Trigger warning at the author’s request: This post discusses racism, racist violence, anti-Black racism, anti-Black racist violence, transphobia, and gendered violence at length.
I write this article at an important time in history, but also in my own personal life. I am reeling from the not-guilty verdict in the case of the murder of Trayvon Martin over a week ago. At the same time, I am preparing to defend my Masters’ thesis, on the topic of Black men, employment equity, and racism. And I feel deeply anxious.
I feel this anxiety, not because I don’t know my material (I do, in every fibre of my proud Black being), nor because I’m worried about people who may deny racism and its ongoing negative impacts on Black men; men who are my friends, my family members, members of my community, and maybe one day, my child. Nope. I’m prepared for all of that. My worries are different. I’m worried about well-meaning white folks, who in their effort to lead a social justice conversation as my allies, make missteps that continue to reinforce oppression in racialized communities, and do a disservice to mainstream feminist social justice work, which should surely be intersectional as fuck by now.
These issues are nothing new. Indigenous people know this. Black people know this. All people of colour know this. I remember my rage in my first year of my BSW studies, reading Peggy McIntosh’s “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack,” in which she casually appropriated the collective pain of Black people, and rolled out excruciating examples of our experiences in an itemized list. Her article, largely in bullet-point form, highlights a number of ways in which Black people are treated differently from white people on a daily basis. The beneficiaries of this article are largely white. Peggy herself benefitted from becoming a central voice in anti-racist activism, and still charges $10 for a copy of her article, after doing nothing more than stealing our pain, putting it in her words, and becoming an expert in a struggle that is not her own.
She chose this route rather than working on being an ally by working alongside Black people who have been speaking their own truth forever, thank you very much. White people get to read it without having to feel the pain of racism; they get to see how lucky they are to have such privilege, get to assume that this article is unproblematic and pivotal in their own personal growth, and also feel a sense of self-satisfaction if they haven’t personally entertained all of the racist thoughts and actions listed in the article.
I fail to see how Black people get to benefit from this unpacking of the racist knapsack. Because the article was appropriative. Because it spoke on behalf of us without our permission. Because it highlights painful acts of racism that we have to read. Because it re-centres whiteness. Because it represents so much of the failures of modern white feminism.
It reminds me of a handbook about diversity training I once read that suggested that workshop facilitators name an ethnic group, and invite a classroom full of participants to yell out all of the stereotypes about that group that they could think of, so the facilitator could write them on the chalkboard. In. An. Effort. To. Be. Anti. Racist. Or the article I read years ago, that I have since searched for endlessly, written by an author whose name I regrettably cannot remember, who spoke of Black women at a conference having their microphones unplugged by white women while they were presenting, so that these white women could speak over them. I’m not joking. And I’m certainly not laughing.
I have been assured a multitude of times that mainstream feminism is getting better. That each wave is better than the last. That intersectionality is upon us. That white folks know that “being an ally is a process, not an identity” as @feministgriote said so well on Twitter. (Additionally, please check out this post of hers on “white people fatigue syndrome,” and her whole blog while you’re at it!) I am still waiting for the evidence on this one, the proof that mainstream feminism is becoming a safer space for me as a Black woman. And I am getting pretty damn tired, and increasingly angry. And I am living in that anger, because I can’t think of a more reasonable response to this ongoing failure of many white feminists to be intersectional allies to Black women.
The incomparable Audre Lorde discusses the differences in the lives of Black and white women in Age, Race, Class, and Sex: Women Redefining Difference: “Some problems we share as women, some we do not. You fear your children will grow up to join the patriarchy and testify against you, we fear our children will be dragged from a car and shot down in the street, and you will turn your backs upon the reasons they are dying.” Lorde calls for dedicated work understanding the differences of our experiences, letting Black people speak to their own oppression.
The death of Trayvon Martin and the acquittal of his killer, as well as the deaths of Black folks like Rekia Boyd, and Oscar Grant, and Aiyana Stanley-Jones, and Jordan Davis, and Everett Gant, and Darious Simmons makes this is a Black issue. The imprisonment of CeCe McDonald and of Marissa Alexander, for defending their lives in a system that is built to fail them makes this a Black issue. The statistics from Arlene Eisens’ report “Operation Ghetto Storm,” which was published by the Malcolm X Grassroots Committee, states that at a minimum a Black person in the United States is killed by a police officer, security guard, or vigilante every 28 hours, makes this a Black issue.*
This seems so blatantly clear to me. The grief I feel as a Black person when I think about these injustices is a grief informed by the very blood in my veins, by the history of my family on this continent, by the reality that I face the world every day in a racialized Black body, and the dangers inherent in this reality.
