special issue: native experiences in the ivory tower || life along the margins

Life along the MarginsAuthor(s): Frederick WhiteSource: American Indian Quarterly, Vol. 27, No. 1/2, Special Issue: Native Experiences in theIvory Tower (Winter - Spring, 2003), pp. 441-451Published by: University of Nebraska PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4138885 .

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Life along the Margins

FREDERICK WHITE

Southern California serves as the location for the incidents described here. An up-and-coming midsize "Christian" university, noted for its yearly rise in the U.S. News: America's Best Colleges to the top twenty-five universities of its size, locates and contextualizes these experiences along my journey. My encounters reflect transitions from being an undergraduate student, to a graduate student, to part-time faculty, and eventually, to a full-time assistant professor of English. I address all these phases since

they all transpired at the same institution; though I briefly include my student status, the bulk of my experiences occur while being a teacher.

I attended California Christian University' as a second-semester jun- ior transfer. I was already a nontraditional student not simply because I was a minority but also because I was an older commuter, married, and had a job. I only established a few friendships with the other students, not so much as a result of difference in faith or race but because of age, experience, and time. It seemed the friends I made were also nontraditional, older commuters who were married as well. While I had as least eighteen credits per semester, I spent very little time beyond the classroom on cam-

pus due to family and job responsibilities. While in the classroom setting I found myself more acclimated to the

professors, and looking back at my experience, I realize that I exemplified many learning style characteristics of Native Americans.2 As a rule, I gen- erally sat quietly throughout the course, rarely saying anything unless I was asked. I seldom offered willing participation in a classroom setting during my courses, but there were occasions I voluntarily spoke to counter the general consensus of the class discussion. I truly preferred discussing my thoughts with the professors face-to-face after class or during their

AMERICAN INDIAN QUARTERLY /WINTER & SPRING 2003 /VOL. 27, NOS. 1 & 2 441



office hours rather than voicing my opinion in class.3 I found the professors to be very congenial, and I greatly valued my time at this institution as an undergraduate and then as a graduate student. Things would change as I began teaching as an adjunct while pursuing my doctorate.

Teaching at this university was much different than being a student on the campus. And since I taught up to three classes a semester, I found

myself on campus more than when I was a student. I also found the am- biance much different. After I began teaching, my "minority" status had

greater impact and significance. Again, it was not due to a conflict of faith but of race-differences in status, appearance, and teaching style-and the subtle and not so subtle message that I was not part of the mainstream.

Since I was no longer a student, I dressed more appropriately. Though I was not dressed in a suit and tie like many other professors, I was not

entirely casual. I wore dress pants and a nice shirt and occasionally a tie. The campus was actually split, with a branch known as "west campus" where I frequently taught courses when there was no room at the main

campus. Since I also worked out at west campus, I would get there early, work out, shower, and then teach. One day I got there earlier than usual; it was a Friday, the day the school newspaper came out, and I decided to read the paper before my workout. I sat in my car near the edge of the

campus away from the other cars because I wanted to be in the shade. A few minutes later, I looked up in the rearview mirror and noticed a secu-

rity guard standing directly behind my car about twenty feet back just watching me. I then looked to my right and saw another security guard talking into his communication device on his shoulder. He nodded in my direction but not at me. So I looked to my left and saw a third security officer walking toward me, and he was also talking into his device. All the officers were students, and the one behind me was female.

When the officer arrived at my car, he asked what I was doing. I ex-

plained that I was reading the school newspaper and inquired if there was anything wrong. He mentioned that I did not have a parking sticker and wondered why I was in the parking lot. I asked why that was a problem; I knew that this particular lot did not require stickers since it was not as busy as the main campus lot. He stated the lot was part of a private university. He then informed me that a faculty member saw me park and was uncomfortable that I was there without a parking sticker, especially since my car was an "older" car, so he had called campus security. This

442 White: Life along the Margins



occurred around 1993 and my car was a 1973 Chevrolet Nova, but it had a nice new red paint job. I became visibly irritated with that comment and asked again what the problem was. At this point, the officer asked me for some identification.

I reached into my back pocket only to realize that I had left my wallet and all my identification at home that day. I explained that I was an ad-

junct professor at the university and that I had left my wallet at home. The officer asked me to step out of the car. Now I was further irritated with their treatment, and I got out and looked at the other officers with a scowl. At this point, the female officer became visibly scared and began talking constantly into her shoulder walkie-talkie. I could not see the other officer's reaction since I focused on the one questioning me. I excitedly told them the department I worked for, but the computer had no record of my name. And for some reason my car was not registered either, so the

atmosphere intensified. I became more and more disconcerted at their treatment, and eventually they contacted the English department and verified that I was an employee of the university.

