunting. I was once there, and in much tougher times. But remember: it's a journey—one filled with introspection, growth, and connections. Be open, be genuine, and most importantly, be willing to learn. I’ll see you in class. On behalf of myself and the rest of the university I welcome you on this exciting journey. But you must never forget the place that your actions have landed you. You owe by the very dint of your existence. Be grateful that you have the chance to make some amends, to be of some use. Don't squander it.
This piece is unpublished