My remote-controlled TV activated in the middle of the night, propelling me out of bed to turn off the blaring garbage that spewed far too early in the morning for consumption. The last time that had happened, I’d returned to bed, slept some more, but was nearly late for work, which led coworkers to question how on Earth I could have possibly slept without first checking the apartment for burglars.
“Who’d break into my apartment silently, only to wake me up by watching TV?”
This time around, I didn’t mind the nightmare interruption that found me frantically preparing beds for my grandparents, parents and two of my uncles. What bothered me in the nether hours was that out of all those people in the dream, only my parents are still alive.
Then I dreamt about something that only a former math teacher could find inspirational: The Additive and Multiplicative Identities. Now before you start cursing in your head because, dammit, I’m talking math again; let me remind you, or in some cases, share with you for the first time about what these two things are.
Let’s pretend that I’m the number 8. Now think: which number can you add to me and the sum still be 8? Again, think: which number can you multiply by me and the product still be 8? If you thought the numbers 0 and 1, you’re correct! Zero is the additive identity because when added to any value, leaves the value unchanged. One is the multiplicative identity because when multiplied to any value, leaves the value unchanged.
When most people think about zeroes and ones, binary coding comes to mind. In my fantasy dream, people came to mind. Vividly clothed people. Think something along the lines of the Whos in Whoville meet the Emerald City citizens from The Whiz. And because this was a fantasy, I knew that each individual represented both a zero and a one.
Individuals reflect both the values they add to and multiply by. In this mathematical liberal fantasy, I knew the reflected values would balance out to a saner, more harmonious society when no demographic was underrepresented in positions of power and influence. (Yes, I got all that from that!)
If we only saw the numerical makeup of a person, devoid of gender, sexual orientation, religion, skin color, immigration status, political affiliation, all the things we claim that makes us so different, we’d only see our own values and fears reflected. We’d notice how many commonalities we had. A seemingly unending string of zeroes and ones. Every added experience. Zeroes and ones. The things that brought us joy. Zeroes and ones. The things we feared. Zeroes and ones.
Our brain isn’t programmed for randomness. It seeks patterns, distinguishing among items. Particularly noticing what’s different—at least on the surface. But if we transcended the superficial, we’d see the zeroes and ones. Our own personal collection that significantly overlapped with others. We’re made up of the same stuff. Zeroes and ones.
In real life, I get to approximate this experience as a health insurance agent. Since I always talk with my clients over the phone, they only know that I’m a woman. A confident woman who is a good listener, answers their questions and finds them the health insurance plan, which best suits their needs and budget. Often times, as I’m building rapport, I may share my age with potential clients, who inevitably think I sound like a younger woman. At that point, I always want to ask them if I sound like a Black woman. It shouldn’t make a difference, right? But I’ve heard people say things that I don’t think they would normally say in front of a Black person.
When I was a middle school math teacher, I called a student’s mother to explain an incident, involving her son. The first thing out of her mouth was, “I’m tired of all you White teachers calling me up about my son!” My response was: “Who are YOU calling White? I promise you, if you come up to the school, I will be the only Black female teacher with dreadlocks. I won’t be hard to find.”
She never came to the school to see me in person and I never had a problem with her son in my classroom again. Initially, that mother couldn’t hear the essence of what I’d said to her because she’d had a preconceived notion of what I looked like, based on my voice and how I spoke. Once she realized my skin was brown, then she focused on the zeroes and ones.
Humans are full of contradictions. Is it any wonder that I find the elegance and logic of numerical expressions are so comforting and reliable? Wouldn’t it be wonderful, for a change, that we when we looked for a common denominator, that we’d do so in a spirit of finding the common good among us all rather than seeking the bad?