I then challenged them for their treatment and the motive for their actions. Clearly it was because I was a minority in a "suspicious" car. It was not so much that there was no parking sticker but that it was a car

profiled as being a gang car. The officer explained they were merely doing their job, and they "let me go." They all left unapologetically. I was dis-

traught at the event for a couple of reasons. First, it was a racial incident motivated by my status as a minority on a conservative mainstream southern California campus. Second, I loathe being distrusted, voiceless, and not being believed when I tell the truth. I then decided to look at the other cars and noticed a few others that had no parking sticker. I also saw a man in a newer car sitting and reading something, and he had no sticker. Since he was white, I pondered calling the security office to see if they would treat him the same way. I did not do that, but perhaps I should have. What stopped me was simply that I did not want that man to en- dure anything I just had experienced.

I wrote a letter to the university newspaper decrying and describing the event; they printed it, but it generated little response. The following edition of the weekly newspaper carried the campus security office re-

sponse stating that they were merely doing their job. I was clearly in the

wrong by not having a parking sticker and identification, so their treatment was warranted. Again, there was no apology for the way they dealt

AMERICAN INDIAN QUARTERLY/WINTER & SPRING 2003 / VOL. 27, NOS. 1 & 2 443



with me. The bottom line was that I was suspicious because of my race, my car, and the lack of a parking sticker (but this last aspect is indefen- sible since that campus did not require parking stickers at that time). Regrettably, the same situation occurred a couple of years later on the main campus parking lot and for the same reasons.

One of my colleagues sympathized with my situation as a minority adjunct and lamented the comfortable homogeneity on campus. This

homogeneity was often reinforced even when I was a full-time faculty member. After parking in the main faculty lot early one morning (you had to be early to park in this lot), I was walking to my office when I was

approached by another faculty member. He did not know I was also fac-

ulty and asked if I needed help with anything. He had watched me park and seemed to be curious about why I was in the staff parking lot. He assumed I was lost seemingly because I was not a mainstream person and

my car was not a typical faculty car. When I told him I was also faculty, he was caught by surprise and continued on his way without further dia-

logue. Another strange incident occurred on the west campus when in be-

tween my two classes I went into the degree completion office to get some

supplies. Since it was between classes, there were many other students

hanging around outside the office and in the office as well. The secretary knew me, but she was not there. When the director of the degree completion program saw me from his office, he came out to ask me if I needed

any help. I said no and walked to my classroom as he stood there and just watched me leave. It was not a genuine offer of a fellow worker trying to be helpful, but it was a condescending query more accurately translated as "What are you doing here?" or "Why are you here?" I do not often feel insulted, but this time I was.

While pursing my doctorate I taught as many as three courses a semester, though often usually at least two per semester. My dissertation focus was Native American language revitalization, and while researching the

learning styles of Native Americans, I found it necessary to also consider Native American teaching styles. At the time I found only one article deal-

ing with the topic, and three occasional references about the differences in Native American teaching styles.4 The information was so fascinating and accurate (at least for me) that I resolved to explain to the students some of these peculiarities. I welcomed their participation and that part of their course grade required active participation. I learned that I had to




be very intentional about communicating differences between their mainstream professors and me. For example, I would not answer questions I asked; I would wait as long as necessary for answers, not just half a second; I enjoyed silence and was not uncomfortable with it. But what I found most interesting concerned validating students for apropos com- ments. In my mind I usually acknowledged how great the comment was but then would assume the class also recognized that fact. I would often continue without offering praise to the student or further comment on the student response. This validation of students may be more of an idio-

syncrasy rather than a cultural difference, but it was still very important. I also explained that I enjoyed teasing students, not because I wanted to embarrass them, but because it definitely was a cultural way of expressing fondness.5 Thus, I tried to prepare students for a course different than

they had expected, whether it was Introduction to Literature, Freshman

Composition, or a linguistics course. Despite my efforts, my perception of how I was doing compared to the student evaluations was rarely accurate.

The contrast to my perception culminated one semester when I had convinced the chair of the department to allow me to use only Native American literature for the introductory literature course. He was very willing to authorize the use of only Native American literature and en-

couraged my effort. While the time for this course was problematic, Tues-

days and Thursdays at 8:oo a.m., I looked forward to the challenge and

opportunity to have thirty-five students in the class. The first day of class I informed all the students the course would focus on literature, but solely with Native American content. A few students dropped the course that

day, though they were kind enough to stay till the end of the class. I re- member sensing that many of the rest still did not want to be there, but

they needed the course to fulfill a general education requirement and could not drop the course.

