La Novela

Dear members of the Portfolio committee,

I have always enjoyed writing. As a very young child I can remember writing short stories along with poems, and rushing over to read them to my mother. She always tells me I will be a writer one day, maybe a journalist. While I am currently pursuing my nursing dream, I enjoy writing as my hobby. I plan on taking multiple writing courses in order to better develop as a writer. Overall, I  feel as though I exceeded my expectation in my English class this semester. Coming into a college level English class I had no idea what to expect. In my small private High School writing wasn’t taken very seriously, and I was not sure how good of a writer I actually was. Through extensive conversation with Professor Pappas I feel as though I was really able to find who I am as a writer. I was able to realize that I can bring change to the world using my past experiences and putting them on paper for others to see. I have always been an advocate of good positive change, and that is what I worked toward this semester!

My first piece is a Memoir.  In this piece I take the reader along the journey of about a two day period. I give specific detail as I explain, as the title suggest, the day I literally found out my teacher was racist.My goal was to make the reader feel as though they were going through that experience with me, and I did just that. As a writer I don’t want to write about meaningless things. I want to make my writing entertaining while also making valid points. In this piece I really drive the emphasis on racism, and ignorance will keeping the reader intrigued the entire time. I chose this piece, because it paved way for the rest of my essays throughout the semester. Through crime and justice I discuss racism, and where it all began for me. The story depicted in the essay is real, and it was life changing for me.

The next piece I chose was the Ethnography. I feel as though it’s a good segway from the Memoir. Through this essay I went into how racism has affected other cultures, and not just a specific one. I used a variety of cultures(black, white, Latina, etc.), and was able to get a variety of different responses. Whether they had experienced it personally, or watched it happen. I was really able to capture all aspects.

My third piece is my Argument essay. I discuss the conflicting opinions of whether solitary confinement should be allowed. This topic is completely arguable for the mere fact that half of the population believe that it is justified, and the other half feel as though it is cruel and unusual punishment. As you read through this essay, I really want you to imagine yourself in that predicament. Yes this people have committed a crime, but no one deserves to live in such a way. Two wrongs don’t make a right!

Solitary Confinement: Protection or Torture

In America, we have built our country out of basic morals and principles. Everyone is to be treated equally! Yet, I find that certain laws contradict itself. Here, we have a very controversial topic. Should solitary confinement be permitted? Doesn’t solitary confinement go against the law of cruel and unusual punishment?In my opinion it does! As you read this I challenge you to put yourself in these inmates shoes. Imagine that you are trapped in this tiny room for 24 hours a day. No human contact. Left alone with your thoughts to consume you.

For 23 hours a day, inmates are kept inside a cell that is approximately 80 square feet. Inside is furnished with a bed, sink, toilet, and food is delivered through a slot in the door.One hour out of 24 these inmates are put into another cage and allowed to exercise.In the 20th century inmates might get thrown in the “hole” for 24 hours, but in recent years inmates are left their for several years at a time. To cover up this inhumane act, supporters say the practice helps keep prisoners safe. Contradictingly, medical literature states that solitary confinement can also take a heavy mental toll. With no contact of any kind from another human, inmates often can no longer function in society after being alone for such a long period of time. Behaviors arise in the inmates, even disorders, that do not allow them to coincide with people anymore.

“Individuals placed in solitary confinement have symptoms such as: hypersensitivity to external stimuli; perceptual disturbances, hallucinations, and derealisation experiences; affective disturbances, such as anxiety and panic attacks; difficulties with thinking, memory and concentration; the emergence of fantasies such as of revenge and torture of the guards; paranoia; problems with impulse control; and a rapid decrease in symptoms immediately following release from isolation.” (Boyd) From the article ’Buried Alive’ Nathaniel Penn says,”It is brutal. It is torture by definition. It destroys the mind, body, and soul, making rehabilitation next to impossible. It is also outrageously expensive, and it doesn’t work. Yet at the end of the Obama era, and the dawn of Trump’s, isolation is as widely used as ever in the American penal system.”

Tax dollars are an asset to society. Since everyone is paying high prices in taxes, we often wonder where our tax dollars go. To that I say wonder no more. It costs about $78,000 to keep one inmate in federal solitary confinement, which is three times more than the $22,000 it costs to house the average federal inmate. It is estimated that 80,000 to 100,000 people are currently in solitary confinement. If we meet somewhere in the middle and say that there are currently 90,000 people in solitary confinement than we can estimate that it is costing $7,020,000,000 to confine these inmates. This price doesn’t consider the other inmates who are regularly housed. This is a pure waste of money, and the first reason why solitary confinement should not be allowed.

