Registration

In an odd confluence of circumstances, it just so happened that I read Chapter 1 of Rev. Thandeka's book Learning to Be White this week, and also registered my son for Kindergarten.

Why is this odd?

Rev. Thandeka's chapter discusses, among other things, her experiences with and theories about the concept of "white shame." According to the author, it simply isn't possible to not be racist if one has grown up in a racist society. At some point, the argument goes, each person will be brought face-to-face with a situation in which they are "racialized," a process that varies from individual to individual but can be a traumatic experience for those who seem to sense that something is not quite right about The Way Things Are.

For the uninitiated, Kindergarten registration is an interesting process of one, proving that you are who you say you are (both for the parent and the child), and two, filing out a registration form that includes a section that asks for the student's "personal information." Pretty standard, really, until I got down to the part where I was presented with check-boxes and asked to categorize my son by both "Ethnicity" and "Race."

"Ethnicity" in this context represented two choices: "No, not Hispanic/Latino" or "Yes, Hispanic/Latino."

Under "Race," there were five options: "American Indian or Alaskan Native," "Asian," "Black or African American," "Native American or other Pacific Islander," and "White."

Now, I've seen the kinds of check-boxes all my life, probably starting with my own entrance into public school. But this time they rose up from the page with such insidiousness that I was startled.

My first reaction was avoidance. I just wouldn't check any boxes.

Then I saw the italicized line of text at the top of the section. It read: "The U.S. Department of Education requires all states to collect race and ethnicity information on students and staff." Beside "Ethnicity," it said "Must select one." Beside "Race," "Must select one or more."

Requires. Must. Doesn't seem to leave much room for opting out, does it?

So I decided to bow to convention and check some boxes. But as I lifted my pen, it suddenly got really pear-shaped. My son is not Hispanic/Latino nor white. He is both. His mom is a light-skinned individual with Western European heritage. His dad, born in Argentina, bears the rather darker skin and hair of his mixed Spanish and Middle Eastern ancestry. His dad would be what most consider "Hispanic." So, in a way my son is Hispanic. In another way, he is not.

In the end, I decided that I could choose. I, with my privileged white skin, have the luxury to choose. My son could benefit from my phenotype and easily pass for an olive-skinned "not Hispanic white." Or, I could indicate that he is Hispanic, but still white (in the absence of more descriptive categories), but past experience tells me that the office staff will simply change it after taking one look at me. My privilege follows me around, like a pale shadow, whether I ask it to or not.

Am I making too much out of this? Some would say yes. But I don't think so. Maybe the reason that we are "required" to confine our children to race and ethnic check-boxes is that we aren't making enough out of things like this. The questions are endless. Why would the government need to know this information? Will indicating one race or ethnicity result in my child being treated with prejudice and discrimination? Scholars of Whiteness say yes. Under these circumstances, who does it then benefit to assign races and ethnicities to five-year-old children? Who does it disadvantage?

Perhaps Rev. Thandeka has the answer. She asserts that at one point in her life she believed that "the Euro-American child...is a racial victim of its own white community of parents, caretakers, and peers” (13). I wonder, for a child with claims in multiple race or ethnic communities, does this work the same way?

Color Blind

I think I might be a racist. But I don’t want to be.

Perhaps you will permit me to explain.

Over the past few days, I have had the opportunity to examine my own beliefs and attitudes about and toward race and come to the realization that I, like most other (whites) here in the U.S., have been operating under the “sincere fictions” of color-blind liberalist ideology. I grew up with it. As an individual born at the tail end of the Civil Rights “era,” I have been carefully instructed in the pretense and profound uneasiness propagated by this system. I, like most other (whites) here in the U.S., viewed my all-white neighborhood, schools, friends, even co-workers, and “natural” and “normal” effects of personal choice. I have not thought of my circumstances as racialized, despite the distinct lack of diversity I experienced in my early life.


