This past weekend I was staying at my BF's friend's house with my BF. We had just finished making and eating dinner together, and were in post-dinner conversation mode. My BF and his friend, A, started talking about their shared hobby which I had little to say on so I excused myself from the conversation so I could write a long overdue email to my friend. After my email, I was checking a few of my favorite blogs, reading a few posts-- letting them geek out together without the guilt of boring the third party.
Earlier in the evening, A, my BF, and I were discussing health insurance considering c-sections and domestic violence pre-existing conditions. My BF and I have conversations about the feminist, anti-racist, etc. posts, articles, books we each read ALL the time. I felt I was in a "safe space" to discuss my personal beliefs.
I was on Sociological Images reading this post on racist mascots. By this point, A's BF, B, her brother as well as her roommate and his GF had come home and were congregating in the kitchen too. Incidentally, a day or so ago, my BF and I had been talking about the lawsuit between Native American groups and the Washington Redskin's so I turned to show the post to my BF. The others read it too.
Afterward, there was a brief non-offensive, if somewhat tinged with white guilt discussion of how difficult it can be to know the "right" labels for people. One person wants to be called Black, another African-American. It can be difficult to know how not to cause offense. B took this as an opportunity to relay an anecdote from his high school days:
One night, B got a phone call from one of his friends. This friend said to B, "Do you know what an apple an a Black person have in common?" The friend delivered the so-called punchline then hung up. B called the friend back and said, "Dude, you do know you're Black? You do know what you just said is all kinds of wrong." He concluded his story by mumbling something about finding "the joke" wrong, but "a little funny."
This anecdote brought the conversation in the room to a screeching halt. There was dead silence for several seconds before the subject was just changed.
In the moment, I felt shocked, a little betrayed and disappointed by the mass silence, but mostly angry-- a little at myself for not being on-guard for white racism and feeling I was in a safe space, more at the white people, including a little at my BF, in the room. I felt very much as if I were in the type of situation described by Melissa at Shakesville; I could either swallow shit or ruin the entire evening for everyone. I didn't think I was capable of saying anything in response that wasn't angry, and I didn't want to offend my host, A, who has let my BF and I stay with her on many occasions, by being angry with her BF. Plus, as the only POC in the room, I felt outnumbered and as if anything I said, if I could manage to be less angry or not, would be misunderstood by people who have not had my experiences and did not share my awareness. They just wouldn't "get it."
Before bed that night, I spoke to my BF about the incident. I was still angry. I had been reading an anthology of essays on interracial friendships, Some of My Best Friends: Writings on Interracial Friendships, for the past week and sharing with him essays which I thought were particularly good about describing the difficulties of these friendships. A theme that runs across many of the essays is that it is difficult for POC to form close friendships with white people because of racism and white denial; often, as Sandra Guzman describes it in "Gringo Reservations," these friendships are hasta la puerta friendships or friends up to the doorstep. This person is your friend, but only up to a point, a point removed from your heart and the deeper you.
During our pre-bed conversation, I held up that night's incident as a great example of why POC generally find this to be a true experience. It wasn't only a potential friendship with B that was damaged in that moment, but also a growing friendship with A and a possible friendship with A's roommate and his GF. I came to the vague conclusion that they don't "have my back" and that they don't "get it." They aren't horrid people I need to drop right now, but neither are they people I feel I "click with" and should work to develop close relations. I don't want to be put in that hurtful position again.
The next day I had cooled down and had time to reflect on the meaning of my silence. I defend my right not to be an educator of ignorance at every turn especially during off the clock times like that night, but I'm also not a hypocrite, and if I was disappointed in others with their silence then I was going to be disappointed in myself too. My silence supported the status quo. My silence, in concordance with the group's silence, said, "We do not talk about racism."
There is a possibility, which my BF pointed out, that B told his story as a way to tell "the joke." Perhaps he expected us to share his horrified laughter? Yet, I had a different question about B's intentions, a nearly impossible thing to know particularly after the fact. What if B, in a very awkward and indelicate manner, was trying to process a moment in his past in which he was confronted with his racism and his friend's internalized sense of self-hatred? What if he was searching for a learning moment? As a teacher, it pains me to think I let a teachable moment pass... even if I didn't want to take on the mantle of teacher in the moment. More importantly, I realized my silence supported the status quo of a socially segregated lifestyle. No one seized the opportunity to "have my back," but neither did I risk giving anyone the opportunity to "have my back" and show they at least had the ability, the desire to "get it."
