There has been a great deal of criticism leveled at Oprah and her decision to open a school for girls in South Africa. To my mind, much of that criticism is racist and sexist; why spend so much money and lavish so much attention on poor black girls who are worth less and incapable of being leaders, it all seems to say.
I don’t disagree that Ms. Winfrey could use a dose of humility, but philanthropy is fundamentally a selfish act. We give because we wish to feel good about ourselves, to feel as if we’re engaged by signing a check or keying in our credit card number. Still, the critiques kept rolling toward Oprah, particularly with regard to her comment that American students didn’t value education to the same degree that the South Africans do.
Despite the criticism, something about this gesture warmed my heart. I will go on record as saying that I think Oprah is materialistic, that her shows tend to focus too much on the finer things in life (cars, thousand-thread-count sheets, workouts with Bob Greene, house decorating by Nate Berkus and having Rachael Ray come over and make you a meal) that many in her audience can never afford, or who will drive themselves into debt trying to keep up with the Oprah Live Your Best Lifeâ„¢ seal of approval.
But despite her audacity, despite the showy largess, and despite turning this moment into yet another forum for her to introduce “us” to her famous friends, I could understand what drove Oprah to this decisive moment. Apparently Salon’s Rebecca Traister can see through the flash powder too. Traister writes that Oprah’s comments, her slightly-obsessive involvement with every brick, tile, and spoon of her school for girls reveals that not even the richest and most influential (black) woman in the world can overcome the challenges of growing up poor, black, and unloved. Traister quotes Oprah:
“I understand what it means to grow up poor, to grow up feeling you are not loved,” she said in her opening-day speech. “I wanted to be able to give back to people who were like I was when I was growing up.” Winfrey told Newsweek, “I wanted this to be a place of honor for [the students] because these girls have never been treated with kindness. They’ve never been told they are pretty or have wonderful dimples. I wanted to hear those things as a child.”
The world does not value poor black girls, and it demonstrates this in implicit and explicit ways. Oprah lived this reality of growing up in a society that tells you that you need things to make you happy, but of having those things perpetually out of reach because of your economic situation. She knew what it was like to grow up dark skinned in a community that places greater value on being fair, and on being a heavy person in a world where thin is in. That this school is an intensely personal journey and a way for her to address these demons should be of no surprise to anyone who knows even the slightest details of Oprah’s backstory. Traister continues:
Indeed, that conversational tick, amid all the press for the school opening, of steadily, constantly reaffirming how much these poor South African girls had in common with a poor young Oprah, felt most disconcerting. Winfrey seemed to be slipping down a rabbit hole of unconscious self-obsession, and that’s not exactly a criticism. When we do good things for other people, it’s almost always in part a narcissistic act — it makes us feel good to make other people feel good. Why should Winfrey’s ventures into philanthropy be any morally tidier than anyone else’s? But her over-identification was so powerful and unrelenting that it was hard not to wince when hearing it.
This is what troubles people most, I think. We don’t like to admit that having access to wealth and power of a Winfrey-esque degree doesn’t make the world go away. That even though she could buy and sell anyone and anything a thousand times over, Oprah never got over — and may never get over — the scars of being a poor black girl. I can speak from personal experience and say that those scars run deep, and they rub themselves raw at the most inopportune moments, and when you least expect them.
So if Oprah uses this school as a foundation for good in affecting positive, concrete changes in the lives of these poor (mostly) black girls, I’m willing to overlook her self-indulgent flourishes and cries for validation. Maybe through this the little black girl that still lives inside her will finally feel embraced, rewarded, treasured and loved. And if 175 other girls can feel that way at the end of the experience, then the world will be better for it.
