I have been, like many Americans, captivated and troubled by
the murder of Freddie Gray and the events taking place in Baltimore. For me, the events taking place even now has
caused a great deal of personal reflection for me. Mainly, I’ve become transfixed on one
question in particular: what’s the problem with white people? I guess this all started about two weeks ago,
when I weighed in on the riots happening in Baltimore. After expressing my opinion, I was called an
ignorant racist by someone I didn’t know, an assessment with which a friend of
mine tacitly agreed. My initial response
was anger, which lasted for a few days.
I was angry for a number of reasons.
Firstly, I’m an angry person in general so it’s easy for me to get hung
up on that emotion. Secondly, I disliked
being called a racist. I felt it was
unwarranted. After all, I would like to
think I’m a fairly enlightened individual and I’ve devoted a great deal of
intellectual energy attempting to understand issues of racial justice and
social equality. However, after I
confronted my anger inwardly, I interrogated the feeling and realized I felt
both a deep sense of sadness and guilt.
I became reflective.
I
realized that the problem was that, to an extent, I am an ignorant racist. By
weighing in prematurely, I had joined the crowd of my fellow white
moderates/liberals: I did not understand the riots. They seemed completely irrational and
counterproductive to me. My ignorance is
a source of frustration and anger for me.
I don’t like being unable to understand things. Now, I wasn’t one going around using rather
harsh and despicable terminology like “animals” or “thugs” to describe the
rioters, but I did fail to grasp why some people were angry enough to destroy
their own neighborhoods. I understand
anger and violence as a response, but why not trash a cop car or a police
station? Can’t we have peace?
Like
many white people, I associate peace with order. I am a republican at heart (and no, I don’t
mean the political party). The republic,
while representative of the people, also limits the power of the people as
well. No matter how expansive and
democratic the republic becomes, it is still about a handful of individuals
elected to represent all the people. In
fact, a republic is designed so that the masses have as little power as
possible. Order is cherished in a civil
government. Order is peace; Pax Americana. Unfortunately, a republic is like any
government in that it is susceptible to and reflective of the prejudices of its
leaders and its people. It cherishes its
own preservation as the final good, even over notions of justice, fairness, and
equality.
I
reflect this firm belief. I believe in
order. I believe in the system. I could not understand the plight of my black
brothers and sisters because I am ignorant.
I am prejudiced. My lack of
comprehension at the seeming illogic of Baltimore’s citizens reflected this
prejudice and ignorance. I forgot that
what has been afforded to me and my ancestors by right based on the color of my
skin was not something guaranteed to other ethnicities in my country. I forgot that the only reason black Americans
were here in the first place was because of the holocaust known as the slave
trade, and the dehumanizing practice of chattel slavery. I forgot over a hundred years of oppression,
segregation, and disenfranchisement. My
personal amnesia was sadly reflective of the attitudes of many white people at
this time, even educated white liberals such as myself. I don’t think I was “blaming the victim,”
but I came damn near close to it.
I have
turned that phrase over in my mind a few times: “blaming the victim.” I reflected on the events in Baltimore from
the perspective of it as a white problem.
That is, why did I, and many white people, respond in the same way? I suspect that when one blames the victim, it
comes from an unconscious feeling of shame, guilt, and/or helplessness that is
projected as anger upon the victim. I
don’t know how to help you, or I feel guilty for doing this to you, so I will
use anger to cover my feelings of impotence and regret. Perhaps, in the collective unconscious of
white people, there is a deep and abiding sense of shame. We felt shame deep down, so we lashed out in
anger. Now, that is a compassionate and
optimistic take on the white problem. I
think shame accompanies a deep, acculturated sense of ignorance. In my experience, ignorance is often the
perfect complement and fuel for anger.
Hence, white people, ignorant of the plight of black people, regretful
of our rather lousy history of abuse towards minorities, were faced with a
challenged to our deep-seated and acculturated sense of order. Order was threatened, thus peace was
threatened.
