The color spectrum
I had the opportunity recently to work on a journal for one of my communication classes at NAU. The class is called Media, Race and Gender, and the assignment was to analyze different aspects of mass media and determine how it discriminates against people of a different creed or culture. The results of my analysis rendered me a wealth of information, but much of that knowledge was connected at the hip to assumptions that I’ve had since the moment I was first able to calculate my social surroundings with reasonable proficiency.
Many people choose not to get along with others. The elite class of people continues to accumulate more of the nation’s wealth, while fewer and fewer alleyways remain unoccupied by the homeless. Sexual exploitation is a problem that we want to continue providing ignorance toward, and racial tensions are as strong now as they have been at any point in the recent past. The most troubling aspect of these situations seems to be fueled by, among other things, things like the media, which smiles candidly and quietly slips a disguise over our eyes to de-legitimize our concerns.
The mass media is not the entire problem by any means, but I became more aware this semester of how we are shielded from the realities that surround us by the messages of obtainable perfection provided by different forms of communicative culture. There is a major misrepresentation of equality on television shows compared to the actual racial ratio of this nation, and that partially eliminates our belief that anything even needs to be improved. It’s similar to the opinion of certain branches of the military. Don’t ask. Don’t tell.
I am by no means holding everyone else accountable without taking blame for the situation. I am a part of this youthful generation that should be making strides, but many times I find myself reacting in a manner reminiscent of many others. I am aware of the problems in society, but really do nothing about them.
When I first moved to Arizona in 2005, I scored a job cooking at a steak house, and on my third day in the state, the first person that walked up to me to say hello and invite me to some festivities was a African American from Minnesota.
I’m from a small town in central Illinois, and it was not hard to be influenced by narrow-minded perspectives. I’d be lying if I said that I’ve never had a negative thought cross my mind about an ethnically diverse person, but when my friend Eric walked up to me in that restaurant, it was not with aggression. He did not do so with arrogance in his step or with slander in his voice. He offered a friendly invitation as a token of respect from one class act to another, and made the situation as comfortable as if we’d been friends for life, which we have been since that day.
I’m lucky, though. I was raised in a home that taught me many things. I was taught to use my head before using my mouth. I was taught to use my heart instead of using my fists. I was taught that if I did not respect every person on earth equally, without bias, that I would not be welcome in my parent’s home. I was taught kindness and the ability to use situational consideration before placing a hint of blame or judgment on any person, deserved or not. I was taught what unconditional love is, and how to spread it effortlessly.
I have a sister who is currently on her second stretch through Afghanistan with the U.S. Army, and I am eternally thankful for her courage. Put yourself in her shoes for one second, though.
If you were in a foxhole, bracing to meet your maker, would you care who was positioned to your side? Would it matter if they were African American or Asian, a man or a woman, rich or poor? I can only imagine that we would be forever grateful simply that they were there, defending your life as you defended theirs, regardless of their physical make-up.
It is time to appreciate the diversity of this planet’s inhabitants, and to stop taking our unique experiences for granted. It is time to make haste with who we are, instead of who they aren’t. It is time.