Including my BF, I currently have only two close white friends, both Jewish. I have white family members, was raised, have lived and worked in majority white contexts; yet, time and time again, my most lasting friendships have been with other POC of a variety of backgrounds. Now, there have been friendships/relationships with white persons which have never progressed or been broken off not so much because their lack of color as their lack of character, but the pattern of racism affecting my social life in a largely unacknowledged way still stands as truth. I think, now in a different way, situations such as the one I described are key to understanding the reasons for this typical social experience.
There is a choice to take a risk and let someone in that we all make, regardless of race, with our best and closest friends. We make this choice once then we make it over and over after the initial moment, reviewing the wisdom of letting this person pass our door into our inner circle as the friendship develops and s/he either proves or doesn't prove worth the work of a lasting friendship. Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum speaks, in Can We Talk About Race?, about the choice she made, which she is almost certain saved the premature derailment of her decades long friendship with a white woman, to trust her friend to "get it" or at least desire to "get it" after she made a comment that offended Dr. Tatum. I personally am reminded of a moment early in our relationship--after we had built some intimacy and trust, but before these feelings had been truly tested between us--when I made the choice not to trust my BF to "get it."
We were discussing a feminist issue when he said something, can't even clearly remember at this point in time, on the bingo card about "the tone" of a post or how "patriarchy hurts men too." He's usually very good about these issues, having been raised by an active Feminist, so I got angry and pretty much withdrew to do a little reviewing of my perhaps misplaced trust. He doesn't "get it," I thought. He noticed my withdrawal and after giving me and himself an hour or so to reflect/cool off, he prodded me to explain my anger and listened to me as I tried to help him "get it." This was the beginning of an excellent, affirming, if at times tough dialog (meaning I'm not the sole teacher here) that we maintain to this day with each other.
It would've been simpler to write each other off, even if that lead to a less satisfying and perhaps less solid relationship. The choice to reveal vulnerability, to have someone I like, even love, outright reject me (rather than settling for the silent, ambiguous rejection) is incredibly difficult. However, if I hope to challenge the status quo and work for social justice, I need to do it on a personal level. I need to take a personal risk and give people the chance to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, but come back from it by proving they want to learn to say/do the right thing next time. It may be hard to open the door and risk having it slammed in my face, but it's better than making false assumptions and cutting people off from their potential.
0 TrackBacks
Listed below are links to blogs that reference this entry: Can We Talk about Race?: the Barrier to Interracial Friendships and Relationships.
TrackBack URL for this entry: http://www.feministing.com/cgi-bin/movabletype/mt-tb.fcgi/16113
Two quick observations:
1. That was a really excellent piece, and if posts had "like" options, you'd be getting a +1 from me.
2. You and your boyfriend knows B firsthand and I don't, so my view on this could be in an entirely different hemisphere, but: his anecdote struck me as somewhat of a failed "can I have a cookie" attempt. That is, he tried a little *too* hard to prove that he isn't a racist, going to the extent of the white liberal bingo card square about laughing at racist jokes if POC tell them about themselves. You know, the whole "I'm Entitled To, Because I'm Not Racist" trope.
Feel free to link me to a 101-type blog or something if this is a really dumb question or a derail... but...
What are white people supposed to do when POC repeat "racist" jokes about their own group? Obviously they shouldn't repeat them for cookie credit, but in the moment... what's the appropriate response?
Occasionally in the company of close friends I'll tell jokes about Jewish folks that would be hurtful if I heard them from a non-Jewish person, but which are kind of funny within a certain circle (as in, "when being upset about the prejudice we face all the time gets exhausting, let's laugh at the ridiculous jokes that these people come up with to put us down"). I don't see why non-Jewish folks shouldn't laugh if they're "in on the joke" so to speak... though I certainly wouldn't pat them on the head for it, I don't see what's wrong with laughing along in certain contexts...
I agree laughter is crucial to friendships/relationships. Being "in on the joke" is a form of intimacy and a display of trust. I also agree that humor is a useful tool to breaking down harmful ideas about people. One of my favorite YouTube pick-me-ups is Harry Enfield's "Women Know Your Limits." However, as you intimated in your comment, there is a fine line that everyone must be careful not to cross between ridiculing a concept and ridiculing a person/people. This line is indeed all about context.
