Volunteering in Chicago

It’s no secret that I have been missing Bread for the City since I left in August. While I left six months ago, I still think about Bread for the City daily, about memories with clients, with coworkers, and with my JVC house. I am ruined for life and can never look at the world the same way. Indeed, I have written about this experience many times and have referred to the word, accompaniment. My time at Gonzaga trained me to strive to accompany others in the service we do, to recognize how we are mutually indebted, and to help us realize that we aren’t heroes in the work we do. And, the attorneys at Bread for the City taught me this same lesson day by day when I would meet with our clients. In fact, I believe my own viewpoint shifted as I watched myself understand what it means to truly be in relationships with others, and to suspend my own hero complex.

This repositioning of my own viewpoints has left me craving relationships with clients. Graduate school can be isolated, and my days are often full of me in my apartment reading sociological books and articles. I love my work and find a different type of fulfillment in it. Yet, because I feel my viewpoint seems to be with the client of Bread for the City, it is sometimes hard to always know how to juggle a life that is now focused purely on my own academic development. I was glad when a fellow friend in graduate school suggested we start volunteering and we found a program affiliated with Loyola. We signed up to go once a week with other Loyola students to a local soup kitchen. I became excited with this new opportunity to try and be in relationship with clients and to leave academia for a couple of hours.

I have to admit, being away from Bread for the City now for six months, I found that I was nervous about my accompaniment skills. Bread for the City gave me the opportunity to practice them forty plus hours each week; in addition, I would go home to a house full of others trying to practice and dinner conversation was frequently about how to be more present with our clients. Not doing this for six months left me nervous about my own abilities and I found myself nervous and anxious at our service placement tonight.

Beginning a new service placement is always difficult and uncomfortable, especially when trying to practice accompaniment rather than service as a heroic deed. We arrived to a shelter that looked nothing like Miriam’s Kitchen, the place I was used to in D.C. The walls were painted a pale yellow that did not emulate feelings of glowing sunshine, but rather of mediocrity. We awkwardly stood around until we were told to just hang out in the kitchen while the guests set up the tables.

The next step made me feel joyous as we were instructed to simply sit with guests. I was struck with how difficult accompaniment is initially. While the guests I sat with were friendly, I found myself unsure what to share of myself. What questions should I ask? How can I be open and honest, but not offensive? How can I talk without displaying my privilege so candidly? I found it was easiest for me to ask questions about the city, as I am new here. I asked Johnny about where he grew up and where his favorite places were, and we laughed at how cold I was in the snow. Ok, perhaps this is an entry into that accompaniment is about.

We then were told to come help serve the meal, and I must admit, this made my heart sick. The director, probably not maliciously, announced our group name, and the group of guests applauded for our “generosity of time.” Heroism replaced accompaniment as now, our “sacrifice” is paraded to make us feel appreciated. Is this what service should be about?

We lined up to serve the meal – I was horrified to see such a undignified meal: white rice not cooked adequately, pork in a sauce that is mostly grease, beans in a gruel looking dish with hot dogs, and bread that looks like it is the cheapest hamburger quality the supermarket sells. No, this is not the dinner of Miriam’s, where Steve spends time perfecting the meals so that the guests can have the most dignifying meal. This isn’t Miriam’s Kitchen, where Adam and Kierstin conduct outreach to guests, making artwork and sharing coffee and laughs.

No, this is not accompaniment. This is white guilt repackaged as charity, as a heroism done, a pat on the back for helping the homeless.

If it weren’t enough, as we were ready to leave, the guests applauded us, to once again, give us a trophy to stroke our egos and inform us, that yes, we are actually superior, generous, wealthy, and perfect citizens.

Where does this leave us in the interaction? Certainly not mutually indebted. Rather, I have become the hero whose charity is paraded for all to see. And the guest as “other” has become reinforced and solidified. I am able to leave this hell to return to my luxurious life of entitlement. I can feel good about this too, for I have given to “the homeless.” And the other is left to continue a life of oppression.