Secondly these inmates end up with mental psychological disorders that turn into physical harm. Many try to self mutilate and commit suicide. I came across this one man Steven Czifra during my research. He was the one who really put solitary confinement into perspective for me. He spent 8 years in solitary confinement and basically explained that in the 8 years he spent in solitary confinement he only had one day of experience. Ultimately, I pondered on that. Extreme solitude for 2920 days,everyday being exactly like the one before.  Accompanied artificial light,and no windows, “Frequently, I would fall asleep and when I woke up I would not know if I had slept for five minutes or five hours, and would have no idea of what day or time of day it was…I now know that I was housed there for about four years, but I would have believed it was a decade if that is what I was told. It seemed eternal and endless and immeasurable.” (Casella and Ridgeway)

Ultimately, these inmates are getting treated worse than animals. They are sitting in a room all day everyday that is smaller than a horse stable. This isn’t just days or months, this is years upon end. It isn’t justified, and laws enforcement is abusing their power by throwing whoever they want, whenever they want into these small clustered spaces. These people are literally rotting. Everything about who they once were, becomes stripped away. They are forced to become living vegetables. They are not able to function in a normal society anymore, and once again this is what America “claims” to not be about yet they continue to allow this.

Work Cited

Boyd, J Wesley. “Solitary Confinement: Torture, Pure and Simple.” Psychology Today, Sussex Publishers, 15 Jan. 2018, www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/almost-addicted/201801/solitary-confinement-torture-pure-and-simple.

Breslow, Jason M. “What Does Solitary Confinement Do To Your Mind?” PBS, Public Broadcasting Service, 22 Apr. 2014, www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/article/what-does-solitary-confinement-do-to-your-mind/.

Casella, Jean, and James Ridgeway. “Five Unforgettable Stories From Inside Solitary Confinement.” Solitary Watch, 12 Nov. 2018, solitarywatch.org/2017/11/27/five-unforgettable-stories-from-inside-solitary-confinement/.https://solitarywatch.org/2017/11/27/five-unforgettable-stories-from-inside-solitary-confinement/

Penn, Nathaniel, and Dan Winters. “Buried Alive: Stories From Inside Solitary Confinement.” GQ, GQ, 2 Mar. 2017, www.gq.com/story/buried-alive-solitary-confinement.

The Walk of Life.

I feel like I am always seeing a case of racism through social media. Whether that be  a mass shooting, police brutality, terrorist attacks, etc. What many of us fail to realize is that everyone, regardless of ethnicity or color, have experienced  racism at some point in their life. I sat down with seven people all from different ethnic, social, and political background to get a better understanding on their experiences and feelings.I asked them if they could give me a period in time where they have experienced racism, and this is what they had to say.

I got my feet wet by sitting with 3 women from my women’s meeting at church. Lenize who is Cape Verdean, Rachel who is Puerto Rican, and my cousin Madison who is Puerto Rican and Polish. Lenize, being of the darkest complexion, began with a story where she had experienced racism. “There was this woman who used to be a resident at the nursing home I worked at. She had these beautiful piercing blue eyes, but something about them was eerie. I remember trying to avoid her, because she had a dead, blank stare that was so creepy. One day I had to give her care, and she just started screaming ‘Nigger’ the moment I touched her. I had to leave the room after, and ask someone else to give her care. I was so shaken up after that,because I had never been called that before.”  Next Lenize shared something very personal that she found within herself.“My father is super dark, and when I was pregnant with my daughter I hoped to myself she wouldn’t get that gene. I know it sounds awful, and when I realized what I was thinking I corrected myself. It shouldn’t be like that, and I felt terrible for thinking that way.

Then Rachel spoke up. “I can’t say that I have ever experienced something like that,” my cousin Madison shook her head in agreement as they are both of a white complexion,”but the elders in my family are very racist.” I was taken back by her statement a little bit, as I too have Puerto Rican family member and they are very dark. She continued to explain,”Basically I like black guys, all the guys I’ve dated have been black.My grandmother will often make little racist comments at my boyfriends in spanish. She even has a nickname for me, ‘Nina negra”, meaning little black girl because I date black guys.