There was no shortage of Black people who had important things to say following the not-guilty verdict. I cannot possibly point readers in enough directions for thoughtful, powerful, insightful, embodied Black responses both on- and offline to this awful injustice and the wave of pain that reverberated through the Black community. A few articles that spoke to my soul include that by Gary Younge, for The Guardian: “Open Season on Black Boys After a Verdict Like This,” which speaks to the precedent this ruling sets for ongoing violence against Black people, and the inevitability of the Zimmerman acquittal in the context of the legal and social justice issues facing Black men in America. Jelani Cobb, in his powerful article for the New Yorker, “George Zimmerman, Not Guilty: Blood on the Leaves,” states that because of what he refers to as “historical profiling,” the outcome of the case was inevitable. He also points out that the whole case was an opportunity to put Trayon Martin on trial and to find him guilty of his own profiling and death.
“Trayvon Martin: From Lament to Rallying Cry,” written for The Nation by Mychal Denzel Smith, calls for a challenge to the laws that allowed Zimmerman to walk, and for everyone to use their particular gifts to fight for justice in this case. This article gave me goosebumps and makes me cry every time I re-read it. Trayvon’s own parents, Sybrina Fulton and Tracy Martin, his brother Jahvaris Fulton, and his extraordinary friend Rachel Jenteal (thank you to @dreamhampton for tweeting so beautifully about how incredible she truly is) spoke on behalf of a pain so deep, with such dignity, such eloquence, and with such truth that it has rocked the nation.
This seemed to be a clear moment for Black people to be the voice of authority on a topic entrenched in our reality, while those who sought to be helpful could support our voices. People of colour offered lots of helpful advice to white folks looking to be allies after the Trayvon Martin ruling. Check out the twitter feeds of @feministgriote and @drjanechi, who both took time out of processing their own feelings about the trial to address white allies and their roles. Franchesca Ramsey, on her blog, offered an open letter to a former Facebook friend who attempted to derail discussions of race related to the trial with a power and resonance I found inspiring.
Even some white folks, (@amydentata, for example) encouraged other white folks working on being allies to stop and listen, not make the acquittal about their feelings, and to be a source of support for Black people speaking to and writing on this tragedy. Still, there was an onslaught of white responses to this acquittal that, while often framed as the writing of allies, in fact reinforced much of the oppression that intersectional analyses of mainstream feminism call out on a regular basis. I felt angry.
Audre Lorde, in The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism (read the whole thing, re-read it, tattoo it to your face), tells us that “Anger is a grief of distortion between peers, and its object is change. But our time is getting shorter.” This anger, my anger, is a call for change. And time is getting shorter. As is my ability to sit and educate patiently. Through this anger I want to address some of the white responses to the Trayvon Martin murder case and ruling. To offer an education in what is problematic in these responses. In order to do better, which is an essential component of all ally work, there also must be an examination of what has not been done well. I offer critiques of the following responses to the Trayvon Martin ruling in the spirit of discussion.
I want to start with a blog post by a Toronto feminist, Steph Guthrie, which, in part due to my own response to her piece, has since been removed. The article, which to my recollection, calls upon white people to reflect upon their own racism (something I think is valid, provided it is not done at the expense of people of colour), includes Steph discussing a manifestation of her own internalized racism that specifically targets Black men. She acknowledges that this fear is rooted in racism. I responded to this article with an anger stemming from the pain of having to read about the specific anti-Black racism of a white person who was attempting to write this article as an ally. My issue is not in examining privilege, rather it is in manner in which it is done. The pain I felt reading this article is personal, similar to the pain I feel every time (more often than I care to think about) that a white friend or acquaintance, in a discussion about racism, admits to me, with some pride about their self-awareness, that they are particularly afraid of Black men. As though perhaps this acknowledgement is an effort in anti-racism, or as if exposing a Black person to one’s anti-Black racism is somehow anti-racist work, rather than another act of racism.
My hands are shaking while I try to write about what it feels like to read the words of someone who claims to be practicing intersectional feminism, but also has no problem publicly admitting to a particular racism that targets my own family, friends, and community. In an effort to support the ongoing work towards justice for Trayvon Martin, no less. My frustrations with this article transcend the article, as they tie into other experiences of racism. However, I do want to speak to some of my major issues with this approach to the topic.
