"What is this white bitch doing talking about diversity???"

 

It’s a sentiment I’ve come to know well, as it comes to me in many forms: in wide-eyed nods from friends I’ve cornered into conversations about race relations after one (or five) too many vodka-crans, or in those exact words, etc. etc.

 

I just like being socially cognoscente, okay?!??

 

And I’ve apologized too many times for getting up onto my soapbox when I hear a friend drop a slur like the n-word or fag like it doesn’t matter.

 

I decided that that apologetic bullshit was officially dumb when I sat in a room full of my sorority sisters in our HOME as a frat boy referred to some of his not-so-bangable party guests as exclusively FOBs. This was after he had greeted us all with "HEY, BITCHES!!!"

 

Yeahhh.

 

Halfway across the world now in the conservative, pequeñita city of León, Spain for the quarter—if you haven’t heard, hi, I’m in Spain—my ears are still perked to these types of comments. (And my eyes are ready to roll at any given moment, naturally.)

 

I’ve been here for a few weeks and I’m still so confused.

 

Spain legalized gay marriage a whole decade (yo, that’s 10 YEARS) before the United States. And yet, I’ve heard maricón uttered more times in my short stay here than I’ve heard its English translation—fag—in my whole college career in Seattle.

 

I have no idea. These types of mysteries plague my morning walks to class past the ugliest 13th century cathedrals you’ve ever seen. (See photo above.)

 

Back home, in the significantly less glamorous Seattle, I’m a member of one of the most archaic and exclusive collegiate communities: the Greek system. It both pains and encourages me to admit it every day. Sometimes it’s just as confusing as the gay-marriage-maricón paradox. 

 

I’m certainly pained by the amount of sexism, racism, and cultural appropriation I’ve witnessed in that little "Greek" bubble of mine. The fake lei-laden, "drug-rug" infested parties; the seemingly unintentional references to lynching on front lawns (Go Dawgs! Skin the Beavs!!!); the mens' cheeky nicknames for sorority chapters that give it "All-for-Free."

 

All that cringing aside…

 

I’m encouraged to be involved in a community of peers dedicated to investing in one another. I can only speak for my experience in my chapter, but I’ve learned a lot from my ~~~~sisters~~~~.

 

When I was studying abroad for the first time two years ago in Dublin, my chapter held applications for our leadership cabinet. Among the list of positions like Sunshine Chair (????), I saw what must have been a typo that read: Diversity Chair.

 

I texted a friend: "what tf is diversity chair?"

 

I quickly realized after getting the position that it was whatever the hell I wanted it to be. It was the first term of the newly-created position. Every sorority had to have one (understandably), but we had next-to-no training or direction.

 

That year of educating my chapter on something I had previously just been flirting with understanding—social awareness, you coy thing—was the year I learned to check my privilege, to be aware of pronouns, to understand the implications of boasting those Cinco de Drinko plans.

 

I am not, and never will be, an expert about all things diversity-esque.

 

But, in projects like this one (!!!) I’ll certainly do my best to stay in my lane, to be open to feedback, and to learn more and more and more.

 

I’m in Spain for two months, and I feel like my last year of training as Diversity Chair has prepared me to pursue social awareness in this new, churro-laden land. I plan to take these SJW eyes and use them to try and figure out where the hell these beautiful Spaniards stand with diversity—on as many levels as my high school Spanish will permit.

 

Come fiesta with me in España. Let’s learn a thing or a few.

 

***You don’t have to be categorically "diverse" to understand diversity; Certainly not to be educated about it, and one million percent not to inform others about it.

 

 

xoxo,

 

That White Bitch