I wondered about civility and how often in a day we actually see it. I find civility so rare that I actually have to think about what it means to be civil and stretch its definition to fit what I may see on the street. In fact, I think that I see the opposite of civility much more often than I actually seem something that constitutes as a civil act.

Being a student at Lane, I have concluded that civility is being able to show consideration and respect for someone. For example, (in the simplest form), someone offering their seat on the bus.

And it isn’t something I see often. Not at all.

There is this term my Puerto Rican uncle used repeatedly that I found not just generally offensive but personally offensive. The word “monkey” frequented his vocabulary as a word to refer to African-Americans.

Every time he used it, I grew further annoyed with his continuous usage of a word that held such negative connotations. It was as if he had absolute disregard for a part of my race. On occasion, he would go so far as to call me a monkey and then his son, following the action of his father, would call an African-American on the street a monkey. I chalk his attitude up to how he has been brought up and that the people he has been around have acted in a similar form and like his son, he too followed in those footsteps. Though it never does cease to amaze me.

Those words don’t faze him. He would drop the “n” word as though it is something I want to be called and wave his hand at me when I get riled up. I know that when it comes to that type of ignorance, it is something I should not try to change because more than likely I’ll fail, but I want him to know that I’m not OK with it and that it isn’t OK.

In that situation, I found myself defending the last shreds of civility in him, but I fail at every chance I get because there is no changing how he looks at me or any race for that matter. He imposes his ideas on me and leaves little room for me to feel anything about it. I find that it is exactly what he wants. To have me listen to his ideas and not have anything to say about it.

I remember waiting in line whenI overheard the very loud words of a young adult sitting in the corner of Dunkin Donuts. I overheard the boy speaking about Laquan McDonald.The topic never ceased to be argued; in my classes, at my job, among my peers, even with my mother where emotions raged.

“You act like a monkey, you get treated like a monkey,” the boy said.

And then he proceeded to continue by a making sounds of a monkey.

It was an unbelievable moment for me. Mostly because he was a kid. He was a student just like me, just like everyone in this school and he was shot 16 times. Because he was slashing tires? I can’t think of a more unjust punishment than being murdered by 16 bullets to the back. I realized I was listening to him as though everyone would have the same view on the subject as I did that someone would agree with a murder. That being said, I think that being a student at Lane has tuned my mind to listen to things with an open mind rather than one conservatively.

It is the whole idea of trying to get your point across and defending your argument. Though there comes a point when simply defending your argument becomes undermining another’s beliefs. There comes a point when pressing your ideas crosses an undefined boundary. There comes a point where making monkey noises in a public forum is wrong and you realize that you’re living in a ruthless society. No traces of kindness. No traces of civility.