I have been forced to come face-to-face with the way that I have bought in to color-blind ideology through my reading of Eduardo Bonilla-Silva’s book, Racism without Racists (2003). Via a combination of surveys and personal interviews, Bonilla-Silva’s project focused on “examining how many whites subscribe to an ideology that ultimately helps preserve racial inequality rather than assessing how many hate or love blacks and other minorities” (15). Because I have never subscribed to beliefs that promoted thoughts nor actions of overt racism, I felt relatively secure going in that I would not struggle too much with what Bonilla-Silva had to say. I told myself that, because I try to avoid stereotypes and generalizations about people based on skin color, I wouldn’t find too many similarities between myself and the individual described in the book, those who engaged in discriminatory practices or those contributing to a racist society.

Yeah. So I was dead wrong about that.

Bonilla-Silva says: “Since color-blind racism is the dominant racial ideology, its tentacles have touched us all and thus most readers will subscribe to some—if not most—of its tenets, use its style, and believe many of its racial stories” (15). As you can see from my opening statements, I came to realize just how much I had been affected by this “dominant racial ideology,” and how much I would struggle, as those interviewed did, to explain my personal beliefs while trying to sound “nonracist.” Trying to sound nonracist, not trying to be nonracist. There is a pernicious fallaciousness about that that rankles something awful.

Of course, the rub is that this is something I learned right alongside my alphabet, my mathematics, even my moral and ethical training via formalized religious teachings. Make a good show of it, this ideology whispers. Make sure you don’t say or do anything overtly discriminatory, and everything is just fine. No need to change. Those advantages are available to you because you earned them. Those other folks, they just didn’t work hard enough. Not like you. They could have whatever they want, if only they tried a little harder, got an education, and…what? Buy in to a system that would have them serve as second-class citizens their entire lives? Make it okay to verbally assault someone with racial slurs? Not only formulate but endorse double- or triple-standard business processes that discriminate against people based on their appearance? Refuse to provide quality educations to children who need them most?

So after realization comes the question: what can I do? What can I, one relatively insignificant individual, do, really do? Stop faking it, for one. Bonilla-Silva urges “a personal and political movement away from claiming to be ‘nonracist’ to becoming ‘antiracist.’ Being an antiracist begins with understanding the institutional nature of racial matters and accepting that all actors in a racialized society are affected materially (receive benefits or disadvantages) and ideologically by the racial structure. This stand implies taking responsibility for your unwilling participation in these practices and beginning a new life committed to the goal of achieving real racial equality” (15). Unwilling participation is nice, it gives me some hope that while before I may not have chosen to participate, in an active, all-choices-present-and-equal kind of way, I do have choices now. I am sure that this will not be easy, however; as Bonilla-Silva concludes, “The ride will be rough, but after your eyes have been opened, there is no point in standing still” (15).

Bibliography: Bonilla-Silva, Eduardo. Racism without Racists: Color-Blind Racism and the Persistence of Racial Inequality in the United States. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2003. Print.

Americanness

Just wanted to share a quick though from the fabulous Toni Morrison:

In "American literature...one can see that a real or fabricated Africanist presence was [is!] crucial to their [our] sense of Americanness. And it shows" (Playing in the Dark, p. 6).

A Question of Blackness?

After an intriguing discussion during my last Women's Studies class, I wanted to comment on something that seems very apropos in this space.

According to a January 9 Huffington Post article, "During an episode of "First Take" in December, [Rob] Parker asked his fellow panelists if RG3 [Robert Griffin III] 'was a brother or a cornball brother.' Parker went on to cite aspects of the 22-year-old rookie's personal life and his rumored political leanings as he questioned his authenticity and connection to the African-American community. Griffin had previously spoken with USA Today about race, with those quotes seeming to spark Parker's commentary."