And I have signed up to participate in this week after week for the next semester.

But yet – it doesn’t seem right to quit. Surely, perhaps, accompaniment and dignity can happen if our group works at it. Perhaps the ideal models of Bread for the City and Miriam’s Kitchen will never be actualized again. But perhaps, I need to strive to live this model so that others can see its power in building kinship with one another.

It’s not time to give up hope, but to remember to be faithful and continue growing toward a vision of simply us.

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Ideas and context, as always, were taken from these sources:

Ausland, A. (2005). Staying for tea: Five principles for the community service volunteer. TheGlobal Citizen 2 pp. 5-15.

Boyle, Gregory, SJ. (2005). The voices of those who sing. Spiritus5:1, 79-87.

A Loan of Hope – The Interim Disability Program

It is almost Thanksgiving, a time for reflecting with close family and friends. Our reflections center on what we are thankful for, especially as we look on our many blessings over this past year.

One specific District program that is especially important to me is the Interim Disability Assistance (IDA) Program. IDA provides a small ($270) income each month to residents waiting the long months (even years) between their initial disability application and approval from the Social Security Administration. Clients I worked with applying for disability are unable to work, and thus depend on this program to have their basic necessities met. What is even better about this program is that the Social Security Administration repays the District government when a client receives a favorable decision.

When a special client of mine, Mr. S., was approved for his disability income after seeking legal representation at Bread for the City, he explained to me how crucial IDA had been to his stabilization. Chronically homeless and suffering from a long litany of impairments ranging from HIV to chronic leg pain to severe depression, IDA provided a “loan of hope” to Mr. S. He was proud to say that he was able to repay that loan, allowing someone else to have hope as they waited for their disability decision.

Another story that sticks with me is Anthony Brown, who was interviewed for Beyond Bread this spring when the Council made $6 million in cuts to the program.

Our city has already cut $100 million from the safety net programs that people like Anthony depend on. Rather than more cuts, let’s ask more of those who have suffered the least in the recession. Right now, DC’s top tax rate (8.5%) starts at $40,000 a year. An increase of one percentage point in the rate on the highest-earning 5% (those with income above $200,000) would bring in at least $65 million in new revenue. It’s a small contribution for high-income households, roughly equal to the price of a large coffee each day.

As you reflect on what you’re thankful for, take some time to consider what changes you would make in your budget, to ensure our city can invest in an economic recovery that includes everyone.

If you care about this issue, send an email to Chairman Gray and ask him to take a balanced approach and protect the programs you care about.

As we celebrate Thanksgiving together with our family and friends, I know I’ll be holding Bread for the City, Mr. S. and Anthony Brown, the IDA Program, and the SOS campaign close to my heart. I am thankful for IDA’s impact on the residents of DC, and for the ways Mr. S, Bread, and the SOS campaign had blessed me this year.

Looking at Welfare Reform through Another Lens Besides My Own

Quadagno & Street (2005) state that the United States follows the neo-liberal model of government, especially in regards to our perspectives of individualism and individual rights. We are a country built on a model of self sufficiency and “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” language. It is easy to see in the discourse and criticisms of many of our urban poor: they need to work harder… they need to stop depending on welfare… I can’t believe I’m paying my taxes and working hard so that those poor people can just depend on the government. The comments are numerous, degrading, and continually divisive, but they reinforce our perspectives of individual rights.

Quadagno & Street continue to state that voluntarism is also highly valued in the United States. Voluntarism places an emphasis on private donations by individuals rather than governmental assistance as a means to redistribute income to lower income members of society. For example, leading economist Milton Friedman makes an argument for voluntarism in his book, Free to Choose. Essentially, Friedman argues that if taxes were lower, and governmental services for income maintenance and redistribution were privatized, people would have the altruistic desire to give more to charitable organizations to continue this work. Regardless if Friedman’s point is correct, voluntarism is not an effective means to achieving social justice; for, rather than creating a system of dependency on the government, the poor are dependent on charitable organizations that in turn are dependent on charitable and altruistic individuals. Dependency still exists; charity (giving from one’s surplus) perpetuates inequality as there is no structural level change happening. So, while valued in United States, it doesn’t seem that reliance on voluntarism is the correct social policy to achieve social justice.

