My sense of responsibility as a politicized white person, I believe, rests with holding other white people accountable. I know that my skin privilege means other whites will listen to me and, often despite my gender, see me as an authority figure simply because I am white. This is powerful stuff when it comes to teaching about racism and structural inequality - we often expect people of color to care about racism. Due to the complexities of white privilege, white people carry more sway with other whites when we care about racism. The flawed logic is, I suppose, since racism benefits us whites, then if a white person cares, it must matter! (Because, of course, if the people who have been historically, socially, and politically oppressed for centuries and, as a result, remain extensively marginalized today care, well, that's really not our problem.)
I have made a surprising discovery about this during the past semester, however. Well, several, actually.
Let me explain. Many of you know that I took a Race Theory course in the Africana Studies department. I chose this class for many reasons...the most important of which was that I still felt I had so much to learn about race, and I wanted to build in a structured time to continue reading and discussing the literature.
But I had other expectations of the class, too. The thing is, in my department, I could easily claim 'mastery' in race studies without ever taking a class on race. And I could easily go about my entire graduate career without ever taking a class with black people. To my knowledge, there is only one(!) black person who is a matriculated graduate student in my department. This is not uncommon nationally. Black people are severely underrepresented in graduate studies - and the Africana Studies department is a safe space that centers the experiences of blacks. Most white people - including myself - are often uncomfortable in a room full of black people. But if we merrily go about our lives without ever intentionally spending time with black people, we will remain uncomfortable and miserably ignorant. Part of being a politicized white person, dear readers, is spending genuine and meaningful time with people of color. It also, in my case anyway, means taking classes with them.
So there I was, a random white Sociology student taking an Africana Studies class. On the first day, I walked up the stairs and into the hallway, and who did I see standing in front of the classroom door? One of my students from my summer class.
Taking a class with a former student? Oh, no, that's not awkward at all.
We all sat down and the professor introduced himself. He asked us to go around the room and share why it was we were in this class. As we went around the room, most folks gave vague answers about how they were here because they wanted to take a theory course (it was required for their master's). But my former student, a black woman, shocked me when she said, "I wanted to learn more about intersectionality, which I started reading about this summer," then she gestured to me, "with my professor over there, like race and gender and Patricia Hill Collins, things like that."
OMG. Besides the false title (but please, God, one day!), I was floored when she named my class as having an impact on her studies. I had always felt that I was there to politicize white students. It had never occurred to me that I would - or even could - politicize students of color. This isn't because I felt I should only focus on white students, but because I knew I might not necessarily be an authority figure for students of color, and I certainly would not be an identifiable role model. That was my first discovery - that white teachers can still cultivate a political sociological lens in students of color. Or more specifically, that I could. And really, dear readers, if I was able to get just this one student to think about her experiences as a black woman through an intersectional lens, well, then, I am a very humbled sociology instructor.
Here was my second discovery. This one, sadly, is a major downer.
After introductions and reviewing the syllabus, the professor wrote "RACE" on the board in all caps. He turned to us and asked, "what is race?"
"Skin color," someone shouted. "Ethnicity," said someone else. "Biology," another added, "you know, like your ancestry, or the origins of your people." Each time an answer was offered, the professor dutifully wrote it on the board.
Yes, dear readers. This class of mostly black folks believed "race" really meant skin color, ethnicity, and biology; in that order. When "skin color" came out, I thought, well, I'm sure they just meant that it's often determined based on skin color, or that the perception of skin color and other phenotypic aspects are usually used as the measuring stick for race. But then "ethnicity" was added, and I was like, wait a minute! Seriously? I mean I had just written a paper on how race and ethnicity are two different (but interrelated) things! No way!
So when it came to "biology," (Biology?! BIOLOGY!?! What the hell, people?!) I just couldn't stand it. I had wanted to sit quietly and not be that obnoxious white person that takes up space and pretends to have all the answers for people of color. But I had just done this same exercise a few weeks ago for my summer class, and my teaching instinct (or obnoxious white person...probably both) was rearing at the bit. As smoothly and unobtrusively as possible, I raised my hand. "It's a political and social construction." The professor added "social categorization" to the board. "What else?" he asked.
