The photo above is a screenshot from a joke video I made with my younger daughter. We both dressed and made ourselves up in an "old-lady look." (If you read my post from last week, on my birthday, you'll see that I'm actually delighted with my age. This post isn't about that.) I know this picture isn't flattering, but I hope you find it funny. We need more humor in the world. If you laughed or even smirked, you're welcome. That said, my looks are the subject of this post.
One of my ninth-grade students, in her year-end reflection, wrote that at the beginning of the course, she thought I was scary, but she learned over time that I wasn't frightening at all. I asked her why she had been afraid, and she replied, "It was just your appearance."
"My nose?" I asked, two-thirds joking. My resting frown face? My height? Pointy chin? Double chin? (Do I have a double chin?) Out-of-control hair? I thought about all the ways I might look scary. Bad rabbit hole to go down, I don't recommend it.
"You looked so strict," she answered. (She put a "hehe" after her reply, so I guess she figured out what a pushover I am. Shh! Please don't let word get out, or it'll be nothing but work, work, work.) In some ways, that's not an answer at all, but in other ways, I find it telling. I have no idea in what ways a person can look strict.
I suppose I could change my looks: straighten or cut or dye my hair, wear less or more or different makeup, actually learn how to apply makeup the right way, wear brighter or darker or better-fitting or baggier clothes, or have total facial reconstructive surgery. Really, the list of ways I could make myself look different is limitless, but I'm interested in none of them (except maybe learning the right way to put on makeup because I've been winging it). When it comes down to it, I'm too lazy/cheap/set in my ways to put effort into changing my looks in those ways that are possible, and of course there are other ways that aren't possible.
No matter what I do, I won't ever look like a cisgender man. I won't ever look five feet tall. I won't ever look Black or Hispanic or Asian or Indigenous.
If you've been following social media or news about private schools in our country, you already know that this year has revealed decades of racist violence (verbal and physical) in American private schools. Hotchkiss, as safe and comfortable as the place is for some students, is no exception. I have been in the privileged position of ignorance; I didn't know what was happening, and I didn't know that there was much I didn't know.
We've had some overt anti-Semitic acts of which I've been fully aware. I've felt in the middle of those crises, but I remained wholly oblivious to the frequent anti-Black and anti-Asian and anti-Latinx and anti-Indigenous behavior surrounding me. I know that this statement reveals my obliviousness; I'm trying to learn more. So far, my work to grapple with my complicity in an unkind system has lead me to sadness and confusion, but also to the hope that we can become a school where all of our students feel safe, seen, supported, and loved.
How could I not have seen what was rampant around me? How much damage did I cause when I taught books that used words that I should not have been saying? Who sat in my classroom feeling unsafe, unseen, unsupported, unvalued, unheard, unloved?
For some of our students, my white skin alone is enough to give off a vibe that says, "If you're having a hard time, if people are treating you in racist/garbage ways, Ms. Gardiner's not a safe person to go to." I wish that weren't true, but I think it is.
As I've said, there are things about my appearance that I could change, but the thing I would want to change would be to make myself visibly an ally. I know that some Jewish kids feel safe talking to me about the anti-Semitic acts on campus because I look like they do. I wish I could also be a support to kids who don't look like me or have my same background. I wish my looks made clear to every kid that I'm on the team for safe-seen-and-supported-loved.
Until students who don't look like me can get to know me well enough to feel that I'm an ally, they need to have other people they recognize as on their team. We need to try harder (and I think we are starting to) to hire people who don't all look the same. Every student at Hotchkiss should be able to find supportive adults, and the kids shouldn't have to work too hard to find them. Of course, that said, I come to more questions. If there aren't enough BIPOC going into education, how can we hire more BIPOC to teach? How do we break this cycle? And until we do have the same percentage of BIPOC faculty as we have students, how do those of us who identify as white demonstrate our support? How can I made it clear to my students that I stand and will fight with them for justice and peace?
These are real, not rhetorical questions, and I'm hoping that somebody reading this will offer some answers. If you have suggestions, please share your thoughts in the comments.