Working at Bread for the City last year, I found myself often asking the question, how can we encourage those on welfare to find jobs and go back to work? I was asking this, not from a judging condemning viewpoint, but more so, from an attempt to reflect on how can we make policies that make sense and actually work, and that act as a safety net for those who are in need without creating cyclical dependency. Can we create any social justice with our conceptions of welfare policy?

However, I found it interesting to reflect on Orloff (2005)’s article on United States welfare reform. Orfloff argues that the 1996 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act was an attempt to eliminate the social right for poor single mothers to care for their children full time. Instead, as Orloff writes, “Staying at home full time to care for children has come to be understood as something to be earned through one’s efforts in the labor market – as a reward from an employer who gives paid leave” (pp.109-110). Reflecting on this point sheds light into my own thoughts on TANF last year.

Turning to myself, raised in a two-parent household, my parents were able to make our family function happen on one income during my younger years. Yet, this was a choice they had simply by being a two parent household. And in fact, I believe those years having my mother at home shaped our family, the way I look at the world, and consequently, I cannot list all the benefits our family has experienced because of those years. For my mother, raising children full time was a full time job and right in our family, something that is denied to other lower income women, simply because they are low income.

So returning to the ideological rhetoric we commonly hear about welfare benefits and the “laziness” of “welfare queens,” it is interesting to see how my own middle class perspectives shaped my own understanding of welfare. Instead of thinking about the same model of child-rearing I experienced, I projected my own values of individualism and self sufficiency, middle class values drilled into me by the American process of socialization. In my own reflections (all with positive non-judgmental intentions), I too was contributing to the common statements that, because these women are poor, they don’t share the right my mother had to stay at home with their children.

Works Cited

Friedman, M. & Friedman, R. (1990). Free to choose: A personal statement. Orlando, FL: Harcourt.

Orloff, A. (2005). Examining US welfare reform: Power, gender, race, and the US policy legacy. Critical Social Policy, 22(1) 96-118.

Quadagno, J. & Street, D. (2005). Ideology and public policy: Antistatism in American welfare state transformation. The Journal of Policy History, 17(1) 52-71.

Power Differences between the Sociologist and the Public

Often, in the service experiences I’ve been reflecting over the past few years, the issue of power has come up – we the “white” individuals come into a community, one who is usually poor and a minority, and have money, skills, and other resources that we can give; the result is there is a power difference that is often unfair and perpetuates the inequality. And, if we aren’t careful, we find in many instances that people become dependent on the white man, and expect that the white man will come and save the day. This breeds in us a “hero complex” as Aaron Ausland describes in his article, Staying for Tea.

Ausland suggests that we change our frame of reference to one of accompaniment, in which a relationship is formed with those we serve; rather than dominating and dictating, we instead become “mutually indebted” – we recognize that we both have needs and in our relationship, we grow from one another. The relationship is not one sided; rather, we both have something to give, and indeed, there is a sense of transformation that happens, a transformation that is more whole and deep than the service itself (Ausland, 2005, p. 6).

I believe while it’s still a deep challenge for all of us as servants, it’s something that can be achieved in the service we do. For indeed, I developed relationships with clients at Bread for the City, and found myself being transformed by our interactions.

But is it as easy to translate to the dynamics of sociological research? A classmate of mine posed the question of the power struggle between the researcher and the public. The researcher comes in with the knowledge, the research project, and often in the eyes of the client, is at an elevated level. Is it possible then, to “Stay for Tea” in this situation? Time might not permit it, and the nature of research is not to develop a transformation relationship.

Now, it is true, sociologists are working for social justice, and so we have been transformed by the people and experiences we have had that have led us to where we are today. But, it seems to me that we might be reaping more benefits than we are giving in this research process: we are transformed by our interactions with the poor, we gain many insights that we translate in our research process, we write and publish papers, and our careers advance. Combined with the educational gap, we surely have more power than our clients in these research projects. How can we possibly equal the playing field?