My first critique is that this post, and posts like it, re-centre whiteness. When a person of colour speaks to their own experiences of racism, they are speaking to a collective pain, and speaking truth to power. When a person with white skin privilege gives an anecdote about racism, whether their own or someone else’s, they are exposing more racialized people to this discrimination, and reasserting their own privilege. The narrative is no longer about Black victims of racist crimes and a deeply flawed justice system, it is about white feelings about Black bodies and their experiences. This is not helpful to intersectional practice, as it implies that only by making an oppression about the oppressor can power-holders work towards becoming allies. Secondly, it disregards the feelings of Black people by exposing them to further racism in an effort to work on white privilege. I do not consent to being confronted with racism in the hopes that white folks can maybe start to exorcise their own internalized issues. Allies need to do this work on their own.
Another article that aroused similar feelings of frustrations was “Fear and Consequences: George Zimmerman and the Protection of White Womanhood” written for The Nation by Jessica Valenti (a contributor to this site). This article, which explores the role of white womanhood in the ongoing racist victimization of Black men, also calls on white women to address their own racism in an effort towards equity. This is a valid point, and one that many Black people have spoken to eloquently. The way Jessica’s article is written brings some of the same issues as Steph’s to mind. I am concerned by the re-centering of whiteness in this article, and of the possibility that the well-being of Black people reading this article was not central in its composition. At the beginning of the article Jessica provides an example of terrible anti-Black racism that she was privy to in conversation with another white person. Similar to my critique of Steph’s article, I find myself asking “how is exposing Black people to another racist anecdote constitute anything other than an act of racism?”
I appreciate that I am not exposed to Jessica’s own personal racism, which she acknowledges all white women are taught to internalize. I also appreciate that she included a quote from the Mychal Denzel Smith article in her own. Still, this racist anecdote, as well as her statement that “I’d like to think if I was on that jury I would look at pictures of Trayvon Martin and see him for the child he was. I hope I would” suggests some distancing from other white people who she possibly views as more racist than herself. I don’t believe that when an individual holds power as part of a group over another marginalized group, that despite the hard work they do in an effort to be an ally, they are the ones best situated to quantify to what extent their racism impacts others, or whether or not they would be the better power holder when compared to others in any given situation. I feel that this line of thinking veers into the territory of working as a white saviour rather than an ally.
I want to emphasize that the Trayvon Martin murder trial and aftermath is not about having better white jurors. It is about ending racist laws in a racist system that target Black people in terrible ways. It is about having a jury that includes Black people, rather than excludes them because of their perceived racial biases (as though non-Black people do not carry biases that lead to the death of Black people on a daily basis). It is about living in a country where Black children can go to the store and get some candy and a drink without being profiled, followed, and killed. It is not about the racism that white women would hope to transcend were they appointed to a jury, in which their very appointment would represent the exclusion of Black people. This is not about being the “best” ally. Being the best ally one can be should already be a given at this point. This is about centering and discussing racism, with Black people leading this discussion.
There are other examples of white responses to the acquittal of George Zimmerman for the murder of Trayvon Martin that I will not go into in depth here. Eve Ensler wrote a now-infamous piece, “Boys With Tender Hearts and Big Dreams in Their Hoodies,” which takes the story of Trayvon Martin and likens it to her struggles as a white women, promoting her own organization 1 Billion Rising throughout the article. Or David Sirota, who went so far as to compare Barack Obama’s use of drones to George Zimmerman targeting Trayvon Martin and killing him. This article served to conflate two social justice issues. It misappropriated the specific pain of Trayvon’s family, friends, and the entire Black community to draw attention to a cause that David clearly valued over that of justice for Trayvon Martin.
In the cases of Eve and David, I cannot begin to imagine how to have a discussion that would lead to their being an ally of mine against anti-Black racist violence. However, I have had discussions with Steph about her post, and she has apologized and reflected upon her work. She is aware that I have written about her post in this piece. While what she wrote has damaged our relationship, likely irreparably, something I state with great personal pain, I hope she will go on to do better anti-racist work in future. I feel that there is also an opportunity to discuss with Jessica the issues I found in her article, in an effort to forward the cause of intersectional social justice activism. I invite this dialogue.
