When it comes to deceit and injustice, life doesn't waste any time. It starts when you're born, and from then on, it continues to skyrocket like no man's business. Don't tell my mom, but I never believed in Santa Claus. Or the Tooth Fairy. Or the Easter Bunny. However, my toddler-self knew what was at stake, so I put on my best Academy Award-winning performance and pretended to have the gullible nature expected from a child.
On Christmas Eve, my mom and I would make cookies for the fat man, but in the middle of the night, I'd always come downstairs and eat them. I knew my mom would be confused in the morning, but I also knew that she couldn't express her confusion. My parents didn't know that every time I lost a tooth, I would pretend to sleep while they slipped money under my pillow. Even though most children are oblivious to the way they are being lied to, I knew the truth, but I played along for years just to appease the adults in my life. Over a decade later, I've lived as an individual that is hyper-aware of the way that others might attempt to ill-inform me.
The internet has created a distinct culture based through social media. Millennials and Generation Z have learned to utilize this resource in a meaningful way. Regardless of the stigma attached to sites like Twitter and Tumblr, the younger generation is more in tune with current events and issues that affect them and those around them. However, the internet also accommodates trolls and fake news. Articles from satirical websites like "The Onion" are read and believed by individuals who don't know any better. Consequently, false information is then passed around through word-of-mouth, and a vicious cycle begins. By the time we look up from our bright phone screens, the trolls have taken form in our real lives.
When scandals occur within the walls of our own schools, our districts will sweep the details under the rug and create an atmosphere that reeks of gossip and lies. A student will commit suicide because she is being sexually harassed in class. A teacher will have inappropriate relations with a student. Despite the magnitude of the predicament, those who are higher up will ignore the fact that the people involved in these indignities were individuals that were once a part of our routine. They were vital to us. Omitting information is unfair; we deserve the truth.
On February 15, I sat through my classes from 8:15 am to 3:30 pm and waited for my teachers to address the Parkland shooting. I waited for something. Anything. I, at least, wanted the opportunity to roll my eyes when the mentions of "thoughts and prayers" started to pour into the air. But it never happened. When asked why "no one [was] talking about the shooting," my English teacher explained it best: we have been "desensitized" to our circumstances. Society has conditioned us to move on. To ignore our violent reality. To push our concerns to the back of our minds.
When the concept of a nationwide student walkout was circulating online, I jumped at the chance to get my peers more involved in controlling our own fates. I created a poll on Twitter to see how many of my classmates would be interested in participating, and the response was overwhelmingly positive. Still, my direct messages were filled with friends asking me what the walkout was even for. It was like trying to describe colors to someone; how do you not know? We are all exposed to same media outlets. We go to the same school. We live in the same area.
And then it dawned on me: most of my classmates probably weren't even aware of who represents them politically. As far as they're concerned, Rick Perry is still the governor of Texas. Government is a mandatory class in high school; every kid that gets handed a diploma at graduation sits in a government class for at least a semester. Yet we don't know who our senators are. We don't know who the congressman of our district is. When my classmates hear that Rick Perry hasn't been the governor since 2012, the shock on their faces is evident. How is it possible that we learn so much, but so much doesn't matter?
No matter how much proof is given, there are people that truly don't think that white privilege is a thing. There is evidence all around us that it does, but people will believe what they want to believe. Flint, Michigan, a city with a large African-American population, has not had clean water for years. Mass incarceration of black men has taken the place of Jim Crow laws. Even though the amount of marijuana usage is very similar across different demographics, people of color are locked up at higher rates than white people. But white privilege "doesn't exist." It is precisely that kind of ignorance that has continued to support the power imbalance that exists in the United States today.
In "The Giver," at first glance, it seems as though the characters are living in a utopia, but as the plot develops, it is clear that every citizen of the dystopia-in-disguise lacks the experience of real emotions. They are sheltered in a society that chooses their spouse, their occupation and so much for them. There is one individual, though, that harnesses all the memories of extreme joy, extreme pain, and everything in-between. The history is the world is jammed into the mind of one person. The Receiver of these memories, Jonah, is playing two roles at once: the enlightened and the tormented. This is emblematic of the real world. The higher powers, the ignorant, and the oppressed all coexist. While the ignorant are content with living in their bubbles, the higher power continues to drain the oppressed.