I was surprised at the attendance, which overall was quite good, especially for that time of the morning. As we came to the issue of signing treaties, I wanted to stress the unfairness of the process and outcome, so I wrote a treaty in Haida. I distributed it to them and required their signature by the next class. Since it was written in Haida, they were all stunned at the thought of having to sign something they did not understand. I

explained they had an advantage in that there were Haida dictionaries in

the research university libraries in Los Angeles, and certainly, if they were

AMERICAN INDIAN QUARTERLY /WINTER & SPRING 2003 / VOL. 27, NOS. 1 & 2 445



motivated, they could find the dictionary and translate the treaty. I elabo- rated that their literacy was a great advantage that the majority of Native Americans never had. After that class a few students visited the chair of the department, and they questioned whether or not I had the right to

require their signature. I had previously warned him that students would

probably have some problems with the treaty. He was fully supportive of me and said that if it was required, then they had no choice but to sign the treaty. Thus, the next class came, and I had everyone sign it.

With everyone's signature, the next day I sent a translation of the treaty they had signed. I included mundane elements such as their signature authorized me to fail them should they be late once more, fall asleep dur-

ing class, or missed another class. Their reactions were not unexpected and many more students then went to the chair wanting him to annul the treaty. Again, he was very cordial, but he said that the treaty was a valid document. That was very disconcerting to most of the students. Others knew this was merely was a lesson in history. Still others put no relevance to the lesson whatsoever. At the end of the course I asked for a final journal assignment in which they would discuss why or why not I should enforce the treaty and what they thought of the content of the course. Their responses were very revealing.

There were basically three groups of responses: (1) students who did not want me to enforce the treaty; (2) those that did not care either way; and (3) those who felt I should honor the treaty. The honest ones did not want me to enforce the treaty for various reasons, but the bottom line was they that knew if I did, they would fail. The disinterested ones did not care because many felt it was impossible for me to enforce the treaty since they unwillingly signed it while not being able to read or understand what the document contained. But there were a few that felt I should honor it. This surprised me since one particular student, who after signing the treaty was late a few times and had fallen asleep during the class on different occasions, adamantly wanted me to implement the treaty. He wrote of his confidence of earning a decent grade since, in his mind, he had not violated the treaty. He said there were students that deserved to fail, but he was not one of them.

The day before the last class, I received an anonymous e-mail from a student in my literature class. The e-mail address, JohnSmith@ hotmail.com, gave no evidence of the student's identity. The student was

finally offering his true evaluation of the course, me, and what he had




learned. He wrote that the course was the worst course he ever had taken at that institution and that I should be ashamed at the lack of quality and content in the course. He confessed that he had learned nothing about literature and lamented that it was a complete waste of his time. He im-

plied that I was prejudiced myself since I gave full credit only to those who agreed with my interpretations and to those who aligned themselves

against the mainstream treatment of the Indians. He felt that it was more of a history course with white-bashing content and was not fit for the

university's curriculum. He concluded by explaining his need for con-

cealing his identity. He did not want to jeopardize his grade, but he just could not let the course end without expressing what he truly felt. He

explained that it was brotherhood and human kindness that drove him to send the e-mail and hoped I would understand his need to be uniden- tified. He really did not want any other students to suffer taking the course and being subjected to meaningless white-bashing.

I was quite taken aback for a few minutes, and then I responded to him

by saying that he had expressed some very important issues worthy of discussion. I thanked him and offered to meet with him. I felt his com- ments needed further explanation, and I wanted to explore his percep- tions. I stated clearly he would in no way suffer grade-wise as a result of

identifying himself. I gave him until the end of the next day to reveal himself to me, but he did not do so. So the last day I went to class with the

impact of this anonymous e-mail lingering in my soul. I eventually identified the person who wrote the letter and confronted

him. What was most curious was his last journal (a response to the course content). He mentioned the course was very important and that it should be mandatory for all students since the topic was so important and rel- evant, but he was also one of the few who thought I should enforce the

treaty because he felt he had abided by the conditions. Since I had not identified him as the one who wrote the anonymous e-mail, I responded to his journal encouraging him to express his thoughts in the teacher evaluation. He did express himself on the teacher evaluation form, basi-

cally reiterating what he had said in the "John Smith" letter. He was very embarrassed about the anonymous e-mail when I identified him, but he maintained the explanation that he did not want his grade adversely af- fected. I then confronted him on his last journal. He rationalized it because he wanted full credit for the journals and wrote what he knew I would like to read. The experience was unsettling and still is since I ques-

AMERICAN INDIAN QUARTERLY/WINTER & SPRING 2003 / VOL. 27, NOS. 1 & 2 447



tion what students tell me in their journal and then wonder how it is different from what they write in the teacher evaluation form.

