For the first 21 years of my life, I lived in New Mexico near the border of Mexico, in a predominantly-Mexican area. Most of my friends and people around me looked like me (with some variation of light to dark brown skin, my own skin being on the lighter side) and had the same culture as I did. I had one White parent and one Mexican parent, so although I struggled with identity issues of not being ‘White enough” or Mexican enough, I could wear my race (whichever side of me was convenient in the moment) proudly, feeling accepted.
I moved to California for grad school, and got a job at my university. While working one day, a White woman (she wasn’t a student, just someone who lived nearby and had wandered into our computer lab) had broken a few minor rules, and I gently let her know. She left angrily, but returned minutes later in a full-fledged rage, screaming racial slurs about the “dirty Mexican” who had mistreated her. Security and the police were called, and the woman had to be handcuffed and hauled away, all the while screaming to seek vengeance on me personally, and on the school for employing Mexicans.
It was the first time I had experienced such overt racism, but that’s not the reason I’m telling this story. Of course it’s important for everyone to be able to share our unique stories of racial injustice, as we all have a story worthy of being heard; however, at this boiling point in our nation’s history, I believe that now is the time for Black voices — who have historically been silenced — to be heard. Even though I have experienced racism, I have never experienced racism on the level that Black people do (and I’m not talking about slavery or Jim Crow or anything in the past, I’m talking about what they CURRENTLY STILL EXPERIENCE). If it isn’t yet clear what I’m referring to, here are some resources with various media (books, blogs, podcasts, Instagram, Twitter, etc).
The reason I’m telling that story is because it made me realize my White-passing privilege, and how much I subconsciously clung to it. White-passing means that even though I am not just White (I’m half White, and half Mexican, with ¼ of that being Native American), I can ‘pass’ for White in a world wherein White is the dominant and preferred race.
So when this racist woman verbally attacked me at my university, what surprised me most was that I felt like I’d been found out. Like this racist woman had unzipped my White-skinned costume to reveal my vulnerable, brown skin underneath. After news of the event spread, other university employees I’d never before met took it upon themselves to address the experience and try to make me feel better. One by one, they filed into my cubicle, saying variations of, “I just want you to know that I’ve always appreciated you, and I hope you feel welcome here.” I never felt less welcome. My brown skin was on display, and it was suddenly the topic of conversation. I realized in that moment that I’d been relying on being White-passing, and once that bubble burst, I felt raw and vulnerable to attack. Like the small amount of melanin in my skin, it was an infinitesimal amount of fear compared to the fear that Black people experience regularly. I’m not Black, so I won’t speak as if I know their experience, but I’ve listened. I’ve listened, I’ve become aware of my own privilege, and it’s time to speak up.
Robin DiAngelo, in her book White Fragility, writes, “White progressives cause the most daily damage to people of color” defining a progressive White person as someone who believes he or she is not racist or is less racist.
These progressive White people can be the most harmful in perpetuating racism because they think they’re done doing their work. They think they get it, that they’re the choir to whom anti-racist people are preaching, and instead of searching themselves for micro-aggressions they unintentionally commit, they use their already-uplifted voices to showcase how ‘woke’ they are.
I can definitely be one of these progressive White people. I remember the moment I epitomized this idea: I was attending a week-long training held by Dr. Joy DeGruy, educator and author of Post-Traumatic Slave Syndrome, attended by mostly Black women, and about five White people. It was the final day, and we were passing the microphone to share what we’d learned or experienced during the intense and emotional week. Though I’m usually shy to share in groups, I felt compelled to grab the microphone, a feeling that seemed to be coming more from ego than from heart. When I examined this feeling, I realized I’d been waiting all week to have my moment to prove to this room full of Black people that I was an ally — I was one of the ‘good guys’ who was there to help them. As soon as I realized this, I felt disgusting. Here I was, a week into hearing a brutal history of how Black pain and trauma had been continuously erased, perpetuated, and put down, and all I wanted was to take the spotlight, exonerate myself from my White guilt, and receive a pat on the back for my ‘woke-ness’.
I could almost hear the bubble bursting around me — I could no longer live in my bubble of “I’m not racist; I have Black friends, I date Black guys, I even call out racist people.” That’s not enough. That’s not even near enough. I have to look at my actions to reveal the ways I unintentionally perpetuate a narrative that White people or the White experience is superior or preferable. Even if it’s unintentional.
***Important note on intention:
If I unintentionally crashed my car into another car, I would take accountability for the impact even though I didn’t intend to hit them. Taking accountability is not the same as accepting blame.
Taking accountability is not the same as accepting blame (for more on blame vs. accountability, check out this short video of Brené Brown). If you say something that unintentionally hurts someone, taking accountability for it doesn’t mean that you’re taking blame for having knowingly done something wrong. It doesn’t mean you’re racist; it means that the racist world we live in seeped into you. This is the difference between people who choose to be racist, and people who unintentionally perpetuate racism.