Is doing the research simply enough to justify this power dynamic? Perhaps. My professor mentioned an example doing public sociological research on a domestic violence hotline: survivors of domestic violence expressed gratitude to the researchers, knowing that by improving the hotline, they and future victims would have better access to services and would therefore be better protected from their batterers. For these survivors, they were able to fulfill what Ragin calls is one of the primary goals of sociological research: “giving voice” (Ragin, 2011, p. 46). Often, Ragin describes, marginalized populations aren’t able to provide their voice and input into the research that goes into society. By these sociologists talking with these survivors of domestic violence, they were able to provide their own real perspective in a way that could change and improve services.

We also talked about ensuring that people recognize our gratitude through monetary compensation or by showing that their time is valuable and appreciated. Finally, by treating the clients with the highest dignity and respect, we can communicate to them how important they are to the work we are doing.

In the advocacy efforts I was part of at Bread, I saw that clients are not just interested in services that will help them; rather, they are interested in “giving their voice,” providing their perspectives so that injust structures may change, or at least be less injust. Many clients across many organizations joined advocates at the City Council building countless times to protest and advocate to city officials for better services and more concern for the poor. So, yes, in this sense, it seems true that clients, such as the domestic violence survivors, would feel comfort in knowing that they were part of greater advocacy efforts.

I still am stuck though; the options don’t seem great enough. Perhaps it’s because it’s not as holistic as Ausland’s model of accompaniment. Sociological research is different than service, and thus, must adhere to different rules, policies, and procedures. This makes it’s an official science and we need sociology to be professional and scientific so that it will be valid and respected. But, I am torn; I have spent many years now trying to develop a sense of accompaniment in the work I am doing. And, as Fr. Greg Boyle describes it, I have been striving develop a sense of kinship: no longer us and them, but just us (Boyle, 2005). Are we, as researchers, just creating a greater divide between us and them?

It’s the second week of graduate school. I have a lot to learn, a lot to experience, and many projects to complete. Perhaps as I continue to grow and learn, I’ll find new ways to accompany clients in research and build kinship.



Works Cited:

Ausland, A. (2005). Staying for tea: Five principles for the community service volunteer. The
Global Citizen 2 pp. 5-15.

Boyle, Gregory, SJ. (2005). The voices of those who sing. Spiritus5:1, 79-87.

Ragin, C.C. & Amoroso, L.M. (2011). Constructing Social Research. 2nd ed. Pine Forge Press.

The American Flag - A Cultural Object

In my Religion, Political Culture, and Ideology course, we began class with a reading by Wendy Griswold, attempting to define what culture is. Culture is such a vague term – people often think they know it when they see it or experience it, but struggle to give any formal definition of it. Griswold notes that there are different types of culture in society, and that elements of culture are expressed through cultural objects – objects in society that we assign meaning to. Culture becomes culture when we (as a group) assign some meaning to the object.

Griswold also states that cultural objects can have different meanings to different groups of people. This Labor Day, I point to the American flag as a symbol that, even in my own extended family, holds many different meanings.

Growing up in a relatively conservative active military family, the American flag served as a symbol of sacrifice and freedom, of democracy and of rights. The American flag was (and is) venerated by many family members as a tangible cultural object, one that stands for the many wars that have provided our citizens freedom. It is a cultural object that must be respected, for it in many ways represents so many values of American society.

I found myself at Mass today feeling cynical about this cultural symbol. It’s true – I haven’t always been the most patriotic in the same sense as this familial veneration of the flag. Singing “America the Beautiful” in a wealthy part of South Chicago, just minutes from a center of Chicago’s cyclical poverty and violence, images of my JVC experience reappeared in my mind. Can I really hold the same meaning that my fellow family members hold of the American flag when I see cyclical poverty and institutional racism so rampant in our society?