Madisons eyes widened as she recalled a memory of her polish grandfather. “ My grandfather was very racist. I remember hearing of the time when one of my aunts had brought a black guy home, and my mother and the rest of her siblings begged him to be nice to the guy. I mean, literally begging him.”

After having this intriguing conversation I then thought of who else I could reach out to. I then decided to go to the multicultural center at BCC, and was able to sit down with four more people. Brandon who is a mix of Caucasian and Cape Verdean, Ollie who is Puerto Rican, Maria who is Honduran, and Amy who is caucasian. I wanted to observe in an area I knew would have a diversity of people, because I wanted a multiple opinions from people with all different backgrounds.

We walked into the multicultural center and were immediately greeted by a women asking us to kindly sign in. Another women, with a big smile said hello to us. Then the basketball coach came in, and asked what we were talking about. He seemed to be intrigued by the topic, and gave us to meaningful advice. Sitting in a circle, we looked like something straight out of “the view”. We were surrounded by inspirational quotes, and pictures of a variety of students who had graduated over the years.

Ollie got the ball rolling,” Not many people know I am Puerto Rican, a lot of people just think I am white. I think I receive more hate for being gay to be honest. Only a few times though have I experienced something. When I lived in Puerto Rico as a child the kids at school would say “La mona esta aqui’ meaning the monkey is here.” Another time I went to Main to visit a friend. His father acted really nice toward me, but when I left he called me a ‘faggot’ and a ‘spick’, which is the equivalence of the ‘N’ word to a black person, it’s just meant for an hispanic person.”

After deep thought Brandon spoke up. At first he couldn’t think of anything significant, but after some more questioning from me and hearing what Ollie had to say he remembered some things. “ I am a security guard for a store, and I had to kick this one lady out.She called me a ‘Nigger’, but it didn’t really offend me because she was calling everyone that. It didn’t matter what color they were. Also when I was younger my friends liked to call me ‘KnuckleDragger’.” I had so stop him mid sentence, because I as well as everyone else had never heard such a thing. “It’s calling me a Neanderthal and implying that ‘my kind’ hasn’t evolved since then.”

Maria joins in. “ In Honduras they like to say ‘Improve the race’ meaning white stays with white, black stays with black, just things like that. It isn’t something that everyone sticks too, but it is something that is said. I am currently dating a black guy , and when I told family and friends in Honduras they were a little shocked. It shouldn’t be surprising. There are alot of black people in Honduras due to slavery, it is a very diverse country. Although everyone gets along, the light skin people still act like they are better than everyone else.”

After hearing a little bit of everyone’s story we dove into a conversation where we could all share opinions on different topics. Amy, being caucasian didn’t have a first hand racism experience, but feels like she sees it in her surroundings. “Going to school in Seekonk, everyone is white. The education system is fantastic, but if you look at a city like pawtucket the education system isn’t as good. If you look deeper into that it is also a diverse city. I just feel like people of darker complexion aren’t given education opportunities, compared to a white kid.”

I found Amy’s argument interesting, and wanted to dive into one more topic before we dispersed.  “How do you guys feel about the ‘N’ word,” I asked. Brandom was quick to dive in. “Well there’s a blaten difference between ‘Nigger’ and ‘Nigga’. The A ending is a way of greeting, but the er ending is considered to be racist.” I then asked if they thought it was okay for people to still use that word today. Again Brandon spoke,” Well you can’t have a double standard. You can’t say that only black people can say that. Either everyone can use it or not at all.” I then asked if any of them used the word. Everyone agreed it wasn’t a word they used, except for the exception of Brandon who said he really only ever said the word if it was in a lyric of a song he was singing.

The only word I can explain for how I feel about experience is Beautiful. I am so glad I was able to sit down,and get multiple perspectives from different ethnic backgrounds. Everyone’s stories were eye opening, and some even a little heartbreaking. Being able to hear both sides of the story, and having my own personal memories,I was really able to understand everyone point of view.I know that ‘lightskin’ babies are more desirable, and considered the epitome of beauty. I know what it is like to have your own Puerto Rican grandfather tell your mother that ‘she must not love him’ because she married a black man and conceived a mixed baby. I know what it’s like to get involved with a white man whose family is racist toward you.I feel that kind of pain,and I understand that kind of hurt. To never be good enough, and to always be ranked one step behind someone else only because of the color of your skin. However, my goal is to bring awareness to everyone regardless of their cultural background, because we have all been there once in our lives. Obviously this needs to change, and having conversations like these is a start.

