Last week, Tom
Dwyer and I wrote an editorial in The Torch arguing against President Laurie Joyner being named one of the top 50
most influential businesswomen in the Dayton area by “the Dayton Business
Journal.”
The editorial
was met with a lot of backlash from students, prompting the
#WeStandWithWittPres campaign; some lengthy Facebook statuses; a Yik Yak explosion,
which isn’t worth addressing; and a letter to the editor and a Pro-Joyner
op-ed that will both run in next Wednesday’s
Torch.
Though I stand
by the arguments I made in the article, I somewhat regret — no, rather, I’m
discontent with — the discussion we started.
In writing the
piece, Tom and I aimed to raise questions about two things: (1) the way our
education is conceptualized by the administration, and (2) more importantly,
the lives the housekeepers are forced to live.
Unfortunately,
neither of these topics have been thoroughly addressed in reactions —
especially the second one. Instead, the conversation has been mostly a blind
defense of Joyner, and the discourse has yet to interrogate the reality housekeepers’
circumstances. In fact, I have yet to see a reaction that uses the word
“poverty” a single time.
Maybe this is
because we wrote against a single figure? (Although we were quick to indict the
entire administration; and we were just as quick to note that we see this as a
broader trend in society at-large.) Indeed, maybe students are just really fond
of Joyner?
If this is so,
if we missed the mark as writers because we personalized the issue too much — I
sincerely apologize to the housekeepers.
However, I’m not
comfortable with this explanation. I think the reactions have less to do with
Joyner per se, and more to do with
our national ideology — our national identity, even. Thus, I think the reactions
are useful in some capacity, and are worth interrogating.
The reactions,
in my humble opinion, have served as a sort of microcosm of how people in the
United States see poverty at large. That is, for many, poverty is simply an
inevitable evil, and not the consequence of conscious decision making on how we
distribute resources.
As the logic
follows, poverty is a cultural issue, one that can never truly be cured, except
by those who “choose to be poor.” They are expected to “pull themselves up by
their bootstraps,” so the saying has gone for quite some time. We see this line
of thinking articulated and actualized at the national level, through campaign rhetoric and public policy.
But, deep down,
we know this is not true.
We know, for
instance, that Wittenberg’s brand of poverty can be mitigated — even eradicated
— by contracting a housekeeping employer that pays a better wage. In fact, this was the case prior to 2012.
Certainly, this
will force us to change the way we distribute resources. At Wittenberg, our
so-called administrative “leaders” might have to take a pay cut; and we might
have to slightly raise tuition (this would cost each student $300/ year, and
that’s without any administrative cuts).
At the national
level, this might mean taxing rich folk; raising the minimum wage; and/or
shifting military spending to social programs.
Ultimately, ending
poverty means a more equitable distribution of resources — but we willfully
ignore this reality.
We evade it by
saying empty things like, “tough decisions had to be made;” we hide from it
behind catchy hash-tags and slogans like, “Students First;” we lie to ourselves
with jargon like, “culture of poverty.”
In doing so, we
completely disregard the housekeepers who have to support several kids on a
sub-par income, kids who will perform less-well in school because of it, kids
who will go hungry because of it. We ignore the psychological and physical toll
poverty takes on people of all ages. We ignore the humanity of folk who inhabit
this community — this earth — with us.
Though the existential
poverty is by far the most devastating and concerning facet of this situation,
a close second is that we blatantly refuse to face the ugly reality that our
education comes directly at the expense of other people’s livelihood. We wanted
to shed light on the material poverty of the housekeepers, but what we revealed
was our student body’s moral and ethical poverty.
And while these
reactions have been somewhat revealing, informative, and maybe even
enlightening, interrogating them has been terribly discouraging:
If a liberal
arts institution — the epicenter of thoughtfulness, fellowship, love, and
compassion — can’t bear to even wrestle with, not to mention solve, these
problems — who will?