Being a patriot means being loyal to one’s country, being willing to serve one’s country. I believe I am a patriot in a different definition of the word. I’m willing and ready to serve my country, but that means domestically – serving those who are in need, fighting inequality in our institutions, speaking up about injustice in my conversations with family and friends. I believe this is another way of being loyal to one’s country – being loyal to people in the country society forgets to acknowledge as human.

When listening to the song today, when discussing my views of society, and when seeing the American flag, I held a different meaning of this cultural object. Instead of a testament to freedom, democracy, and sacrifice, I saw a country of irony, of segregation, of inequality, and of ignorance. When singing the words, “God shed His Grace on Thee,” I felt a mix of frustration and of humility. In many ways, we are dependent on God’s grace, and could use so much more trust and patience in this fight for equality and justice.

And perhaps, I too am the “Thee” in that verse. For I need just as much grace as our country. I recognize that it has taken me many years to understand the world and our country the way I do. I need that grace now to be humble, to be compassionate, to be patient, to be open, and to stop judging other views of the United States. For it is true – there has been much sacrifice for the luxuries I enjoy.

So as I continue on through school, I know that elements of cynicism will reemerge and challenge me. But – I must continue to return to God, asking for His Grace to be shed on me, and perhaps I will be able to stop judging and continue working for social justice.

It will only be by the grace of God.

Returning to Graduate School – Comparing the Abstract with the Concrete

In many ways, I think I will have an advantage in graduate school because of my year as a volunteer. Working at Bread for the City, I was able to link many sociological theories with the actual experiences of our clients. My exposure to poverty, institutional racism, and real relationships with our clients informs how I look at the world, and indeed, how I view stratification. My heart is transformed because of these real relationships. In many ways, it is this exposure with the concrete that will help in my graduate studies.

Yet in other ways, I believe my year away from academia poses different challenges as I begin my courses. Much theory seems to be abstract. For example, in my culture class, we began with a discussion of what defines culture, what culture looks like, and who creates culture. Ultimately, the readings and discussion pointed us towards meaning-making – that culture is our attempt to make meaning; something becomes a cultural object because it has assigned meaning.

This is the first of many discussions that, while important, are different from the type of discussions at Bread for the City. Our work at Bread focuses on the concrete because we saw poverty as real. Our advocacy was not founded on theories of sociology, but on the relationships we had with our clients, and the aggregation of the multiple client stories we listened to each day.

So now, in graduate school, I look at the world through the lenses of the abstract and the concrete. I continue to think about my client experience as a Jesuit Volunteer, the advocacy we undertook, and the ways I continue to be ruined for life. Yet at the same time, I return to many conversations of the abstract – looking at the theories of many sociologists who have come before me; it will be my job to examine that abstract, to interpret it, to critique it, and to add to the conversation.

So the ultimate challenge at Loyola University Chicago will be to synthesize the abstract and the concrete. By doing this, perhaps an even more fruitful dialogue will happen, and we will continue to work for a more just world

Change Happens on the Journey

During our Jesuit Volunteer Corps closing retreat, we talked about the concept of a pilgrimage or journey. In that journey, often, the growth happens throughout the journey, but it is realized after the journey is complete. In a talk given by Sharon of the JVC staff, she mentioned the Wise Men of the Gospel and said,

"The wisemen were changed by their experience of Jesus and took a different route home."

When I look back on this year and the journey of JVC, I am most radically changed in my understanding of what it means to accompany others, to live on solidarity, and to develop kinship.

The idea of accompanying someone suggest a journey is to be had. In fact, all relationships are a journey, full of pockets of what St. Ignatius calls consolation and desolation. On a journey with others, we sense the times when we can tangible feel the presence of God, and others where we have a striking fear or perception that God has been absent.

I began working with clients at Bread during the first days of my experience, and as you know, soon received my own caseload of persons applying for Social Security Disability benefits. Working with clients consistently began to open my eyes to the realities of accompaniment. In the past, I have reflecting on winning Mr. R's SSI case and watching him fill with hope. This man, suffering from a long discouraging litany of impairments, has been finally granted some solace on his journey. I too felt hope, and God's presence in these moments.