"Your religion!" someone shouted.
Here is the second discovery I made: Not all people of color have a race analysis.
I was blindsided by this over and over and over again during my Race Theory class this semester (more to come on this in Part II of this post). It's not that I haven't seen this before, but it has always been in undergraduate students of color - not my colleagues. This was a room of very well-educated people of color! They were graduate students and still thinking race was skin color and ethnicity and your ancestry!
It seems naive of me now to have been so shocked. As a white person, I have spent most of my life around mostly white people. But I have also probably spent more time around people of color than many white people, and all this time, I never realized the honor I have had of only really being around radical people of color. Or at least, I've only ever talked about race and politics and oppression and all that with people of color who were already progressive. Even if we were different races and they were more than happy to call me out and hold me accountable for having lighter skin, we already saw each other as allies. We already shared a vision of a liberated world.
And I assumed, through my white privilege education, that to be white meant to be oblivious to racial inequality (which it generally does) and to be a person of color meant to already have a nuanced view of structural inequality. Or even that women of color would automatically be able to speak to living at the intersections of hierarchies. Repeatedly throughout the semester, however, I found this was not the case. Someone else would say another icky problematic thing and inside I'd cringe, "Nooooo! But that's what the oppressor wants you to think!"
It dawned on me that I needed to recognize the ways in which people of color are not automatically able to speak to their experiences in a way that will disrupt or dismantle the systems that oppress them. It seems obvious now, because it makes total sense - people of color are not supposed to be able to spit hot flames of fierce sociological mindfulness. That's not how the game works. It works by convincing them that they are on the bottom because they deserve to be there, that race is real. Not just the social consequences of race (which are very, very real!), but "race" itself as a construct is real. Being born a person of color means you are still socialized by the same institutions as white people. Like many, many, many others, the students in my class already believed the myths.
Now, to say that not all people of color have a race analysis doesn't mean that they are not all experts on their own experiences as people of color. They will always know best what it is their lives are like, and what it is they need. Their voices are the ones that we as white people must listen to, and listen closely. This was an incredible challenge for me these past few months - to hear the truths through the bullshit that has tried to snuff them out. Many times I failed at this. Many times I wondered why I was there, or what the hell I thought I was doing. But see, the point is not to revel in the beautific wonder of being an awesome white person with active-listening skills, but to confront and engage with the hell white people have left in our wake. The point is at least, at least, to try.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Ra-ra-ra-racism!
It is the holiday season, dear readers, and I attended a Yankee swap gift exchange the other day to celebrate. You know, the kind where you open presents and then steal other people's presents if you like them better than the one you got, all in the name of Jesus. If you are strategic, you bring a crappy gift (bonus points if it's from the As Seen on TV store). If you are a sucker like me, you bring a nice gift and walk out with one of the crappy gifts. It's all very American, really.
Being a sucker doesn't bother me so much - I'm too deeply programmed by middle-class white woman hospitality (it's not "being a sucker," it's "making sure others are happy!") to dwell on that. But what did stick with me that night was an incident that is, sadly, a common occurrence in everyday life if you are the kind of person who happens to get out bed every morning: the Vaguely Racist Comment (VRC). Oh, VRCs! They come up when you expect them, they come up when you least expect them, they come up when you are neither expecting nor not expecting them. They are always, as a matter of principle, uttered casually, and, also a matter of principle, extremely difficult to challenge. They are usually in public spaces where it would make you stand out in a bad way if you were to do anything other than nod, or smile, or laugh, or pretend they didn't really just say something vaguely racist (and by vaguely, I mean overtly). That is the brilliance of racism - it is so embedded in our social exchanges that it seems like common courtesy to just go along with it. The nature of racism is that it makes those who call it out appear to be the rude ones.
That's the thing...sometimes I'm one of those rude people, which may explain why I don't have a robust social life. I realize I'm really not that much fun to be around, because the vast majority of our cultural humor is predicated on social inequality. And I'm one of those Debbie-Downers who doesn't laugh. Or I try in some awkward, flailing way to intervene. It doesn't matter how many VRCs I've witnessed...I have yet to have a beautific teaching moment come of one. It almost invariably ends with me laughing tersely and saying something like "I don't know about that, y'all" and then people change the subject before they have to think too hard about how much they benefit from racial inequality.
