It has come to my attention that I, too, might be in violation of the university’s core values.
I know I teach just one class, but I thought I’d warn you just in case you thought of asking me to teach more in the future. I have been known to fight for the rights of marginalized people, and I’m also a woman. The worst part is, I’m queer. There are several occasions in which I’ve yelled at a man larger than myself to get his fucking hands off me when I felt that I, or the people I cared about, were being physically threatened. I’m so sorry; I know it’s not the way a white woman should behave. I deeply regret now that I didn’t have the forethought to film these incidents myself.
My composition classes are rife with essays written by, I’m so embarrassed to say it, not white people. It’s terrible. I force white kids to read articles where they are not the intended audience. I can’t stop thinking about the way they cry when they are forced to acknowledge their own privilege. And I know the class is supposed to teach them how to write academic papers for their college career, so I need to be immediately punished for making students think critically about political candidates and the rhetoric from both sides of the aisle. I’ve even, on occasion, shared my own political view when a student asked me during a civil discussion. In my darkest moments, I’ve asked them to watch television advertisements and deconstruct their rhetorical content. Of course, this does nothing to prepare them for the corporate workforce to which they’re obligated to join. I can’t believe I’ve let it go this far.
I am a time bomb.
If you dig into my past, you’ll find that I’ve done something most egregious; I taught at Lincoln University, a historically black college, for six whole years. Despicable behavior from someone who now has the privilege to teach at your university, I know. That’s why I wanted to tell you before it’s too late. My time there was wasted, ultimately, on students with low standardized test scores who would never amount to anything. Shame on me.
In fact, and this might be my worst offense, I was one of the people present that fateful day when the evil leader, Dr. Melissa Click, called to her army of liberals asking for muscle. I’m so glad not a single person could hear her over the cries for blood and vengeance coming from that spontaneous, short-lived circle of people interlocking arms. The group was snarling like a ravenous pack of dogs whose hunger could be sated only by student journalists who were not on official assignment. I thank the Lord above that no one came to dispatch anyone holding a camera, and I’m embarrassed to say I stood close to so many spoiled college students that day.
It’s my hope that you will investigate me and do away with me as soon as possible.
In the event I have not made a strong enough case for my dismissal, I offer this: I had premarital sex. I don’t like football. I think I may have forgotten to flush the other day when I was on campus.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.