The other day, at my art association meeting, the subject came up of a member having a private showing in his home. When his address was mentioned, another member said, "That's a beautiful neighborhood."
Now, there are a lot of things you can say about my neighborhood but "beautiful" is not one of them and never will be. I feel like putting up a sign, "This is NOT an abandoned mobile home park. People still live here." There are mobile homes in varying stages of disrepair. The Village has said that they are going to get on the owner to get rid of them. They aren't doing it because they want to help us residents out. They are doing it because it is part of their greater plan to beautify and gentrify the town. I heard talk at a local restaurant that they are going to be putting in charging stations for electric cars soon. Well, I don't know anyone around here who is driving an electric car but I know who isn't and who won't be. Those charging stations are not meant for people in my park. We have no part in the revitalization of "downtown." In fact, we are not even on the map!
This is not meant to be a poor me blog. Yes, I am a little jealous of this artist's beautiful home and beautiful neighborhood. I haven't seen it yet, but I have a pretty good idea of what it looks like. I am glad for him that he can afford such beautiful and secure surroundings.
What this blog is about is the countless ways that poor and low-income and struggling people are inadvertently made to feel unwelcome or uncomfortable every time they turn around. I have heard the term "microaggression" used to describe numerous small, almost unnoticed, slights directed against people of color and other groups. I would like to coin the term, if it isn't already used, "microexclusion", because I feel that is more accurate in this situation. When someone uses the term "trailer trash" to refer to mobile home park residents, that is a microaggression.
A "microexclusion", however, is the act of leaving someone out, whether intentionally or unintentionally. When I hear someone's neighborhood described as beautiful--and I am the only one in the group who does not own such a nice home--that is an inadvertent microexclusion. It is a message that I don't really belong even if I can paint my head off. It means I have stepped above my place. Because I can never host a show where I live. Are you kidding? For one thing, would any of these people even come if I did? I can hear the whispers, the sidelong glances of pity. I don't want their pity or their condescension. I want to stand on my own two feet and not be judged for where I live.
My neighbors, the ones I am so frustrated with, know better. That is why they don't get involved in anything outside of a few limited activities where they are not going to be reminded of their socio-economic status. They know, and they teach their children, where they stand. How many times have I heard one of my neighbors say, "That's for rich people. That's not for us."? They weren't describing the lifestyles of the fabled One Percent. They were describing places and activities that my middle-class friends outside the park take for granted. These people aren't artists or writers or singers (although one briefly had a country-western band). They aren't involved in drama and neither are their children through school. So they don't hurt themselves battering against invisible walls. They know who they are and where they stand and where they belong.
We recently had a school bond election to replace the aging elementary school across the street from where I live. It's the third time that this issue came up and this time it passed. My neighbors, not surprisingly, were all against it. Some even came out to vote, which they never had before. Because they knew who that new school was going to benefit. In their opinion, the old school was still perfectly serviceable and that the main reason for a brand new school was to impress the better-off parents who lived in the subdivisions outside of town. Their children and grandchildren--trailer park children--would not get any better education in the fancy new school. If their kids and grandkids struggle with learning, who cares? That is how they feel. Excluded. Unwelcome. Reminded of the inequality of their situation. And once again, as usual, they lost.
Now, there are a lot of things you can say about my neighborhood but "beautiful" is not one of them and never will be. I feel like putting up a sign, "This is NOT an abandoned mobile home park. People still live here." There are mobile homes in varying stages of disrepair. The Village has said that they are going to get on the owner to get rid of them. They aren't doing it because they want to help us residents out. They are doing it because it is part of their greater plan to beautify and gentrify the town. I heard talk at a local restaurant that they are going to be putting in charging stations for electric cars soon. Well, I don't know anyone around here who is driving an electric car but I know who isn't and who won't be. Those charging stations are not meant for people in my park. We have no part in the revitalization of "downtown." In fact, we are not even on the map!
This is not meant to be a poor me blog. Yes, I am a little jealous of this artist's beautiful home and beautiful neighborhood. I haven't seen it yet, but I have a pretty good idea of what it looks like. I am glad for him that he can afford such beautiful and secure surroundings.
What this blog is about is the countless ways that poor and low-income and struggling people are inadvertently made to feel unwelcome or uncomfortable every time they turn around. I have heard the term "microaggression" used to describe numerous small, almost unnoticed, slights directed against people of color and other groups. I would like to coin the term, if it isn't already used, "microexclusion", because I feel that is more accurate in this situation. When someone uses the term "trailer trash" to refer to mobile home park residents, that is a microaggression.
A "microexclusion", however, is the act of leaving someone out, whether intentionally or unintentionally. When I hear someone's neighborhood described as beautiful--and I am the only one in the group who does not own such a nice home--that is an inadvertent microexclusion. It is a message that I don't really belong even if I can paint my head off. It means I have stepped above my place. Because I can never host a show where I live. Are you kidding? For one thing, would any of these people even come if I did? I can hear the whispers, the sidelong glances of pity. I don't want their pity or their condescension. I want to stand on my own two feet and not be judged for where I live.
My neighbors, the ones I am so frustrated with, know better. That is why they don't get involved in anything outside of a few limited activities where they are not going to be reminded of their socio-economic status. They know, and they teach their children, where they stand. How many times have I heard one of my neighbors say, "That's for rich people. That's not for us."? They weren't describing the lifestyles of the fabled One Percent. They were describing places and activities that my middle-class friends outside the park take for granted. These people aren't artists or writers or singers (although one briefly had a country-western band). They aren't involved in drama and neither are their children through school. So they don't hurt themselves battering against invisible walls. They know who they are and where they stand and where they belong.
We recently had a school bond election to replace the aging elementary school across the street from where I live. It's the third time that this issue came up and this time it passed. My neighbors, not surprisingly, were all against it. Some even came out to vote, which they never had before. Because they knew who that new school was going to benefit. In their opinion, the old school was still perfectly serviceable and that the main reason for a brand new school was to impress the better-off parents who lived in the subdivisions outside of town. Their children and grandchildren--trailer park children--would not get any better education in the fancy new school. If their kids and grandkids struggle with learning, who cares? That is how they feel. Excluded. Unwelcome. Reminded of the inequality of their situation. And once again, as usual, they lost.