In examining Lorde’s The Uses of Anger I find encouragement in her words. “I cannot hide my anger to spare you guilt, nor hurt feelings, nor answering anger; for to do so insults and trivializes all our efforts” (have you read it yet?). I also cannot hide my hurt. Nor my fear that these are discussions that we will still keep having on a daily basis. I would hope if not Eve, and David, that Jessica, and Steph can hear me when I say that I am angry, and that I want this anger to push dialogue about being a white ally in a more positive direction. In the same piece, Lorde writes that “Black women are expected to use our anger only in the service of other people’s salvation or learning.” I am not willing to do this teaching. There are other places to do this work. But I am willing to do some deconstruction. I am willing to have a conversation.
Not as a service to you, but because of your responsibility to me.
There are people whose words in the aftermath of this trial have hurt me so that I cannot move forward alongside them. There are others who, while they have behaved incautiously, have not yet created a rift so large that we cannot, perhaps after acknowledgement and growth, again walk together. There are conversations that perhaps can grow from these thoughts, so long as we engage with an awareness of privilege, and what it truly means to be an ally.
I write from a place of anger, and a place of pain, in the hopes of interrupting the white privilege of those seeking to be allies, so that our communities can continue to seek justice for Trayvon Martin, and Rekia Boyd, and Oscar Grant, and Aiyana Stanley-Jones, and Jordan Davis, and Everett Gant, and Darious Simmons, and CeCe McDonald, and Marissa Alexander, and countless others. Perhaps we can work on moving towards social justice unfettered by the worst of the best intentions of those who could instead become our allies in our anti-racist cause.
Go read Audre Lorde now. Seriously.
* I do not want to minimize the intersectional identities of any of the people whose deaths and imprisonment I have written about in this article. I also do not wish to minimize the oppression of marginalized people from all racialized groups, including Indigenous peoples, upon whose colonized territory these events have occurred. Oppression is not limited to Blackness, nor to racialization. However, these examples are rooted in Blackness, and have happened in the way that they have because of structural oppression that targets Blackness specifically. I stand in opposition to all oppression, and value intersectionality as an essential approach to social justice issues. That being said, I do not want to conflate or confuse that oppression targets specific marginalizations in very specific ways, and in the cases of Trayvon Martin, Rekia Boyd, Oscar Grant, Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Jordan Davis, Everett Gant, Darious Simmons, CeCe McDonald, and Marissa Alexander, Blackness is a pivotal component of their identity and specifically impacted the outcomes of each situation. Further dialogue about the ongoing oppression of trans women of colour and the specific gendered oppression experienced by Black women and men are two components of some of these cases that have generated further nuanced discussion, but are not the focus of this article.
Tags: audre lorde, dangerous allies, feminism, gary younge, good intentions, intersectionality, jessie-lane metz, mychal denzel smith, racism, trayvon martin
Wow this was really interesting. (It feels kind of assholish to say that, because it makes it sound like I regard it as only an intellectual exercise instead of important and perspective-expanding)
I’ve definitely relayed instances of other people’s racism in the past and had not considered that it might be as hurtful for some people to hear it secondhand – that hasn’t been a reaction I’ve ever witnessed or heard of before but it’s something to think about.
People who come in and tell everyone they shouldn’t be talking about whatever it is they’re talking about… the worst.
Thank you, Jessie-Lane! (white lady shutting up now, looking forward to this comment thread)
I’ve never consciously considered it, but I guess I have only relayed instances of racism to white people. What would be the point of relaying it to a poc who already knows? But I do share my own experiences of having racism directed at myself, even though I am technically white (not reverse racism, which doesn’t exist, but white people being racist towards me for looking Hispanic/other). So now I’m not certain: if I have experienced white people being racist towards me, even though I am white, is it a shitty thing to do if I share my experiences? Does that change the conversation too much? I kind of feel like it does, so now I’m going to shut up now.
I think it depends on the conversation and the participants. As an example I’ve relayed a conversation to a black coworker in which another white coworker revealed their prejudices about black people, in part because I feel like that my black coworker should know this person’s true character & thoughts. Do not invite me to Secret White People Meetings; I will take minutes.
To clarify: I only relay those instances to try to get white people to try to get them to understand and acknowledge their own privilege.
Well, I don’t think the article’s author gets a claim on all discourse, so no, I wouldn’t “shut up now” and I think you should feel entitled to communicate, because the above seems so impossibly anti-dialogue among allies as to be almost parodic. Ally-censorship can’t be the answer to improving society and reducing racism, or increasing awareness of embedded privilege.
