Web event 1

Let me state the obvious: I am an introvert. I knew I was an introvert before I knew what the term meant. A more precise statement would be that I knew whatever I was, I was not like the rest of my family. I was neither charismatic nor sociable, I was painfully shy, and I despised large social gatherings. I was different, and for some reason beyond my understanding, that difference was deficient and, therefore, had to be fixed. No one told me this, of course, but it was something I understood to be true. I can not say when I learned this lesson. I just know that this is a lesson that has been reinforced, both intentionally and unintentionally, since I was kid: to be an introvert is to be deficient or lacking.

My most recent confrontation with this truth occurred during Customs. Interestingly enough I do not remember much of my Customs experience. I remember the important stuff- the acapella show, the hypnotist show, and a lot of important people talking about what they deemed important stuff. I remember sitting in a circle, talking about . . . something . . . important. And then sitting in another circle talking about something else important- this time under a tree. These important talks were interrupted by the occasional break. And these breaks were interrupted by the very friendly people who eagerly knocked on my bedroom door; they want to get to know me they said. At this point, I have had to squeeze into an overcrowded and under- conditioned auditorium multiple times, I have had countless group discussions about my feelings, and I have had to sit through various group bonding activities. You “normal” people may find this exhilarating, but I find this exhausting. What’s even more exhausting is having to pretend that I am not exhausted, and having to pretend that I am this outgoing person, when I am not. So when you tell me that you want to get to know me, I do not believe you. I think you want me to keep on pretending, so you can retain your ideas of normalcy. It's my fault too. I keep on pretending because I want so badly to fit in. I am exhausted. I am home sick. All I want to do is sit in my room in silence. But I do not say any of these things. I plaster on a smile. I know the game by now.

Early on I was taught that my introvertedness was not valued in a society that values extrovertedness. According to Delpit, I was implicitly being taught a rule of the “culture of power”. Delpit believes there are rules one must follow if they expect to succeed socially; she refers to this as the “culture of power.” In her own words, she describes rules of the “culture of power” as being a “reflection of the rules of the culture of those who have power. . . [She then goes on to say] “if you are not already a participant in the culture of power, being told explicitly the rules of that culture makes acquiring power easier” (Delpit 283). I say this because I believe that by looking at my experience through the lens of Delpit’s theoretical framework, one can understand why I was being silenced. Society devalued my personality, and I was taught to do the same because my introvertedness was not part of the “culture of power.” I was taught to quell the part of me that preferred being alone with my thoughts, and to become someone I wasn’t, because who I was was not “normal.”

However, I find that my experiences complicate's Delpit’s theory. Delpit’s theory is based on the notion of the feasibility of acquiring power. She believes that once one knows the rules, one can more easily attain power. While knowing the rules made it easier for me to play the game, there was nothing I could do to acquire this power- no matter how much I tried, I could never make myself an extrovert. How does this change things? If there is a chasm between myself and those within the “culture of power” that I can never breach, can we still argue, as Delpit does, that educating disadvantaged groups about the rules of power will lead to a more just society? I do not think we can. I think this is where Delpit’s theory falls apart. No matter how much I educate a black man about the rules of the “culture of power”, he will never be able to claim that power for himself, and he will never be accepted by those within the “culture of power.” I think Delpit makes a great attempt at trying to find a way to address these problems within the framework of our currently unjust society, and I think her argument raises an interesting point about the role of education in erasing silence rather than perpetuating systems that silence

However, I find that my experiences complicate's Delpit’s theory. Delpit’s theory is based on the notion of the feasibility of acquiring power. She believes that once one knows the rules, one can more easily attain power. While knowing the rules made it easier for me to play the game, there was nothing I could do to acquire this power- no matter how much I tried, I could never make myself an extrovert. How does this change things? If there is a chasm between myself and those within the “culture of power” that I can never breach, can we still argue, as Delpit does, that educating disadvantaged groups about the rules of power will lead to a more just society? I do not think we can. I think this is where Delpit’s theory falls apart. No matter how much I educate a black man about the rules of the “culture of power”, he will never be able to claim that power for himself, and he will never be accepted by those within the “culture of power.” I think Delpit makes a great attempt at trying to find a way to address these problems within the framework of our currently unjust society, and I think her argument raises an interesting point about the role of education in erasing silence rather than perpetuating systems that silence.