The day I found out my teacher was racist!

It started like any other school day would. I woke up late, rushed to get ready, and drove myself to school on this particularly gloomy Thursday morning. I had made it to school right on time, and I walked into my consumers math class. At around 9:30 the bell rang, and all of us got up and rushed out of the door to our next class. A group of my friends went to their lockers to grab a few things, so I was the first one to walk into my English class. “Good Morning”, I said to my English teacher as I was walking into the classroom. He spun his chair around to face me, grabbed his coffee cup, and walked over to his podium. “Good Morning Paige”, he replied back. The second bell rang and the rest of the class piled in and took their seats. “How is everyone doing today”, the teacher asked the class. “Meh” my friend Christian replied with his head slumped over the desk and his eyes barely open. My teacher laughs, and replies” You all look really tired today”. This was a normal way to start class everyday. Their were only seven people in this particular class, and we were all friends. This teacher, however,  was never my favorite for various reasons, but I had learned to settle my differences.I was in a particularly good mood that morning for no apparent reason and decided to spark up the morning chat “So last night I was watching Dr. Phil with my grandmother, and it was about this African American lady who tries to be a ‘white’ women. She believes that ‘white’ people live a more sophisticated life.In order to be ‘white’ she feels as though she has to wear a blonde wig. It had to be one of the craziest segments I have ever watched.” My friend Peter says, “OMG I found something on youtube about this white lady who thinks she is ‘black’. She gives herself fake tans, and feels as though she has to wear a grill and corn rows in order to be ‘black’.” At this point the conversation is light, and we are just having our casual weird conversation of the day. My friend Paige says, “That’s crazy”, in which I reply “ I know, since when does being ‘white’ require blonde hair and ‘black’ require a grill. My teacher finally decides to chime in after a while of hearing our thoughts. “Well, the black lady trying to be ‘white’’, isn’t as bad as the white lady trying to be ‘black’.” I make a funny face at his remark thinking to myself how are they different. My friend Ashton says,” They are both wrong for the stereotypes they put around both race.” My teacher gets up from the podium with his coffee in his hand and gets closer to us, “No”, he says, “ the white lady is just wrong for putting that stigma around the black race, but the black lady is just trying to better herself.” Everyone pauses and I say, “What?” Point blank my teacher looks me in the face and says,” She is trying to better herself, because it is better to be white”. I stop, and out of nervous confusion I laugh. He looks at me with a straight face and says “No, seriously that’s just how it is. To be white is to be better.”  I pause, and take that moment in, after this remark things get a bit hazy in my mind. All I could focus on is that this man really just said that to my face. I looked around the room to see if everyone is as shocked as I was, and by the looks of it I was not alone. I felt intimidated as I was the the only colored person in the class, along with an Hispanic kid who doesn’t seem as offended as me. After a long pause, one of my white classmates looks up, and says “No! That isn’t right”. My teacher says,” It’s not right, but that’s just how life is. I am so lucky to be a white male. I don’t have to worry as much. I mean look who our President is. Im perfectly fine the way I am.” At this point in my mind he has taken it way too far. I got up and left the room. No one in that class knew how to respond, and they all kept looking at me for a response. I couldn’t take that kind of pressure.

I went to my cousins office, who was the school counselor at the time. She is Puerto Rican, and I explained the entire situation to her. I just needed to get validation that what he said really wasn’t okay. Up to this point I had never really had to deal with racism up close and personal. It was only something I had heard about, but never something I Iived through. She looked shocked and could say nothing more than “No…. Did he really say that?” and  “I’m so sorry Paige.” After cooling down I re-enter the classroom. The conversation has been over and he is busy writing something on the board. After about 5 minutes I see the vice principal walking up to the door with my cousin right behind her. My heart is pounding, because I already see what’s going to happen. My leg starts shaking, a nervous tick. She finally walks in and sits down. The class is dead silent and she breaks it with,” okay, so I heard we are having a conversation today that got out of hand, and I need to know who made the complaint.” With my eyes reverted to the ground I say  “It was me”. I can see the hesitation in her face as she blankly stares at me, I can see she is trying to formulate a sentence in her head. She looked at my teacher with a serious face and said, “You really need to watch what you say, and how you say it.” He hastily denies ever saying those things, and I am quick to respond. “Nope, you looked me in my face and said exactly that ‘It is better to be white”. He clenches one fist and looks at me with a glare, “That’s not at all what happened”. My friend Ashton replies with, “That is exactly what happened”. After a few more moments the bell rings and I get up and leave, the rest of my class behind me.