That's the typical script, anyway, and the incident at the Yankee swap was no exception. We were halfway through opening the gifts when the VRC slipped - nay, strolled out into public conversation: the white man beside me announced that he wished he could have brought an Obama Chia Pet.
These are hard moments for me, dear readers. Perhaps you have encountered them too. You hear a white person say something like, "I wish I could have brought an Obama Chia Pet," and the room of almost entirely white people erupts in laughter, and you aren't exactly convinced that, deep down in their heart of hearts, they really know that an Obama Chia Pet is racist as hell. In fact, you are fairly sure they don't.
Here is evidence. As the laughter was dying down, I added "Not a good idea!" with an awkward laugh (I know, I know...my VRC interventions need polishing). For the sake of a more personal challenge, I noted to the white man beside me who had made the comment, "You know, there is this great video clip of the white guy who made the Chia Pet saying "I don't know why this is racist!" I said this with a tone that implied that of course this man beside me knew it was racist, and surely he would find additional sad humor in the fact that the white guy who designed it would be so tragically misled. But that's not what happened. What you want to happen is never what happens. Instead, another white man across the room said "I know! I don't know why either!" (Crap! I didn't curb the racism...I gave it wings!) And then a white woman added, as if this was a sufficient explanation to close the conversation, "They have one of every president!"
And then the next person started opening their gift and any chance of a beautific teaching moment (if there had been any chance at all) was crushed by the opening of a leg lamp nightlight. (Gah! Intercepted by the Vaguely Sexist Present! How many interventions am I supposed to handle by myself? Sweet Mother of God, I'm only one angry white woman!)
And so I wasn't able to say what it was I really wanted to say, or have an honest conversation about why, yes, an Obama Chia Pet really is racist. With the exception of two international students from China, we were a room of well-educated white people...it is definitely a problem for a white person to bring an Obama Chia Pet for another white person to open up as a hilaaaaarious Yankee swap gift. Even on its own, no matter the race of the gifter or giftee, the Obama Chia Pet is super problematic. Because I wasn't able to state why to the well-intentioned white people at the Christmas party, I will do so here.
Let me tell you, if you didn't know about this already, Obama's head has been made into a Chia pet - the controversy surrounding it is portrayed in a disappointing way in this CNN video. It's one thing that he's the president, "not a damn plant!" as the black woman in the video so aptly denounces. But it is Obama's blackness the makes this Chia pet so horrifying. Yes, the Chia company offers Chia pets of other presidents' heads...but all of our other presidents have been white. Only Obama's Chia Pet lets you grow the Black president of the United States an Afro.
And Black hair is distinctly political. It has been stigmatized and eroticized, degraded and objectified. Black hair has a history of oppression, parody, mimicry, marginalization. It has been straightened and hot-combed, pulled and stitched, 'relaxed' and greased until it is believed to resemble the highly prized, wavy, shakable locks of whites. It has been caricatured in minstrelry, front porch jockey statues, social Darwinist drawings, and pimp and seventies-hippie Halloween costumes. Black hair is not neutral territory. We finally have the first Black president, but just as Hilary Clinton can be reduced to a nut-cracking feminist who doesn't know better than to stay out of the public sphere, Obama can be reduced to an Afro-growing plant for your "desk, home, or school." (Yes...let's be shamelessly public about our race-based mockery, shall we?) The commercial - where owning the Obama Chia Pet is said to be a "symbol of Liberty, Opportunity, Prosperity, and Hope" and allows you to make the statement that "I'm proud to be an American" - could be on SNL or the Onion if the Chia company weren't taking itself absolutely seriously. The only 'statement' the Obama Chia Pet really makes is that white people still feel at Liberty to Prosper off every Opportunity to parody Blackness.