So in my all-female class, we questioned how a professional football player could come under fire for what amounts to "not being black enough." I was mystified by this accusation. Never in my life have I been accused of not being "white enough," or "female enough," or maybe even "mother" or "student" or "employee" enough. I have been accused of not being "Christian" enough, so I guess in a very limited way I can use this experience of religious prejudice to attempt some kind of understanding. In order to belong to any group, in my case a religious order, it is necessary to align one's performance with the expectations of that group. Any deviations from this behavioral code can lead to punitive correctives, accusations, exclusion and, depending upon how invested the rest of the group is in forcing the issue, violence (whether psychological, emotional, social or physical). In the interesting case of Parker, my class members and I talked about how there is this desire to "claim" members for the race, especially successful individuals like pro football players. Thus it is Parker, and not the actual performance or non-performance of RG3, who has first "claimed" the NFL star for his own and then voiced criticism when his perceived performance did not match what Parker considers to be "black."

In my recent readings, this particular phenomenon is brought up a great deal, particularly as it pertains to white supremacy and the way in which (white) invaders, conquerors and other oppressors create an idealized image of native or aboriginal or somehow "othered" peoples, then punish them for not living up to this fantasy of an expectation. Is racism, then, simply a matter of the subjugated living up to the violent expectations of a dominant, oppressive governance? Not sure. Whatever it is, though, it is not simple, in any way.

Political Lingua Franca

Having just finished my first reading of Charles Mills's The Racial Contract, I have a loud collection of unexamined ideas buzzing excitedly between my ears. My initial reaction is one of admiration - I think that Mills has made a compelling argument (or series of arguments, really) that illuminate the pernicious silence surrounding racism and racist ideals, the need to recognize and name it, and more. In his introduction, Mills asserts that "what is needed...is a recognition that racism (or, and I will argue, global white supremacy) is itself a political system, a particular power structure of formal or informal rule, socioeconomic privilege, and norms for the differential distribution of material wealth and opportunities, benefits and burdens, rights and duties" (3). A provocative and dangerous idea, to be sure. That racism has historically (as presently) been willfully erased as part of a national attempt to hide an extraordinarily shameful past I do not doubt; Mills offers up each atrocity with a shocking frankness from which it is impossible to look away.

Yet as always, knowing and doing are two very different things. Once an awareness is raised, once acceptance has begun, things start to get really sticky. Continuing in ignorance, while definitely the more quiet, tranquil route, is no longer a possibility. But Mills does offer up the idea that whites, at least in theory, have a choice. The color of one's skin cannot be helped, any more than I could go back and change the course of events that systematically constructed and then subverted the evils of racism and white supremacist oppressions. Neither skin nor ancestry should ever be used as a weapon against anyone, white or otherwise.  But one could take it upon oneself to reject the Racial Contract, "to speak out and struggle against the terms" (107). Admittedly, I have very little idea of what such a struggle might look like, how it might take shape from my specific positionality. However, I think that Mills is correct that first, it does become necessary to distinguish between whiteness ("phenotype/genealogy") from Whiteness (political commitment to white supremacy") (126). According to Mills, "By unquestioningly 'going along with things,' by accepting all the privileges of whiteness with concomitant complicity in the system of white supremacy, one can be said to have consented to Whiteness" (107). If I take Mills to be correct, then, my compliance, and silence, and passivity and cooperation are potentially the equivalent to complicity in a system against which, at least ideologically, I am vehemently opposed? Stings quite a bit, doesn't it?

Bibliography: Mills, Charles W. The Racial Contract. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997. Print.

Paper Cuts

Microaggressions, often committed by well-intentioned  peers, faculty, and other support people, have been compared to a “million little paper cuts.” These pernicious acts poison our relationships, our communities, and ourselves, and unless/until they are acknowledged, they will never stop.

This blog has been re-purposed and devoted to one individual's search for awareness of the implications of and complicities in multiple oppressions. I don't know where this will lead, or even if this is an exploration I want to make. I don't know what shape discovery will take. But knowing what I know, believing what I believe, what else can I do but leap in faith and flail, eyes wide open, for the hope I hope is there.