Throughout the year, I became much more comfortable with, and well equipped to understand the experiences of the clients we serve at Bread for the City, and the larger systemic and underlying hurdles that cause our clients? life experience. Perhaps these realizations made it easier to understand what it means to accompany others. When individuals would walk into Bread towards the end of the year, I felt myself able to simply accompany them through the complexities of the legal system.

Yet, these same moments on the journey - the same moments of consolation - have hinted at, and often have been smothered by the overwhelming presence of desolation. My clients live an experience muddled by a system of classism, sexism, and especially racism. Theirs (and arguably, our own) lives are tainted by a system that predisposes them to lives of inequality, increased disparity, disadvantages, prejudices, and cyclical poverty. How can I possible see or experience a loving God in the midst of such suffering and desolation?

It is in the moments working on Mr. R's case, when he says he too wants to go to the City Council to advocate on behalf of programs that have fostered growth and self-actualization in him

It is in the moments of goodbye, when Mr. J. tells me to "never quit the books," even if it is hard, and I promise him that I won't quit.

It is in the moments of simply being present during walk-ins, listening, sharing my experience, growing...

It is in these moments and the many more moments this year that I have most closely felt God. And it is precisely because I have seen the true and authentic humanity in people society pretends do not exist.

"The wisemen were changed by their experience of Jesus and took a different route home."

Indeed, I have been radically changed through my experience of accompaniment this year, and in the moments of consolation and desolation. It is because of this year that I know I must always continue to explore what it means to truly accompany others, and to always work to make positive social and structural change.

The Audacity to See Our Society as "Raceless"

Even as a sociologist, I began the Jesuit Volunteer Corps believing that we had moved to a raceless society – one in which we all have the same opportunities, and one in which we have moved passed any sort of prejudice. And when confronting with statistics of the overwhelming numbers of minorities who are poor in America’s urban centers, I had the audacity to simply label this as economic inequality and forget that race could or should be incorporated into the analysis.

Could I fully blame myself? Yes and no. Coming from a predominately white area where I myself was a minority, it was easy to dismiss the fact that racism exists; after all, I am not white, and look at me – I have successfully used my talents and middle class-instilled work ethic and social compass to not only “succeed,” but actually obtain almost everything I had ever asked for – with slim to in some cases no adversity.

Coming to Washington has slowly eroded the fantasy I held to be true. Even as quickly as getting off the plane at National Airport, I noticed that the people in business attire are most generally white, and the people in service jobs are indefinitely black. But, sure I thought, this is tied to economic inequality, and it is not racial inequality, for that doesn’t exist.

I work in NW Washington in an office that is in a predominately and historically African American neighborhood. I live just north of our office and walk to work each day. Our location also lends itself to other Latino/Hispanic clients, and I notice the rare white client who walks into Bread for legal assistance. But still, through this, everything must be tied to economic inequality only, for we are now a raceless society.

Nevermind that in my attempts to pretend that we are raceless, I still watched (to my horror) that I had my own prejudices that surfaced. We can blame a list of relevant factors and sources of this prejudice, but the fact is that I held prejudices that I didn’t even know were there. Working at Bread for the City has challenged me daily, and has helped destroy the prejudices and replace them with relationships with real people.

Even heading to Southeast Washington, across the Anacostia, where the deepest poverty perpetuates itself overtly, I still continued to believe that all our problems are tied to economic inequality. I remember my first visit to our Anacostia location. The blatant absence of any sort of commercial establishments (minus the plentiful liquor and corner stores) coupled with the hopelessness in the tone of the buildings and the fact that only African Americans were present should have been a clear signal that we cannot continue to see a raceless society. Even travelling back across the river, commenting on the contrast to the luxury condo buildings and the omnipresent cupola of the United States Capitol, I failed to see what should have been so clear.