We all live in world with a dominant culture of White supremacy. Even if I don’t personally agree with it, I’m bombarded by messages of White superiority, and it’s inevitable that these messages seep in and back out.
So, what can we do?
We must start by looking at our implicit bias — by cleaning up our side of the street. By acknowledging when we’ve unintentionally made mistakes, and work to prevent future mistakes. While listening to voices in the #BlackLivesMatter movement, one thing I hear that’s often misunderstood is that they’re not expecting anyone to be perfect. I keep seeing White people saying they’re feeling attacked for not saying things perfectly. But no one expects you to be perfect — what is expected of you is to be able to admit when you’ve unintentionally made a mistake. If you — a woke White person — say something about race, and you unintentionally say something that shows your socialized racism seeping out, and someone points it out to you, there’s no need to throw up your hands and say “It’s never good enough for you!” Instead, take a breath, forgive yourself for being a human who is permeable to the socialized racism in our world, and acknowledge that you made a mistake, and will make a solid effort not to make the same mistake again. That’s it! That’s all anyone is asking of you. This is all we can ask of each other. But we must ask this of each other. Having discussions and introspection about racism is painful and uncomfortable. But we must. And if someone (ESPECIALLY A BIPOC - Black, Indigenous, & People of Color) points out something in you, please take a second and let it sink in before defensively rejecting it.
Time to practice what I’m preaching. Before I share this story of a mistake I made, I want to acknowledge my own discomfort with discussing racism:
Should I even be sharing an opinion on this at all or should I just elevate BIPOC voices?
White and white-passing people need to speak up, but how do I speak up without speaking for others?
How do I stay in my lane and speak from my personal experience without making it about myself?
Am I saying this exactly right or am I going to be attacked for saying something I didn’t realize was wrong?
Am I saying something wrong and I’m still so ingrained in the dominant culture of White supremacy that I don’t see it?
I can’t say it enough: these are hard conversations to have. One of the worst things I can imagine being called is racist. I’m terrified to accidentally say something that makes me appear racist.
But, avoiding conversations and introspection about race is a privilege that BIPOC don’t have, so what makes us deserve it?
When I started grad school, I attended a gathering at a student’s house. As people were filtering in, I was nervously making small talk with a group of women, one of whom was Black. As women often do, we were making self-denigrating jokes about our appearances to shirk compliments others gave us (why women do this is a topic for another blog), and I said I was so lazy, I hadn’t washed my hair in almost a week. The woman who was Black said, “I only wash my hair once a week.” I said something flippant and dismissive like, “Well yeah, but we have very different hair and very different hair care routines.” I felt immediately like I’d said something offensive, but didn’t have the awareness in the moment to understand it. Later, it sunk in: My statement was excluding her experience as part of the norm. I spoke as if anyone who only washed her hair once a week would be lazy, and by stating this norm, I was excluding the experience of many Black women; in other words, I was othering her and all Black people. I was reinforcing the narrative that the White experience is the norm, and her experience was other.
She — and all Black women — were inherently excluded from my statement. Erased. Forced to point this out to me, using energy and time that she shouldn’t have had to in order to educate me — a White person — to include Black people ESPECIALLY WHEN ONE WAS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. I erased someone who was literally standing right in front of me.
What should I have done instead? I could’ve phrased it better initially, “I never go this long without washing my hair; I feel so lazy,” which would’ve made it just about my own experience. Or, since no one is expected to be perfect, I could’ve just acknowledged and corrected my mistake when it was pointed out to me by saying, "Right, it's common for Black women only to wash their hair once a week. I shouldn't have made it sound like anyone who doesn't wash their hair more than that is lazy." Just a simple statement of recognition that my experience - the White experience - isn't the only valid experience. (NB: I apologized to this woman, she’s now a friend of mine, and she gave me permission to include the story in this blog).
In her TED talk on overcoming biases, Verna Myers, implores us to have the uncomfortable talks, especially with ourselves: to acknowledge the biases deeply ingrained in us as a result of living in modern-day society. Myers gave an example of how, despite being an activist and diversity advocate, bias creeps into her life. Myers admits that while on a plane, she was at first overjoyed to hear the voice of a female pilot. Once there was turbulence, however, the thought ran through her mind, I hope she can drive. Myers says she, clearly a woman herself, didn’t even know that particular bias existed in her until the thought ran through her mind.
As Myers asserts, we overcome our biases by walking boldly toward them.
People all over the world are marching for their lives. Let’s take these steps in solidarity, and walk boldly towards our biases, facing them and eradicating them once and for all.
PS: To my fellow California therapists, if you’re ambivalent about bringing up race for fear of being too ‘political', please read CAMFT’s press release: “‘…mental health professionals should directly address racial trauma in the clinical hour.’ When a clinician opens conversations about race, socialized injustice, and violence, it provides opportunities to validate the experiences and feelings of clients of color, where they can process their grief and trauma.” says Katie Vernoy, LMFT, President of CAMFT.”