Every year at Christmas I manage to get into some sort of political debate.
I swear that I play no part in this arrangement.
It's just like me and in-flight heart-to-heart conversations. Alas, I am not the chatterbox. The person next to me automatically divulges information about their job, their kids and (oh dear) their sex life. Of course, they always depart knowing my musings and life story, but I protest-I am an innocent bystander.
However, people who know me well contest that the "innocent bystander" line is a standard cover-up. Certainly I started the airplane conversations with a friendly (and always cheery), "Hi. My name is Rachel. What is your name?" or the political debate with a "Puh-lease, don't tell me you are voting for that I-am-now-socially-conservative-never-really-believed-that-stuff-I-said-during-the-Massachusetts-gubenatorial-race guy... Romney, something or another?"
Yet I promise that this Christmas I was happily eating my fill of Christmas casserole when my cousin's husband opened a can of worms: "Rachel, you are a rugged individualist. I don't understand why you aren't a staunch Republican."
Remember that any self-respecting person stays away from religion and politics at family gatherings, weddings, wakes, everyday life.... Luckily I am not this self-respecting person, so sensing an opportunity to discuss ideological intricacies, I asked him to clarify.
He recounted my life story-lower-middle-class Midwestern family, worked hard in school, made it to Duke, the world is my oyster, lalalala.
At the core of this story was this notion of hard work. I had, as he said, taken myself up from the bootstraps and created success for myself (success being a loaded word that in his opinion connotes a nice GPA and getting to Duke, but in my opinion must equal much more than mere worldly possessions. And GPA is indeed the same as toting around a very nice pair of Manolo Blahniks).
My mind went, "Aha-the bootstraps story." I have had countless discussions with my favorite but more conservative friends about this familiar adage. It goes that the homeless, people born into poverty and terrible school systems, immigrants and other supposedly blighted individuals could make it, if only they had their work ethic-if they "didn't sit around all day smoking crack and watching cartoons."
Their work ethic. Hmm. What is that work ethic, exactly?
Not to throw out the guilt trip here, but it's a blessed privilege to sit in Bostock and write a paper without worrying how you are going to pay rent, pay for food, get the kid to child care and take care of a sick parent. Or for those returning from abroad, to hobnob around Europe for a semester.
Moreover, to even end up here, all the stars had to align. I tell my cousin's husband this. Yes, I have worked hard with what I have been given, but I have been given a lot. Although my family didn't have means, they had love. I lived in a neighborhood without gangs or crime; my school system offered AP classes and had enough money for stuff like theater and student council (the two things I threw myself into). When I dreamed crazy dreams about being a Broadway star or a civil rights lawyer, I was told my dreams were possible.
Each of us (if we think real hard) has a story about how, quoting a favorite book, the universe conspired to get us here-whether that story is a top-notch private school, sheer brilliance or a friendly application reader who let a few things slide.
To get rather Rawlsian, in our life journey we end up with different endowments (varying degrees of cushy), and we exercise our free choice: we either maximize these endowments or leave them untapped. The distinction is that a person with a cushy endowment has more leeway to screw up. If Duke students exercise their free choice in a destructive way, they are likely to still have health insurance, subsistence and a roof. For those with less cushy endowments, a screw-up or a job loss is grave.
So as I finished off my Christmas roast beef, I told him that this discussion ended up more philosophical than political, but no-I didn't believe the bootstraps story. By maximizing some endowments, you end up at a university like Duke, hopefully resulting in solid economic footing postgraduation. Maximizing others, you barely get food on the table.
I asked him: When will we, those with the cushy endowments, reach out to those less fortunate with love instead of misguided judgment? Or recognize how privilege's invisible hand operates behind all our claims of hard work?
Rachel McLaughlin is a Trinity senior. Her column runs every other Wednesday.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.