I too make jokes that would be hurtful/inappropriate, in other words not jokes, in other contexts with my close friends and family. For instance, my Dad moved to the U.S. when he was only eighteen with little knowledge of English and has a thick accent over thirty years later. I occasionally poke at his accent, just like I occasionally poke at his love of golf and he pokes at me for being skinny. Between us, these are expressions of closeness. However, a friend of mine, who recently broke up with her verbally and emotionally abusive ex-BF, also moved to the U.S. at eighteen and has an accent. Her ex would often ridicule her for her accent, even during the course of fights, and claim it was a "just a joke" when she was hurt by his words. This is essentially the same action, but in the latter context it's not a joke because she said it wasn't a joke.
What is a person to do if a person makes a so-called (not an actual) joke about race or other touchy topics? I stand by the main point of my post; don't be silent. If it's in your power (and it's not always), ask the person, "Why did you make that joke?" "What is funny about X (in the aforementioned case the subject was lynching/racial violence)?" Say, "I like joking around with you, but I really don't think X is a funny topic. Do you disagree with me?" Try to be open to a dialog by asking questions.
If the person gets angry or otherwise shuts you down, then there's nothing you can do about a person's willful ignorance; walk away. However, you will know you disrupted the silence around these topics and that in itself is important work.
Lots of great food for thought, thanks. I don't have any comment other than the fact that I'm going to be mentally chewing on this for a while and thinking about my own friendships. But I appreciate your taking the time to put it out there.
I hate to say it this way, but sometimes better a sanctimonious ally than a genuine racist. A sanctimonious ally is at least on the right side. And they can be taught much more easily.
I suppose it would be easy to be cynical here. One of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes is that "true friends stab you from the front".
Race can be such a heated topic that it really comes down to tone and moderation. In my own life, I have seen well-intentioned discussions on race end up with both parties screaming at each other, culminating with a tremendous amount of bad blood and hardened hearts as a result.
In a spirit of full disclosure, I myself find that I am often reluctant to make African-American friends, but my reservations are predicated on the fact that cultural differences often create unintended and unforeseen friction. Perhaps I'm a bit gun-shy. Perhaps I'm overcompensating. Perhaps I've seen what happens when racial discussions get really nasty. That is at least my rationalization. This is same reason I have resisted having a romantic relationship with a black female. There have been times in my life where doing so was an option in front of me but I have opted not to pursue it every time.
I acknowledge and own the fact that this is my own issue and I'm working on it, but it's not easy.
There is no denying that discussing/dealing with race, politics, faith, etc. can get heated and misunderstandings particularly in regards to tone (an incredibly subjective measure often cited as a reason to silence people) and choice of words are easy to fall into despite the best intentions. This happens about every few months between my BF and myself. (This would be the tough part of our dialog.) I wouldn't claim that these topics don't require a lot of courage to be honest and therefore open to being burned by your own and others' unexamined prejudices. The fact of the matter though is that you're still burned by these differences.
The difference between not engaging in talking about these touchy topics, even if we or others "get it wrong," and talking about these subjects is you and I have settled for being stabbed in the back by the subtle racism we've encountered rather than stabbed in the front by willful ignorance. The fact that we're, in your words, "gun-shy" and have "reservations" about the "unforeseen and unintended friction" caused by friendships/relationships with people culturally different than us has effected our lives no less than if we displayed the courage to be consistently open about these problems. The question is, "Do we prefer to maintain the silence or work for social change?"
As to bad blood, I have found people who are truly concerned with building or maintaining a genuine friendship with you are very receptive to an apology followed by a willingness to listen to him/her and to explain yourself. Again, this requires the courage to swallow your pride, the courage to listen, the courage to be honest, which is absolutely not easy, but genuine connection is worth it.
I hate to say it this way, but sometimes better a sanctimonious ally than a genuine racist. A sanctimonious ally is at least on the right side. And they can be taught much more easily.
I suppose it would be easy to be cynical here. One of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes is that "true friends stab you from the front".
Race can be such a heated topic that it really comes down to tone and moderation. In my own life, I have seen well-intentioned discussions on race end up with both parties screaming at each other, culminating with a tremendous amount of bad blood and hardened hearts as a result.
In a spirit of full disclosure, I myself find that I am often reluctant to make African-American friends, but my reservations are predicated on the fact that cultural differences often create unintended and unforeseen friction. Perhaps I'm a bit gun-shy. Perhaps I'm overcompensating. Perhaps I've seen what happens when racial discussions get really nasty. That is at least my rationalization. This is same reason I have resisted having a romantic relationship with a black female. There have been times in my life where doing so was an option in front of me but I have opted not to pursue it every time.
I acknowledge and own the fact that this is my own issue and I'm working on it, but it's not easy.