Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in a 1968 speech where he reflects upon the Civil Rights Movement, states, "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends."
小馬丁.路德.金博士 在 1968 年一場演講中反思人權運動時, 說道:「最終, 我們會記得的並非敵人的話語, 而是朋友的沉默。」
As a teacher, I've internalized this message. Every day, all around us, we see the consequences of silence manifest themselves in the form of discrimination, violence, genocide and war. In the classroom, I challenge my students to explore the silences in their own lives through poetry. We work together to fill those spaces, to recognize them, to name them, to understand that they don't have to be sources of shame. In an effort to create a culture within my classroom where students feel safe sharing the intimacies of their own silences, I have four core principles posted on the board that sits in the front of my class, which every student signs at the beginning of the year: read critically, write consciously, speak clearly, tell your truth.
身為教師,我把這句話內化了。 每天在我們的周遭 都能看見沉默的後果 以各種形式呈現: 歧視、暴力、屠殺、戰爭。 在教室中,我鼓勵學生 透過詩作,在生活中探索沉默。 我們一起填滿那些空白、 認識它們、指出它們 並瞭解它們並不必是種羞恥。 為了在教室裡創造這種文化, 讓學生分享他們所沉默的事而感到自在, 我將四個核心原則放到黑板上, 就在教室最前方, 每位學生在學期開始時都簽名: 批判性地閱讀、有意識地寫作、 清晰地說話、說實話。
And I find myself thinking a lot about that last point, tell your truth. And I realized that if I was going to ask my students to speak up, I was going to have to tell my truth and be honest with them about the times where I failed to do so.
我對於最後一點想了很多, 說實話。 後來我發現, 如果我要學生勇敢說出口, 我就要以身作則說實話, 並在自己無法做到時坦白。
So I tell them that growing up, as a kid in a Catholic family in New Orleans, during Lent I was always taught that the most meaningful thing one could do was to give something up, sacrifice something you typically indulge in to prove to God you understand his sanctity. I've given up soda, McDonald's, French fries, French kisses, and everything in between. But one year, I gave up speaking. I figured the most valuable thing I could sacrifice was my own voice, but it was like I hadn't realized that I had given that up a long time ago. I spent so much of my life telling people the things they wanted to hear instead of the things they needed to, told myself I wasn't meant to be anyone's conscience because I still had to figure out being my own, so sometimes I just wouldn't say anything, appeasing ignorance with my silence, unaware that validation doesn't need words to endorse its existence. When Christian was beat up for being gay, I put my hands in my pocket and walked with my head down as if I didn't even notice. I couldn't use my locker for weeks because the bolt on the lock reminded me of the one I had put on my lips when the homeless man on the corner looked at me with eyes up merely searching for an affirmation that he was worth seeing. I was more concerned with touching the screen on my Apple than actually feeding him one. When the woman at the fundraising gala said "I'm so proud of you. It must be so hard teaching those poor, unintelligent kids," I bit my lip, because apparently we needed her money more than my students needed their dignity.
所以我告訴他們, 在紐奧良天主教家庭長大的我, 在大齋期,我總被教導說 一個人能做最有意義的事 就是放棄某一件東西, 犧牲你平常很享受的一件事 向上帝證明你理解祂的神聖。 我齋戒過汽水、麥當勞、薯條、 法式接吻以及其他不少事。 但有一年,我放棄說話。 我想我能犧牲的最寶貴的事情 就是我的言語,但其實我沒發現 我老早就放棄自己的言語了。 我用了生命中太多時間 告訴別人他們想聽的事 而非當頭棒喝。 告訴自己我無須扮演其他人的良知, 因為我也不知道自己的良知是什麼, 所以有些時候我安靜不說話, 以沉默來掩飾我的無知, 卻沒意識到沉默暗示著默許。 當克里斯汀因同性戀傾向被毆打, 我將手插口袋, 低頭走過,視而不見。 連置物櫃的鎖閂都在提醒我, 讓我想起我是如何雙唇緊閉地 應對轉角的流浪漢。 那仰望的視線不過是 想確認自己是否值得被看一眼。 而我只專心滑我手上的蘋果, 而沒想過要餵他一顆。 當慈善會的女人說 「我真是替你感到驕傲。 教導窮苦、不聰明的學生很辛苦吧」的時候, 我緊閉雙唇,因為很顯然我們需要她的錢 勝過於我的學生需要尊嚴。 我們花這麼多時間
We spend so much time listening to the things people are saying that we rarely pay attention to the things they don't. Silence is the residue of fear. It is feeling your flaws gut-wrench guillotine your tongue. It is the air retreating from your chest because it doesn't feel safe in your lungs. Silence is Rwandan genocide. Silence is Katrina. It is what you hear when there aren't enough body bags left. It is the sound after the noose is already tied. It is charring. It is chains. It is privilege. It is pain. There is no time to pick your battles when your battles have already picked you.
傾聽人們說的話, 卻鮮少注意他們所沒說的事。 沉默是恐懼的殘渣。 是感受到自己的缺點 狠狠地將你的舌頭斬斷; 是從胸腔吐出的空氣, 因為在肺裡覺得不安全。 沉默有如盧安達大屠殺;有如卡崔娜。 是屍體袋不夠時會聽到的聲音; 是上吊繩綁好時的聲音; 是焦炭;是鎖鍊;是特權;是痛楚。 沒有時間挑選自己的戰役, 因為戰役已活生生擺在眼前。 我不會讓優柔寡斷助長沉默,
I will not let silence wrap itself around my indecision. I will tell Christian that he is a lion, a sanctuary of bravery and brilliance. I will ask that homeless man what his name is and how his day was, because sometimes all people want to be is human. I will tell that woman that my students can talk about transcendentalism like their last name was Thoreau, and just because you watched one episode of "The Wire" doesn't mean you know anything about my kids. So this year, instead of giving something up, I will live every day as if there were a microphone tucked under my tongue, a stage on the underside of my inhibition. Because who has to have a soapbox when all you've ever needed is your voice?
我會告訴克里斯汀他是雄獅, 是勇敢與輝煌的聖地。 我會問那流浪漢的名字, 問他那天過得如何,因為有時候 大家想要的只是被當作人一樣對待。 我會告訴那位女士,我的學生可以 像梭羅那樣談論超驗主義。 就因為妳看了一集《火線重案組》 不代表妳就了解我的學生。 所以今年 我非但不會放棄某物, 我要像舌頭底下 有麥克風一樣地過每一天, 在我壓抑的腳下有個舞台。 誰還需要講台? 你的勇敢發聲就足矣。
Thank you.
謝謝。
(Applause)
(掌聲)