On being the only white person in the room (Part I)

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.