The final incident I want to discuss concerns salary. Self-promotion is not easy for Native Americans, so the interviewing process was intimi-

dating and uncomfortable for me. Though confident of my credentials, an ABD from ucLA as well as years of adjunct teaching and even full-time

teaching overseas, I struggled to adjust to the process of having to pro- mote and sell myself as a job candidate. I had a successful interview, though the salary discussion never occurred, and I rejected the first offer because the salary was so low. The second offer was a mere step above the first, but it was a little more. I then decided to accept the offer with the idea that I would ask for a readjustment again during the spring contract re- newal. In the two semesters I taught, I had two course overloads each semester and still barely survived financially.

I took my concerns to the department chair. I explained that the salary was too low and did not reflect the amount my experience and training should have prompted. He agreed. I then informed him my salary actu-

ally qualified me for California state health insurance benefits, state den- tal benefits, as well as Women and Infant Care (wic) benefits. In fact, with the scale I was on, I would qualify for the state benefits for another five

years. While we took advantage of the first two, my wife refused to apply for wic benefits. The department chair was gracious and agreed that my wage should be a living wage, an amount I could actually afford to live on

comfortably. He said he would support my effort at moving up the scale. At this time, I was teaching Samson Occom's narrative and found some

very interesting parallels in our lives.6 He worked for an organization that undervalued him, and no amount of pleading ever helped him assuage the great difference in salaries between his mainstream cohorts and his own. Though he was very vocal about his situation, Occom never received adequate compensation. I went to the dean, the provost, and even-

tually the president explaining my situation. The final response I received from the dean was that there was no way to increase my wage, but he would understand if I did not accept the next year's contract.

The campus buzz concerning diversity illustrates the irony of my situation. While voicing a commitment to diversity of students, faculty, and staff, there was little by way of commitment to keep me there, even as a

graduate from that institution. One of my "selling points" during the interview was that my employment on campus offered diversity in the class-




room and as a faculty member. I did not mind being different. I welcomed opportunities to instill in my students that being different is not

necessarily bad, nor is being all the same necessarily good. But perhaps I was too different as a freshman faculty member; I was vocal about the dismal salary, and I was a minority as well.

Another incongruity concerns the university's boast of being the second highest in faculty salaries for similar institutions. The Almanac's an- nual faculty salary report in The Chronicle of Higher Education intensified the discrepancy of my own salary with the average posted for my category. The reported average salary for assistant professors at my institution was at the penultimate step of the scale. The reported average salary for the instructors was greater than my salary as an assistant professor! I sought explanation from the dean, and he directed me to the

provost. The provost belittled my queries with a dismissal as she explained how the numbers were representative of averages, not actual salaries. I then said that since there were quite few new hires, the only way possible for the numbers to be accurate is that the newer faculty are at the bottom of the scale and the rest are at the very top of the scale. Her strained

response revealed I was hitting a nerve. Frustrated with language games, I accused her of using "Newspeak" and that was the end of our corre-

spondence. That was also when she threw my contract in the trash. Since I could not survive on the salary offered me, I would not accept

the contract. One well-meaning (?) colleague explained how he was in a similar situation when he first started and survived by doing overloads. I

explained that I also had overloads, but the salary was still too low. In fact, I had drained $7,000 out of my savings account in order to survive. Since there was only a few hundred left, I did not want to wait five years and be $40,000 in debt as a result of not being able to survive on my salary.