The thing is, if I had really said these things at the Christmas party, I would have been written off as "taking things too seriously," even by those people who I know probably agree with me. It is a Christmas party after all. Time to be generous and good-spirited and to pretend oppression is the stuff of fairies. And I would have further cemented my reputation as the wrong person to invite when you want to have a good time. Which is unfortunate, because I do enjoy having a good time...for some reason my version of 'good time' doesn't always match with the 'good time' had by the people I work with.
And I know I can't challenge everything. We can't call out ever VRC, or else we'd never stop to breathe. If people of color stopped and said something every time they experienced racism, they'd never get through their day - being a vocal white anti-racist makes this startlingly clear. I have to remind myself to walk the line between challenging other white people and not trying to prove that I'm a good white person, taking on the burden of racism as if I have any idea what that means or that it is up to me to 'save' the people of color. When VRCs arise, I'm never entirely sure which side of the line I'm on...the point is really just to remember that the former can easily turn into the latter. We must never be too self-congratulatory. But I also believe there is such a thing as being too silent.
Also, white antiracists can't just write off anyone who isn't perfectly politicized. We can't afford to alienate all the well-intentioned white people we know who issue VRCs. The only way we cultivate future white antiracist allies is to prod them just enough so that they do not shut down entirely and we are not entirely complicit to public racist discourse. VRCs really aren't made for teaching moments, even if we want them to be - those happen at a later time, when you are away from the public spaces where paranoia of accountability prevents any honest discussion. Sometimes you can only write out what you wanted to say, even if you didn't get to say it to the people you wanted to say it to. At least it will have been said. And that has to be enough, at least for now.
Being a sucker doesn't bother me so much - I'm too deeply programmed by middle-class white woman hospitality (it's not "being a sucker," it's "making sure others are happy!") to dwell on that. But what did stick with me that night was an incident that is, sadly, a common occurrence in everyday life if you are the kind of person who happens to get out bed every morning: the Vaguely Racist Comment (VRC). Oh, VRCs! They come up when you expect them, they come up when you least expect them, they come up when you are neither expecting nor not expecting them. They are always, as a matter of principle, uttered casually, and, also a matter of principle, extremely difficult to challenge. They are usually in public spaces where it would make you stand out in a bad way if you were to do anything other than nod, or smile, or laugh, or pretend they didn't really just say something vaguely racist (and by vaguely, I mean overtly). That is the brilliance of racism - it is so embedded in our social exchanges that it seems like common courtesy to just go along with it. The nature of racism is that it makes those who call it out appear to be the rude ones.
That's the thing...sometimes I'm one of those rude people, which may explain why I don't have a robust social life. I realize I'm really not that much fun to be around, because the vast majority of our cultural humor is predicated on social inequality. And I'm one of those Debbie-Downers who doesn't laugh. Or I try in some awkward, flailing way to intervene. It doesn't matter how many VRCs I've witnessed...I have yet to have a beautific teaching moment come of one. It almost invariably ends with me laughing tersely and saying something like "I don't know about that, y'all" and then people change the subject before they have to think too hard about how much they benefit from racial inequality.
That's the typical script, anyway, and the incident at the Yankee swap was no exception. We were halfway through opening the gifts when the VRC slipped - nay, strolled out into public conversation: the white man beside me announced that he wished he could have brought an Obama Chia Pet.
These are hard moments for me, dear readers. Perhaps you have encountered them too. You hear a white person say something like, "I wish I could have brought an Obama Chia Pet," and the room of almost entirely white people erupts in laughter, and you aren't exactly convinced that, deep down in their heart of hearts, they really know that an Obama Chia Pet is racist as hell. In fact, you are fairly sure they don't.
Here is evidence. As the laughter was dying down, I added "Not a good idea!" with an awkward laugh (I know, I know...my VRC interventions need polishing). For the sake of a more personal challenge, I noted to the white man beside me who had made the comment, "You know, there is this great video clip of the white guy who made the Chia Pet saying "I don't know why this is racist!" I said this with a tone that implied that of course this man beside me knew it was racist, and surely he would find additional sad humor in the fact that the white guy who designed it would be so tragically misled. But that's not what happened. What you want to happen is never what happens. Instead, another white man across the room said "I know! I don't know why either!" (Crap! I didn't curb the racism...I gave it wings!) And then a white woman added, as if this was a sufficient explanation to close the conversation, "They have one of every president!"