Unfortunately I don’t have answers to your good questions. But your post did inspire two reactions:
1. One factor your post doesn’t address is sexism. Many people subconsciously perceive strong, smart women as scary. And of course perceptions of gender and race are entwined, not separate factors. But I bet your students find women who smile a lot more less scary than ones who appear more serious, even if their words, actions, and physical appearance are equally non-threatening in other ways.
2. Where can I see this joke video?!
Interesting. I hadn’t thought about that. I smile all the time in the hallways, but I’m more focused and serious in class. Plus, with the mask, who can tell who’s smiling and who’s not? That’s going to be tricky. Yes, also to how linked gender expression and race and ethnicity are with this. Even accents, right? Good point.
Oh, the video is very goofy. I’ll send it to you.
love, c
I have been ruminating about your post for a few days and I really appreciate Viveca’s response. The reaction/response to strong women is often negative. At Hotchkiss, students (and faculty) would say about some male teachers, “he comes off as very gruff, but inside he’s a sweet teddy bear.” Conversely, women who don’t come off as immediately as maternal are not granted that second look. They are often “mean” or “a bitch.”
Your post is relevant and important and I wish that all schools had more BIPOC teachers. The mirror, though, is challenging for the LGBTQ+ kids because it is much more nuanced. The queer community threads its way through all of the BIPOC and white communities and the closet compounds the issue. From my perspective as an out adult, it is incredibly frustrating to work with closeted adults on campus, and closeted kids, while they want to have their existence recognized, they are often fearful to see themselves in a mirror. If one looks at a lack of representation of adults on campus, gay male and trans faculty are the most under-represented group and it is disappointing not to see/hear the clamoring for this need.
Visibility and mirrors are terribly important, but “looks matter” doesn’t work for all marginalized people.
My thoughts are all somewhat disparate but, on an end note, I appreciate your post, the thought you put into it, and the subsequent “conversation”! xoxo
Hola, Julietta, yes. You’re so right that we need to provide our students many more kinds of mirrors than we have, both the kinds people can see and the kinds they can’t see (including LGBTQIA+, socio-economic, neuro-atypical, and more. Slight aside here: What figurative language works for a an object that reflects back like a mirror, but can’t be seen? I realize that sounds like a riddle, but it’s a real question.).
I’ve been here too long to be able to compare to other schools/workplaces, but my guess is that the dichotomy between how people view gruff men and how they view gruff women (and how they view gruff non-binary or trans, though we don’t have many of those to view here, back to point A) you talk about is way more widespread than just at this school. I think, as I often do, about the language we use. For example, we talk about “assertive” men and “pushy” women.
You’re right that we (this institution, this country, the world) have a lot of work to do. I think we’re starting to do that work, but it’s slow-going and not always making forward progress. And you’re so right that while some of the tenets of anti-racist work translate easily to other systemic changes we need to make, not all of it does. Let’s keep pushing the world to a better place, you from that side of the country and me from this one.
Hugs to you, cg
Yes, you are right about other places also having the “gruff, but loveable man” and the “mean” woman dichotomy. I certainly didn’t mean to imply that it was limited to one institution. We have a wonderful scholar in residence (Gaye Theresa Johnson – Prof. of African-American and Chicano/a studies at UCLA) who gave us a fantastic presentation. The moniker “anti-racism” does not include only race; anti-racism means fighting for all marginalized groups and oppression, including all the ones listed above. I think it is a definition that not many are aware of. Additionally, one of the BLM co-founders is a queer Black woman (Alicia Garza) and that also doesn’t get too much attention paid. There is so much intersectionality in all the movements that I wish more people paid attention to. *sigh* I appreciate all your work, and I am trying to do my best over here on the best coast. Oh, sorry, typo. West coast. 😉
I didn’t know it included the other progressive movements, but I approve. I’m going to email you a document that a man here at Hotchkiss wrote. It’s called “This classroom is an anti-racist space.” I’m using it in all of my classes this year and hope many others do. (Anyone else reading this, I will happily share the document with you as well.) This work won’t be easy, but we have such a better shot at helping our students feel safe, seen, and supported.
I’m on the same page as everything in your comment minus the penultimate sentence. “Best coast?” Hmmm.
Hugs, cg