I think
that shame, ignorance, and this sense of order are the collective struggle of
white people. There is much to be
ashamed for at this point. Apart from
self-avowed racist and prejudiced white people (of which there are quite a few,
so when I say white people perhaps I should just say white moderates and
liberals), I wonder if “blaming the victim” is the shame response of white
people. Sadly, the shame partners with a
long, acculturated sense of superiority.
Something is wrong with black people.
They just don’t get it. The truth
is, we don’t get them. The shame mingles
with a sense of order and superiority to forge a willful ignorance- a desire
not to know, to not understand, to deliberately misinterpret.
White
people are acculturated to accept homogeneity.
Our republican attitudes have certainly contributed to this, as well has
the deliberate segregation of whites and blacks over the decades. In fact, homogeneity is a startling aspect of
racism. The familiar, cloying sense of
sameness coupled with an inculcated sense of superiority led to the creation of
white suburbia. (If you don’t believe
that, read up on city and suburban planning in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s; it will
blow your mind.) Sameness is a
virtue. Even when we espouse equality,
we do it in the banner of sameness. We
will accept you, if you can look and act and think and speak like us.
Now, in
defense of white people, accepting the other is a universal problem for all
humans. Everybody struggles with
diversity. We all have prejudice and we
all discriminate. The problem for white
people is power; we have it, the other does not. It is hard to accept people who look, act,
think, speak, and dress differently from you, and when you have the power to
deny that struggle, you take full advantage of it. The question for white people becomes, how do
we relinquish that power? How do we
learn to accept and welcome the other, instead of attempting to force
assimilation, conformity, or set a standard that must be met in order to
recognize one’s humanity? (Shocker: there
is no standard necessary for the recognition of another’s humanity!)
Regretfully,
I don’t have any good answers to these questions. As a white person, it’s hard sometimes to
even be aware of my privilege and the fact that I have all this power. I don’t really worry about being manhandled
by cops. I don’t have to worry I’ll be
pulled over for driving while white. I
don’t have to worry about whether or not I will get a job based on the color of
my skin or the way I speak. I don’t have
to worry about being bombarded by racial epithets as I walk down the
street. I don’t have to hear songs concocted
by rowdy frat boys about white people being hung from trees.
That is the pernicious power of privilege as manifested in the racism
still prevalent in our society today. I
doubt there is any white person who walks around fully aware and apologetic of
their privilege.
For me,
I think the beginning of resolving these problems is the admission of my own
ignorance. I am working hard to
recognize my own prejudice. I am working
hard to acknowledge my own privilege. I
am working hard to revise my own history.
I desire to invite members of different races in order to reshape the
narrative of white history. To fellow
white people, welcoming the voices of other races to reshape your narrative is
the riskiest part. It invites all these
feelings to rise to the surface- shame, guilt, anger, sadness, remorse,
enlightenment. However, I believe that
we should take these steps not so that we can feel bad about ourselves and
flagellate ourselves, but so that we can be liberated from our collective
shame, ignorance, and guilt. We must
understand so that we can have reconciliation: a true future, a real republic,
an enduring acceptance of humanity’s unique diversity. We must be willing to risk an education. We must be willing to risk allowing black
people to educate us on the black experience in America, which sucks. This is risky because we may feel the desire
to grow, and personal growth sucks. It
is a difficult and often unceasing process.
As I
continue to watch the events unfold in Baltimore, I hope for our education as a
race to begin soon. Sadly, if the
process is ever complete, I believe it will take hundreds of years in order to
reach its completion. Ignorance is not
the problem; willful ignorance is the problem.
Lack of comprehension is understandable, but desiring to lack comprehension
is not. Lack of affinity is not the
problem, but a refusal to reach it is. A
lack of compassion is not the problem, but a desire to be resentful of
compassion is. As I close, I must
confess that I do not understand the black experience of America. However, I confess a desire to understand
it. I desire to be liberated from my
ignorance, remorse, and most importantly my privilege. I don’t understand their place in this world,
but I firmly recognize that they do have a place in it, and that place is equal
to my own. I hope that I can continue to
shed my willful ignorance and desire for order so that we can have real
reconciliation, true peace, and equal justice for all in our society. All I can say is that I hope I can change,
even though change is painful and difficult.
