Interrupting negative and/or stereotypical language is not fun. I have been told that those of us who do are "over-sensitive" or "holier-than-thou." I'll concede that I am sensitive to language and behaviors which perpetuate hatred or misinformation. But the idea that I feel righteous is completely erroneous.
When I hear statements like "All Christians are hatemongers," my knee-jerk is to contradict or correct. However, fast on the heels of that thought are dozens of other reactions, most concerned with my personal well-being.
"They're going to hate me if I say something."
"They'll think I'm a prude."
"They won't speak freely in front of me again."
Then come the rational thoughts such as, "What is the most effective way to say something?" After all, while I don't wish to alienate anyone - especially those whom I like or with whom I enjoy talking about other subjects - it is rarely effective to go on the attack or to be defensive.
In face-to-face interactions, I rarely have time to dwell on these issues. The moment passes or the conversation changes course and I've lost an opportunity to present another point of view if I don't respond quickly enough. I make plenty of mistakes and sometimes do miss my chance.
Using social media, I get more time to consider my personal safety and the best way to respond. This is a mixed blessing, however. I wind up agonizing over my desire for social desirability. I edit my response endlessly hoping that the post's author can hear me and possibly consider my point of view. Yesterday, a person on a discussion board, who states his opinions well in other matters, made a very cruel joke about Christianity. Perhaps his intent was satire (I like to give the benefit of the doubt), but if so, it failed. I carefully weighed (and edited and re-edited) my response. I said something to the effect that, although I am not Christian, I do not make fun of Christianity or any other religion. He deleted his comment, but another poster said that she makes fun of all religions equally. Rather than comment on that, I simply deleted my comment because it identified the first person by name.
Did I do the right thing - either time? I don't know. I do know that I awoke with it on my mind this morning. I have probably alienated at least two people whose opinions I value. I have no idea whether my remarks made a positive difference for anyone. I feel neither self-satisfied nor particularly righteous. Believing that I did the right thing is not a significant comfort to me, and it is a very lonely comfort, as well.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Dismissed: Ramblings on discussing racism in everyday life
In a private, face-to-face conversation about an article I had posted to Facebook regarding illegal immigration, I was told that I am overly sensitive to subjects with racial and/or cultural overtones. Once again, my opinion had been dismissed. This time, instead of backing down, I used his phrase to reinforce my point.
I told him that I doubt I will ever be “under-sensitive” again. I have learned too much about the relationships between direct, cultural and structural violence to be able to view the smallest slight with equanimity. I have followed too many news stories over too long a period to not see that irrational fear grows if it is not checked. I have listened to too many mothers tell the story of the first time their child – a person of color – learned that U.S. society views them as less valuable than white children.
Did I change my listener’s mind about the damage a third-grade worksheet could perpetrate on children in particular and society in general? Not that I could tell. But he did re-frame how he perceived the piece as a result of my reference to parenting. He fears for his daughter and the messages she will receive about herself regarding gender and ethnic heritage.
That’s enough for me. I don’t need you to agree with me. I simply want to be heard. I want you to consider another perspective, just as I consider other perspectives – including yours – before forming an opinion. This is, of course, easier to do in written form than face-to-face. When we’re sitting in front of one another, we feel a need (perhaps this a Western-culture thing) to respond quickly and, if possibly, pithily. Time to reflect is not valued.
My solution to this dilemma is to say, “I had not heard that/considered that before. I will look into it.” I have answered swiftly; I have acknowledged that I heard you; I have asked for time to reflect in a socially acceptable way.
It’s not pithy, but I will gladly sacrifice wit for understanding.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Intergroup Dialogue - Learning about others; learning about myself
Last night I attended the final session of a six-week dialogue group between people of color and white people. It was an intense experience, which I am still processing. Following is a letter which I wrote to my white friend Dick during an ongoing discussion about the use of the word "nigger" in the movie, "Black Snake Moan." As you will see, I went in an unexpected direction. Nonetheless, I feel the letter adequately expresses some of my take-away from the group.
Dearest Dick,
Thanks for giving so much thought and time to this. Yes, it was all very useful information. You touched on the crux of my dilemma in the last sentence of the first response. That is, I am uncomfortable that I was not uncomfortable with the use of the word in "Black Snake Moan."
I know that life is shades of gray, rather than black and white (no pun intended). Still, I want to be consistent in my stand about the word "nigger." It is either a word of hate/self-hate or it isn't. Intentions matter (using it affectionately), but impact is important (reinforcing an oppressive theme). Nonetheless, listening to Lazarus and the preacher talk was like hearing a beloved old song. The rhythm, cadence and vocabulary were like a lullaby which reminded me of happy days.
After reading your thoughts on this, I concede that I am bothered that I wasn't bothered primarily out of white guilt. I want to be an ally to people of color and I feel that according a contextual acceptance to the use of the word contradicts this goal. However, being an ally does not require me to approve or disapprove of how someone communicates within his own culture. In a nutshell, I need to get over myself. That seems to be the driving lesson of the past several weeks.
