In approaching the question of what it is like being a student in New York City studying and reading material concerning 18th century British colonialism, I can’t help but speak about privilege, both in the sense of being a white male, and of being a native New Yorker. For many years I thought I understood the privilege I possessed in terms of race, but it is only in the last ten years or so that I realize how many layers of privilege I was unaware of, despite being exposed to diversity at an early age and lucky enough to befriend people who were outspoken about the inequities that existed in the world. Though I considered myself enlightened, and non-biased, the more I looked the more I realized how many subtle layers of institutional racism still lay within me. Once I had discovered it, I had to try to use that privilege to make a difference.
I think that, even in the fast-paced, outwardly brusque and uncaring atmosphere of New York, where racism certainly exists and even thrives in some areas, we are still as a citizenry fairly sheltered from what the rest of the country—that is not the east or west coasts—look like. We are packed together, and on top of one another and perhaps because we have so much contact with so many people who look differently, and have cultures and beliefs that are not our own, we are by default more tolerant. Such is not the case in other parts of the country. As a childhood friend of mine, a woman of color, recently said to me, “we were spoiled growing up in the Bronx, where everybody hung out with everyone and color and religion was never a problem. I found that out when I was wandering around the country. I found myself in places where my color was not appropriate.” Those were her exact words. “My color was not appropriate.”
So, I come to texts like Ooronoko, and Captain Singleton with that phrase ringing in my ears as I read about how color and class and circumstance decide who and who isn’t “appropriate” in this new “great empire” that is being birthed through slavery and oppression and conquest. I think about the political climate in our country right now, and I think about the discussions we will have about the texts we read in class, and I anticipate that we will all more or less be on the same page in condemning the inequities and seeing through the excuses and apologies given for why the colonizers thought their cause just. Then I think about this class being taught in the Rust Belt, or in Idaho, or Arizona, where just a few miles away from the university there are children locked in cages, and people in the classroom making excuses and apologies for why that is so. How do they see these texts? Who are the heroes and the villains of these stories for them?
I don’t mean to stereotype. I am certain that every state and place I mentioned above has intelligent, compassionate people in them as well. I am only reacting to the rhetoric I hear when I enter political discussions about how this country should proceed, and how our society should be structured. The same attitudes of racism and imperialism seem to be pervasive in a certain section of our society. I think it is important to learn about these texts and, it is an English literature course after all, not a history or political science course, but I think we should be aware of the atmosphere in which we study, and to understand that the things we are reading about in this class are happening in today’s world as we speak, with only the specifics changed, and there are fellow citizens that are applauding those things as right and just.
The readings we have had so far are rather interesting. Living in a society carries the responsibility and implication of the understanding of such. Being originally from the Caribbean island Puerto Rico, I personally have a diversity in ancestry. I have an immediate ancestry of “puertorican black” and “puertorican white.” I moved to New York City as a child of twelve years. Many things were new to me. Racism was not one of them. Growing up in my household the self loathing and lack of consciousness was all too apparent. These age old ideas put forward through colonialism had been absorbed and internalized. In this city however, in contrast with back home, its presence was more poignant. Despite the diversity and all social attempts to heal the wounds of the past one can never outrun the distrust of oneself. Not just the entity of racism, but the underestimated entity of colorism is at play. Here in the city there is always this awareness of something higher than us that is ever present and ever absent tells us to stay low. This something that tells us that because of who we are and where we come from we are somehow limited. I do not know why but this atmosphere that seems to be the effect of ages old colonialism just seems to ever be in the presence of our consciousness. Back home things were much simpler, to be called “black” was to be called “love.” I wonder how people during the Restoration experienced their day to day interactions with those others that were deemed different from themselves. When did this seeming tension arise? From reading Oroonoko I had the feeling that this tension was already apparent somewhat centuries ago. When looking for the solution to a problem the only way is to go back to the source. Past, present, and future all stand like a tree, and the only way to the branches is through the roots. Making myself a new home of this city gave me a new understanding of a reality that goes back beyond our time. My identity matters now more than ever. In a place crowded and riddled with the inconsistencies of the present and past one finds oneself trying to survive and forgetting how to live. That is reality of slavery. Everyone says that this city gives. But I always thought this city takes. It reminds me of a parallel to Oroonoko. His freedom was taken from him, so much so that giving him his freedom back seemed like a charity in the eyes of his oppressors. Reality is a riddle. At this time or any other. The story of Oroonoko and other readings we have done so far are a testament to it.