observation (prose)
Some formulations and combinations of words (sentences, paragraphs, whole works) speak to us so deeply and profoundly that we read or say them over and over.
About a month ago I listened to a discussion panel (on youtube) in which bell hooks formulated a combination of words into one of the most profound thoughts I have come into contact with so far. I replayed the part where she gives us this knowledge more than once.
That combination of words is as follows:
“were you the observer or the subject of observation?”
Wow. These words have given me some clarity and description of the life I have lived so far. This blog post is my reflection.
I have been the object of observation my entire life.
I have been considered (or tracked) as a “gifted” student since first grade. This put me under the eyes of watchful adults. I was always in the hands of the red pen. It seemed that from a very young age I was observed not because of my ability, but observed to see if I could actually keep it up. From that point on, my life became a proving came. Everything I did was to prove something.
I think I was also observed because of the intersections of my race, centeredness, and my intelligence. Going from a public middle school to a predominantly white tuition-based high school put a high-powered magnifying glass over me. Once again, the question of “could she keep it up?” kept their eyes looking through the magnifying glass. In high school, I used to think of myself as the figurehead of my race and gender combination. There was no one else in my class who was able to speak about being a black woman in america. Now, having the language to call myself “the subject of observation” I would change the word ‘figurehead’ to ‘test subject’ or ‘specimen.’
I question whether my presence was the entrance for those after me.
And athletics (this is the part where I talk about basketball).
I see the court as “on display;” the audience behind a looking glass. Yes, basketball and sports, in general, are performance-based, and that warrants judgment, statistics, and opinions. But I can’t help but feel that my environment, Duluth Minnesota, hadn’t witnessed a player like me (in all of my racial and emotional centeredness) before and that made me even more sought after for observation.
I am coming to this realization.
And
I am questioning.
How long can one be observed before it’s too much? Have I ever been the observer? Do I even possess the power plus privilege to be one? Was I a fascinating subject of observation at least? Will I ever be able to escape the observation table? What does it feel like to escape observation?
The simple option is not quitting basketball or hiding under a rock.
I am actively rejecting (and not focusing on perfecting my rejection) the idea that every decision I make is being judged by my observers (who are usually my oppressors.)
In lieu of that idea, I am pursuing a life rooted in freedom.
Freedom to come, freedom to go.
Freedom to stand up, freedom to lay low.
Freedom to dance, to cry,
Freedom to say “fuck it” and not answer why.
So, have you been the observer or observed?