However, in order to overcome my knee-jerks and my intellectualizing, I have to do self-work. For instance, I entered the dialogue group between people of color and white people with the intention of learning more about how racism affects people of color on a daily basis. I wanted to empathize with the experience of having my skin color impact the simple act of going to the grocery store or putting gas in my car. I thought I knew what it was like to be white; I wanted to learn more about other perspectives. And I did gain insight, thanks to some very frank sharing by the people of color in our group. I did not expect much self-discovery. In fact, I dreaded it - I was afraid that I would learn that I am a bigger racist than I already knew.
I knew that personal and cultural racism hurt me at a very core level. But I had never had the opportunity to share it with anyone before. I didn't even know that was a need I had. I did not know the level at which I distrust white people, until I was put in a room with all whites to discuss racism. I did not know how much hurt and anger I had at being rejected by my own race, until I told the story of my family's and peers' reactions to my first interracial dating experience. I had not acknowledged how very lonely I feel being a white ally to people of color, with no other white allies with whom to process my feelings. Heck, I didn't even know there was such as thing as an "ally to people of color," much less that there were others!
These are but a few of the self-discoveries I experienced during the past six weeks. There were so many self-revelations that at times I feared I was not hearing the others in the room. My thought was often, "How dare I feel hurt? What people of color experience is far worse, far more persistent, far more pervasive than my experience!" And that's true. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel hurt or that my pain is not also valid.
Also, my pain can be used. Perhaps that is the most constructive lesson from the dialogue. When I am talking with a white person about racism in America, it is not always effective to share the experiences of people of color. Sometimes, it is more effective to say "This hurts ME and here's why." Keeping it real, making the pain accessible to the person with whom I'm speaking, can open doors to honest discussion wherein the person I'm trying to reach feels safe talking about her pain and her fears regarding people of color. Once that intimacy has begun, the potential for change increases infinitely.
Thank you, Dick, for being a support to me. You are my first official white ally. What an unexpected blessing!
Upon re-reading this (which I almost always do before clicking on send), I find that I would like to share my discoveries with others. Don't be surprised if you find this, or a slightly revised version, on Facebook as a note.
Peace and love,
Dana
Dearest Dick,
Thanks for giving so much thought and time to this. Yes, it was all very useful information. You touched on the crux of my dilemma in the last sentence of the first response. That is, I am uncomfortable that I was not uncomfortable with the use of the word in "Black Snake Moan."
I know that life is shades of gray, rather than black and white (no pun intended). Still, I want to be consistent in my stand about the word "nigger." It is either a word of hate/self-hate or it isn't. Intentions matter (using it affectionately), but impact is important (reinforcing an oppressive theme). Nonetheless, listening to Lazarus and the preacher talk was like hearing a beloved old song. The rhythm, cadence and vocabulary were like a lullaby which reminded me of happy days.
After reading your thoughts on this, I concede that I am bothered that I wasn't bothered primarily out of white guilt. I want to be an ally to people of color and I feel that according a contextual acceptance to the use of the word contradicts this goal. However, being an ally does not require me to approve or disapprove of how someone communicates within his own culture. In a nutshell, I need to get over myself. That seems to be the driving lesson of the past several weeks.
However, in order to overcome my knee-jerks and my intellectualizing, I have to do self-work. For instance, I entered the dialogue group between people of color and white people with the intention of learning more about how racism affects people of color on a daily basis. I wanted to empathize with the experience of having my skin color impact the simple act of going to the grocery store or putting gas in my car. I thought I knew what it was like to be white; I wanted to learn more about other perspectives. And I did gain insight, thanks to some very frank sharing by the people of color in our group. I did not expect much self-discovery. In fact, I dreaded it - I was afraid that I would learn that I am a bigger racist than I already knew.
I knew that personal and cultural racism hurt me at a very core level. But I had never had the opportunity to share it with anyone before. I didn't even know that was a need I had. I did not know the level at which I distrust white people, until I was put in a room with all whites to discuss racism. I did not know how much hurt and anger I had at being rejected by my own race, until I told the story of my family's and peers' reactions to my first interracial dating experience. I had not acknowledged how very lonely I feel being a white ally to people of color, with no other white allies with whom to process my feelings. Heck, I didn't even know there was such as thing as an "ally to people of color," much less that there were others!
These are but a few of the self-discoveries I experienced during the past six weeks. There were so many self-revelations that at times I feared I was not hearing the others in the room. My thought was often, "How dare I feel hurt? What people of color experience is far worse, far more persistent, far more pervasive than my experience!" And that's true. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel hurt or that my pain is not also valid.
Also, my pain can be used. Perhaps that is the most constructive lesson from the dialogue. When I am talking with a white person about racism in America, it is not always effective to share the experiences of people of color. Sometimes, it is more effective to say "This hurts ME and here's why." Keeping it real, making the pain accessible to the person with whom I'm speaking, can open doors to honest discussion wherein the person I'm trying to reach feels safe talking about her pain and her fears regarding people of color. Once that intimacy has begun, the potential for change increases infinitely.
Thank you, Dick, for being a support to me. You are my first official white ally. What an unexpected blessing!
Upon re-reading this (which I almost always do before clicking on send), I find that I would like to share my discoveries with others. Don't be surprised if you find this, or a slightly revised version, on Facebook as a note.
Peace and love,
Dana
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