And then the next person started opening their gift and any chance of a beautific teaching moment (if there had been any chance at all) was crushed by the opening of a leg lamp nightlight. (Gah! Intercepted by the Vaguely Sexist Present! How many interventions am I supposed to handle by myself? Sweet Mother of God, I'm only one angry white woman!)
And so I wasn't able to say what it was I really wanted to say, or have an honest conversation about why, yes, an Obama Chia Pet really is racist. With the exception of two international students from China, we were a room of well-educated white people...it is definitely a problem for a white person to bring an Obama Chia Pet for another white person to open up as a hilaaaaarious Yankee swap gift. Even on its own, no matter the race of the gifter or giftee, the Obama Chia Pet is super problematic. Because I wasn't able to state why to the well-intentioned white people at the Christmas party, I will do so here.
Let me tell you, if you didn't know about this already, Obama's head has been made into a Chia pet - the controversy surrounding it is portrayed in a disappointing way in this CNN video. It's one thing that he's the president, "not a damn plant!" as the black woman in the video so aptly denounces. But it is Obama's blackness the makes this Chia pet so horrifying. Yes, the Chia company offers Chia pets of other presidents' heads...but all of our other presidents have been white. Only Obama's Chia Pet lets you grow the Black president of the United States an Afro.
And Black hair is distinctly political. It has been stigmatized and eroticized, degraded and objectified. Black hair has a history of oppression, parody, mimicry, marginalization. It has been straightened and hot-combed, pulled and stitched, 'relaxed' and greased until it is believed to resemble the highly prized, wavy, shakable locks of whites. It has been caricatured in minstrelry, front porch jockey statues, social Darwinist drawings, and pimp and seventies-hippie Halloween costumes. Black hair is not neutral territory. We finally have the first Black president, but just as Hilary Clinton can be reduced to a nut-cracking feminist who doesn't know better than to stay out of the public sphere, Obama can be reduced to an Afro-growing plant for your "desk, home, or school." (Yes...let's be shamelessly public about our race-based mockery, shall we?) The commercial - where owning the Obama Chia Pet is said to be a "symbol of Liberty, Opportunity, Prosperity, and Hope" and allows you to make the statement that "I'm proud to be an American" - could be on SNL or the Onion if the Chia company weren't taking itself absolutely seriously. The only 'statement' the Obama Chia Pet really makes is that white people still feel at Liberty to Prosper off every Opportunity to parody Blackness.
The thing is, if I had really said these things at the Christmas party, I would have been written off as "taking things too seriously," even by those people who I know probably agree with me. It is a Christmas party after all. Time to be generous and good-spirited and to pretend oppression is the stuff of fairies. And I would have further cemented my reputation as the wrong person to invite when you want to have a good time. Which is unfortunate, because I do enjoy having a good time...for some reason my version of 'good time' doesn't always match with the 'good time' had by the people I work with.
And I know I can't challenge everything. We can't call out ever VRC, or else we'd never stop to breathe. If people of color stopped and said something every time they experienced racism, they'd never get through their day - being a vocal white anti-racist makes this startlingly clear. I have to remind myself to walk the line between challenging other white people and not trying to prove that I'm a good white person, taking on the burden of racism as if I have any idea what that means or that it is up to me to 'save' the people of color. When VRCs arise, I'm never entirely sure which side of the line I'm on...the point is really just to remember that the former can easily turn into the latter. We must never be too self-congratulatory. But I also believe there is such a thing as being too silent.
Also, white antiracists can't just write off anyone who isn't perfectly politicized. We can't afford to alienate all the well-intentioned white people we know who issue VRCs. The only way we cultivate future white antiracist allies is to prod them just enough so that they do not shut down entirely and we are not entirely complicit to public racist discourse. VRCs really aren't made for teaching moments, even if we want them to be - those happen at a later time, when you are away from the public spaces where paranoia of accountability prevents any honest discussion. Sometimes you can only write out what you wanted to say, even if you didn't get to say it to the people you wanted to say it to. At least it will have been said. And that has to be enough, at least for now.
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