A Daily Dose of Racism

A list of the little daily indignities that come from presenting the “right” race in the “right” place at the “right” time

1. A conversation with white, liberal, educated acquaintances took a turn into Conservative Talk Radio Land once the subject of Affirmative Action was breached. All these acquaintances have, in the past, even in the same conversation, complained about the total incompetence of many of their fellow white students, but those complaints never took the extra step of assuming these incompetent students attend school due to unfair advantages conferred upon them by their race.

As soon as race became a factor, all the liberal racism came pouring out, from the disclaimers about how certainly “they” and “those” and “inner city” people have had unfair advantages from the start, how some of them don’t even know how to raise their children, and racism is bad, y’all. I’ve come to consider this the white liberal way of saying “I’m not racist, but,” now that “I’m not racist, but” has become a more identifiably racist phrase. Now it’s “I have a tertiary, surface understanding of and sympathy for the buzzword social issues I generally hypothetically know racism is a part of, but black people sure are stupid.”

I acted out a little. When talking with liberal white racists, the kind who stumble like frightened rabbits over “AfricanAmerican black colored uh personofcolor I mean colorblindcolorblindcolorblind,” but can say quite clearly and without a fear-ridden speech impediment, “Some of these people don’t even know you’re not supposed to hit children,” I like to rephrase things more bluntly. Nine times out of ten, it just makes everybody too uncomfortable to go on. One time out of ten, it triggers a healthier, more honest and genuine discussion, now that the pent-up “is it okay that I say this?” is out of the bag. I said, “Programs like affirmative action are made to make whites feel better about being racist, because look, we threw all this money at the darkies and they’re still stupid drug addicts on welfare. Obviously we can’t do anything to fix these people.”

Unfortunately, this time, neither thing happened. There was just a general nodding of heads and, “Yeah, white racists, they’re bad,” before a segue into, “There’s this not-white kid in my class who is like soooooo dumb and seriously, you’ve got to figure that’s why he’s even there.”

Okay, so this is a racist thing, obviously, but it’s not the point of my post. Neither is affirmative action the point of my post, because I have a sort of complicated opinion about that. My point is, my white acquaintances presumed an awful lot on our shared ethnicity. They presumed that this was a safe social space to express their racist beliefs, and have them reassured as normal (white), rational, and logical (unracist) beliefs. They presumed that I would either agree, not care, or not disagree enough to argue. And they presumed all that because I am white.

That did not feel like a safe social space to me. As I started to disagree, I could feel the undercurrent of uncomfortable hostility begin to grow. When I went quiet, the hostility just grew in me instead. Which is maybe a little like what it’s like to be not-white. I didn’t feel comfortable making what was obviously a passing chit-chat — “Did you hear about the guy who threw his shoes at Bush? Oh, that’s funny. Yeah, the weather’s been bad. No, school’s okay, except black people are stupid. Hey, how’s your mom?” — into a centerpiece of awkward unexamined beliefs that trigger conflicted rage and guilt. That was not the casual evening I envisioned when I went out for a goddamn burger with some folks I knew.

I didn’t feel comfortable doing that because I knew it would have gone a whole lot of nowhere — liberal white racism is oftentimes as bulwark and unassailable as white power racism — and I would have ended up fuming for days, over people whom I have very little emotional investment in. And that also bothered me. These acquaintances are not the most important people in the world to me, not by far. They are nice enough. I was not seeing us becoming closer friends, but I wasn’t set against that happening. Except, now I am. Because that is not a safe social space for me. Because while, if the stars aligned, I may have been happy to put the effort and energy into forming a deeper, friendlier relationship with them, I am not willing to put the effort and energy into explaining to them that racism is bad, and also, by the way, that was some racist bullshit out of your mouth there. I don’t want to explain that any more than I want to explain to somebody that you don’t come into my house and shit on my rug — they’re adults and they should goddamn know.

This is what comes of being the “right” race in a racist society. You are an assumed depository for vile, racist conversations and opinions, and your assumed compatriots operate under the belief that this is not damaging, enraging, difficult, isolating, or painful to hear. I do not feel like an overtly radical person. On the spectrum of anti-racism, I consider myself a tick to the left of moderate. But even that perception is radical, because to get there, I’ve had to move my liberal white friends a whole football field to the right of moderate, into “I’m not racist racist, but I am better, smarter, and more rational than the hypothetical dark masses that exist in my brain” territory. But just by virtue of believing that incompetent black people have the right to be as proportionally represented in higher education as incompetent white people, I am too radical to be friends with most white people I know. Which, being white and only moderately anti-racist, just about everybody in my life are white people I can’t be friends with.