When we get into the hallway my friend Shae, with wide eyes, says, “What just   happened in their?” “ I don’t even know”, I respond to her statement, “I’m so sorry guys, I shouldn’t have said anything.” My friend peter quickly turns from putting books away in his locker and  says, “No you had every right to complain about what he said, that wasn’t right.” He takes a step towards me and hugs me, “ Are you okay,” he asks. “Ya I am just really shocked. I can’t believe he said that to me”

Later that night I told my mother the whole story of what had happened in my English class. She is a short women with a light complexion  half Portuguese and Puerto Rican. “He said what to you,” she replies shocked.

The next day, Friday, I walk into school dreadfully. I was totally dreading his class. I walk to my locker, grab my books and I walk to my homeroom class. “Can Paige Gooden please come to the office?”, I hear over the intercom. My homeroom teacher gives me a weird face as I am never called to the office. I walk out of my homeroom class and at a distance I can see my Principle and her assistant sitting in the office waiting for me. I hesitate to walk in, because I have a pretty good idea of what this conversation is going to be about. My English teacher happens to be the Principles son, all I can think to myself is, “This can’t be good”. I walk in, “Shut the door please”, she says. I shut the door and sit next to her assistant who is sitting in the chair next to me. The principle is in the chair on the other side of her desk staring me down. Her assistants body is facing me completely now and she joins in the staring competition. Wide eyes I look at my principle, then her assistant, than back at my principle. “Hi Paige, your mom called us today, and told us about what happened in English class yesterday.” Her voice sounds really concerned, but yet I feel like it’s fake. “You know, when my son was a little boy we lived in an area where there  were only Cape Verdean people. We were literally the only white family in the area. My son was born into that, and we had to explain to him, when he got old enough to understand of course, that he was white and that he wasn’t Cape Verdean at all. It broke his little heart.” She laughs, and I laugh with her just to make it seem like I care, but I don’t. “My son isn’t racist, I can assure you”. Her assistant looks at me and says, “Do you think that he is racist?” I look at her and back at my principal and reply with, “I don’t know.” The true answer was yes, but I couldn’t tell her that. Her assistant says, “You should know he isn’t, you have known him for years.” “I know” I reply to her statement. My principle chimes back in, “Paige we really want to know how you are feeling, I just can’t let you leave for the weekend without clearing this up with you.” I have a smile on my face, not because I’m happy, but because I’m nervous. “Well, what he said wasn’t okay, even if he isn’t racist. It hurt me, and it made me uncomfortable. I cant change my color or who I am. That statement belittled me, my race, and my culture” “ I understand,” my principle says. When she feels like the issue is resolved she lets me leave.

A whole hour in her office, and in my mind the entire conversation was pointless. I didn’t want an apology from his mother, I wanted an apology from him. It was already time for English class at this point. I went to my locker to grab the material I need for his class. My friend Shae looks up and alerts the rest of my friends that I’m back. All six of them huddle around my locker. “What happened”, my friend Kauê askes. I explain the whole conversation, and we walk into class. Quietly we all take our seats. He is aware of our presence but continues finishing his tasks. He walks out of the room, and peter breaks the silence. “OMG do you think he is going to give us the silent treatment.” My friend Paige replies with, “Probably, I wouldn’t be surprised.” The year before, him and Paige had a disagreement on a particular subject, and the class ended with Paige in tears. For the next week the only communication he had with us was through what he wrote on the board. It finally ended when we complained to our vice principal.

The teacher finally walks back in the room. Another five minutes goes by and he sits down in front of us, but facing me the most. I had my head resting on my hand, with my legs crossed, and I was staring at the ground because it was too uncomfortable to look him in the eyes. He sighs and finally speaks. “I just want to apologize to all of you, I never meant to offend you guys.” He is pretty close to me, and when I look up I can see tears in his eyes. He looks at me directly this time, and says “Please forgive me”. I look at him with a smile, “Ya, I forgive you.” The rest of the class also agreed that they forgave him as well.

After that day I was truly able to forgive him. We went on with the rest of the  school year as normal as can be. However, that day I learned that my feelings are validated and valuable. It also made me prouder of who I am, and my skin color. It was a moment meant to bring me down, but I was able to rise above his words.