About mid-April I provided the dean with a workable alternative, and he said he would talk to the provost about it. I proposed to increase the offer one step and that paying me on a nine-month basis (instead of

spreading it out over twelve months) would be livable. I thought it was reasonable since I could find some summer work and have sufficient

money then from summer employment. At the end of April I received letter from the provost thanking me for the service to university. She informed me that me e-mail privileges would continue until the end of

May and at that time I would have to vacate my office and turn in my

AMERICAN INDIAN QUARTERLY/WINTER & SPRING 2003 /VOL. 27, NOS. 1 & 2 449



keys, parking sticker, and university identification card. I wondered how Occom survived. I identified with the fact that he was doing the same job and more than the mainstream preachers, but he was not adequately com-

pensated. Though my own situation paralleled Occom's, I tried not to entertain the idea that my low salary could be attributed to being a mi-

nority. I hoped it was merely the modus operandi of the institution, re-

gardless of color, to pay such low wages. But I have my doubts. I spent the summer unemployed, finished my dissertation, and wrote

a novel. By the end of the summer, I had four jobs teaching as an adjunct at four different colleges and universities. The combined income the just two of the community colleges (teaching two classes at each campus) surpassed my former full-time salary. It was not until I was at one of the other colleges, a former Presbyterian university, that I realized how un- welcome I was at my full-time campus. In the year that I was adjunct at this other campus, I never felt that my minority status was problematic, alienating, or isolating-Not from the students, nor from the faculty, not even from the security guards. But I felt those repeatedly each day as a full-time faculty member on the campus even though I had graduated from there with two different degrees.

So how do I process all of this now? I conclude with a story from one of the most important days of my life. My younger brother and I were playing with a fellow neighbor in our new neighborhood one summer day. We decided to play cowboys and Indians, and my brother immediately stated that he wanted to be a cowboy. The neighbor scoffed and said, "you can't be a

Cowboy." My brother quickly asked, "Why not?" The neighbor boy looked at him and without any hesitation said, "Because you're an Indian!" Shocked at his response, I ran in the house screaming for my mother.

I explained what had just happened and then asked her if it was true, "Are we Indians?" "Yes, of course you are!" She exclaimed and then laughed at me so hard tears came to her eyes. My universe began collapsing. I went to my bed and began crying, but it was not in joy like my mother; I was despondent. I did not want to be an Indian! All that I had seen on Tv, in the movies, and in my life told me that being an Indian was a terrible

thing. Books, comic books, and posters I had read or seen presented Indi- ans as beasts, devils, or both. I must have cried for at least ten minutes before I accepted the state of my being. I was aware that I was Haida, but I had never associated being Haida with being an Indian. Being Haida was not a problem; being an Indian was.




I then actually determined, as a ten year old, that I would not allow any societal limitations to dictate my life. I resolved that it was good to be what I was. My Creator knew me before I was born and had everything in His control, and I rested in that knowledge. I encouraged my soul with the idea that I would never let any stereotype be my destiny. I then went to play Indians and cowboys, and there was no doubt about which one I was. I have never regretted that decision to embrace my heritage.

So how do I deal with being a minority in academia now? I love opportunities to be a model for other minorities and offer survival techniques for obstacles in the students' academic or faculty journeys. I offer experiences to empathize and prepare others for what may happen to them.

Injustice, based on race or not, is never pleasant, but when we are victims of injustice simply based on our ethnicity we need strength to live be-

yond the pain. I find much of mainstream America very distant from Native American reality, and I welcome opportunities to correctly in- form students and colleagues about misperceptions, in some cases a lack of perception, about Native Americans. I proceed with joyful pride and a

great sense of duty and destiny because my life is a gift from my Creator.

NOTES

1. California Christian University is a pseudonym. 2. A seminal work concerning Native American learning styles is Susan J. Philips,

"Participant Structures and Communicative Competence: Warm Springs Chil- dren in Community and Classroom," in Functions of Language in the Classroom, ed. Courtney B. Cazden, Vera John, and Dell Hymes (Prospects Heights IL: Waveland Press, 1972), 370-94. Philips also expanded the article into a book: Su- san Philips, The Invisible Culture: Communication in Classroom and Community on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation (New York: Longman, 1983).

3. For more information about Native American student preferences for face-to- face interaction with their teachers, see Dauna Bell Brown, "Learning Styles and Native Americans," Canadian Journal of Native Education 17, no. 1 (1990): 23-35.

4. Gerald V. Mohatt and Frederick Erickson,"Cultural Differences in Teaching Styles in an Odawa School: A Sociolinguistic Approach," in Culture and Bilingual Classroom, ed. Henry Treuber et al. (Rowley MA: Newbury House, 1981), 105-19.

5. While teasing has many functions, one function of teasing for my tribe is based on fondness.

6. Samson Occom,"A Short Narrative of My Life" in Heath Anthology ofAmeri- can Literature, ed. Paul Lauter (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, 1998), 979-1002.

AMERICAN INDIAN QUARTERLY /WINTER & SPRING 2003 /VOL. 27, NOS. 1 & 2 451



special issue: native experiences in the ivory tower || life along the margins

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