2. Because I majored in African-American Studies, but am a white and presumably non-threatening liberal girl, I am often called upon to fulfill the “Ask a Black Person” role — that is, the “Ask a Black Person Except Don’t Because I Don’t Know Any Black People So Ask This White Person Instead and Never Wonder What Is Wrong With My Society That I Have to Ask These Questions As If Black People Are An Alien Goddamn Species — That Is Too Big a Question And There Is Nobody to Ask.”

Racism never leads to brevity.

Often, I don’t mind this too much. The fact that they ask already indicates that they’re white people I may be more amenable to talking to about race. And if I can help explain something, great, awesome, word. But just as often, the asking gets into uncomfortable territory. It could be that the question is somewhat unanswerable, or unanswerable by me — it doesn’t matter if I emphasize that I only have an understanding of African-American history, somebody might still ask me something like why black people talk like that, or watch comedians that aren’t funny, or perform some blackface stereotype. Or, it could be, and usually is, that the question is just a disclaimer preface to spouting off some racist shit. This isn’t the nature of questions about race, but I do think it’s the nature of white people — any opening for a discussion on the strange non-white creatures who inhabit our world and walk among us is an opening for the racist bile that boils underneath the surface of nice white folk who aren’t supposed to notice color anymore.

Case in point: a conversation of questions that had been going pretty well with a friend of mine went into this muddy territory, when she asked why black people buy things they can’t afford instead of saving their money. This doesn’t come out of complete and utter stereotyping with no basis — this friend is a social worker who has been in a lot of poor homes with a lot of HDTVs. The racism isn’t in noticing the disparity between poverty and debt-creating unnecessary luxuries. The racism comes in attributing this behavior to one race of people, while simultaneously ignoring the identical behavior of other races of people.

This friend, for example, has recently purchased a house she is barely able to afford. In fact, she has had to ask boarders to move in to assist with rent, and is still barely able to pay utilities and mortgage, not to mention groceries, gas, and all the other necessities of living. I’ve often wondered to myself why in the world she bought a house when she did, or bought the house she did, rather than continue to save money for a year or two longer and purchase a house she could afford. Trying not to get too personal about my friend, I can guess at the reason. She had a kid. While the place she lived in before was definitely serviceable for a family, and really extremely optimal for saving money, I think she felt that once she had a family, she needed a home of her own. That feeling overrode the coldly practical, and all in all, that’s fairly normal.

Now, in a hypothetical world where my friend is not white, here’s a list of the questions somebody would ask me about her behavior as a not white person:

1. Why did she get pregnant when she didn’t have the money for a home?

2. Why did she buy a house she couldn’t afford?

3. Why didn’t she stay where she was and save more money?

4. Obviously where she was, childless and saving money, was a smarter place to be. Why did she make such poor decisions about getting pregnant and moving?

My friend isn’t going to have to face those questions, because she’s white. Nor will she have to face questions about the vacation she took with her tax refund, instead of using that money to pay for home repairs or overdue health check-ups for herself. Nor will she have to face questions about why she occasionally buys organic food from fair trade stores, rather than whatever’s on sale at the big box. She will not face questions about running up credit card debt rather than getting a second job. She will not face any of those questions, not because of the intelligence of her decisions, but because of the color of her skin.

A black woman who moved into a home she could not afford because she got pregnant would be subject to all kinds of humiliating questions about why her race does such stupid, irrational, emotional, unpractical things.

Black debt and white debt are very different creatures in the public mind. Black debt sunk into unnecessary luxuries is a matter of great wonder and contempt; white debt sunk into equally unnecessary luxuries (vacations, organic food, homes, cars) is a matter of course. Because, I think, white people feel they deserve and need these things. It’s part of their definition as white. To not have a home, to shop bargain brands at the shitty supermarket, to ride the bus, to have never gone to a foreign country — those are things “ghetto” people do and have. Non-white people. To be a white person without white debt is not that different from being black, with the possible exception that a white person has a better chance of achieving white debt than non-white people do. Even when black people try to achieve white debt, they are steered into black debt, and then derided for their grasping.

This is all on an individual, interpersonal level. Small potatoes. Because if you want to talk illogical, spiraling, unbelievable debt, you want to talk white people. And, let’s go that final step, you want to talk white men. An economic crisis precipitated by extremely poor decisions and massive greed on a corporate scale, when those corporations are run almost exclusively by white people… but nobody is asking me derisive questions about white people’s spending habits.