After many more conversations, more visits to SE, more daily walks through my neighborhood, a sociological observation at Landlord-Tenant Court, media coverage, and inner reflections, I believe I had my grand epiphany in early June. For what should have been obvious in my courses at Gonzaga now finally made sense. There is a reason in modern sociological theory that race, gender, and class are tied together, and not viewed only independently of one another.

In the context of race, it now clear to me that the term “racism” applies to institutions in society. Institutions are racist because they give power to the views of the majority at the expense (and disadvantage) of the minority. The power reinforces the majority while condemning the minority. The very foundations of who we are as Americans is dependent on this system of power. The majority power has used African Americans in an exploitative manner since their original days in this country. Freed from slavery, they began their new lives without any of the wealth many others had been able to accumulate through prosperity, inheritance, and the advantages of being white in a racist society. Naturally, African Americans stayed in poverty and entered a life of a new slavery – this time as sharecroppers. And finally, when escaping this new type of slavery, African Americans headed towards the city where they faced new types of racism and segregation. When wealthier Americans fled cities for the suburbs in the 50s, African Americans were left without sufficient wealth and thus found themselves in the center of decay and fleeting capital. Even when having sufficient wealth to move to the suburbs, African Americans faced racist policies written into law, preventing them from actually achieving the American Dream.

Today – the result is so easy to see that it’s abhorrent to think that it wasn’t clear on my first visit to our SE office, when such an image was so blatant. Lack of capital resulted in neighborhood decay. Dependency grew. Poverty concentrated deeper and deeper, due to policies in housing and in prejudice of individual Americans. Lack of jobs in the urban centers, the coming of drugs, the fall of the American family, terrible schools, lack of tax base to provide services, hopelessness and mental illnesses, conditions of squalor, deep segregation, and perhaps a forgotten symptom – the apathy and lack of concern by the dominant power and society, has led to the state we are in today.

I can no longer believe that we have moved to a raceless society.

As a sociologist, I am partly ashamed to say that it has taken me this long to recognize the strong impact of race and power in the United States. But perhaps – it sheds light to the packaging of our middle class values – it is easy for us to believe we are in a raceless society when we live lives of privilege, wealth accumulation, affluent neighborhoods, and higher quality schools. Even when we come from families who are in the lower middle class, we still can look to the working class, working poor, and underclass as people below us who we continue working to avoid becoming. Our values become reinforced in the successes we experience, and we continue believing the American dream is equal, just, and gives equal opportunity to all. Others must not be taking advantage of the opportunity.

Our values are reinforced when we hear the word diversity. We cringe because it has been a buzz word and we become upset that someone might be an equal candidate (or more upsetting, worse than us) and we will lose our opportunity because the policy is favoring the African American over us. It is a power struggle and we are afraid we will lose. We know that the other has been oppressed, but we tell him that it was in the past. We tell her that it is not our fault. We rebuke the other for trying to give us guilt for the sins of the past. After all, if you only work as hard as I, you too will be at the same place. For you see, we are a raceless society now, a society of equal opportunity. Nevermind the 300 years of advantage I have over you. That is over now. What is important is that we both work hard, and let’s be honest, I have worked harder than you. I deserve it more.

And so, this is how we continue to perpetuate the great myth in our society that we live in a raceless society, a society that now is colorblind, a society that sees everyone as equals, a society that judges by merit and skills, not by skin color and economic class.

For a long time, I believed this great American myth. But, alas, after this year in Washington, the lie has become exposed. I can longer believe that we live in a raceless society.

Yet – I am not left alienated, hopeless, and powerlessness. No – the revelation is like a bittersweet taste. The bitterness floods my mind, heart, and soul, tempting me to turn to hopelessness. But, the taste of hope is sweet, and some enters me and convinces me that there is still hope. We can still fight for policy that combats a racist society. We can still confront the prejudices we don’t even know we have, just as I have this year. We can still work together to break down this great American myth and work for our brothers and sisters who are disadvantaged at our experience.

We can do it together, and we will. For now that the myth has been revealed as a fallacy in both our society and in our hearts, we can move towards establishing what we know is just.