(here I am talking again, haha) I just meant, “here is my opinion on the article, now I’m ready to stop talking and listen to other people discuss it” because allies can’t just crap on about our own fee-fees on and on ad infinitum – that doesn’t help anyone! And I wouldn’t necessarily call what she’s talking about “ally-censorship” – it felt more like she was saying “here are things that you may not have known were hurtful” and while I haven’t heard that particular perspective re anecdotes of racism, it has given me something to consider about how and with whom I might share these anecdotes in future. it’s especially of interest to me as someone who didn’t grow up in the US and therefore has a quite different background of race relations / surrounding prejudices.
I’d also say that she was harshest to those who are putting their white-centric opinion in the public eye. She doesn’t seem to be trying to keep individuals from sharing experiences with one another, but she is noting that doing so in certain ways is not helpful (even though it might seem so initially) and is in fact being hurtful (which, in general, people who are trying to help with the racism problem would like to avoid).
If I’m understanding her right (and I may not be), she doesn’t seem to have a problem with people trying to understand one another’s experiences. She does have a problem with a) substituting understanding with a sweeping statement that your experience is exactly like my experience, I completely understand everything now and b) making a non-white person’s experience about your experience, e.g. “I, a white person, heard some racist stuff and it made me uncomfortable/angry.”
I’m having a bit of trouble with that second one, because it does make me uncomfortable and angry, but I get why I should not be expressing my discomfort to someone else who is assuredly WAY more uncomfortable/angry than me.
As an analogy, I wouldn’t tell a depressed person that her depression made me sad. Her depression might well make me sad, but she’s the one going through it; I am just the one witnessing it.
I think it’s also the idea that, obviously, you’re allowed to be uncomfortable/angry at racism, no matter what your race, but if you’re white you generally just get to be uncomfortable/angry for a while and leave it at that. I think (I hope) the point is to recognize those personal feelings, and then learn from those to whom the racism is actually directed about what you can do to help.
Yes. That one is much harder, because – much to Jessie-Lane’s point here – there’s a lot written about the topic of “Racism: Not Cool, Guys” and not so much about “28 Practical Things White People Can Do To Help Abolish Racism Without Being Dicks About It.”
I would read the shit out of that article. Slash book. Slash books.
There is actually some good and helpful stuff out there! There’s the (now-defunct, but still up) Stuff White People Do blog: http://stuffwhitepeopledo.blogspot.com/. Crunk Feminist Collective also has tips along those lines: http://www.crunkfeministcollective.com/2012/08/06….
Reading list is getting longer by the minute. Actually, if anyone wants to chime in with books/sites/articles they’d recommend on this topic, I’d be interested.
I wouldn’t compare white supremacy and the effects of experiencing it with a mental illness, myself.
Hi! Interesting post, thanks for reading. I think lots of the comments in this thread were really interesting. I certainly don’t want to ally censor anyone (I’ve actually never heard that term before), but in terms of being an ally, I wanted to add some ideas to the conversation, and critique some of the things that are happening. I feel like there is a lot of dialogue about being an ally, and often still, we centre our own experiences as a way of making sense of being an ally. I feel like the two articles I critiqued here really focus on self as ally, instead of on ally actions. Otherwise I think they would take a different tone, and be focusing on actions going forward or else the words of POC. Hope this provides some clarification.
Thank you so much for this. As a white woman, I see that I have privilege, and I also understand that there are aspects of that privilege that I don’t recognize. I know about black oppression, but there’s so much that I can’t possibly know without hearing about it from the perspective of black people. I know that good intentions only go so far, and so I have for some some time (particularly since Trayvon’s death and the VRA ruling) been wanting to learn more so that I can become a better ally, but I wasn’t sure where to turn. With this piece, you have shown me a clear path. Thank you.
Shouldn’t we all be afraid of white men? They are the ones the system is built to protect, serve, and keep in power. They have the most privilege, and unacknowledged or not, I think they know it. They are terrifying to me, not only can they hurt me, they are most likely to get away with it consequence free, and they know it.
That’s an excellent point.
i mean, kind of? but also, that really erases the fact that white people pick race solidarity over any other axis of solidarity all the damn time. ex: look at the presidential voting breakdown – more white women and white queer people voted by a large margin for romney rather than for obama, meaning that women of color and queers of color mobilized like MOTHERFUCKERS for the headlines to read “women and lgbtq people voted overwhelmingly for obama.” whether someone has the “most privilege” is kind of irrelevant, except in terms of whom it is the most fun to ruthlessly mock with gifs on tumblr
This is an excellent point. The racial breakdowns of the last election are really astounding, and belie the idea that there is any sort of broad progressive coalition among women.
can you link to the exit poll data showing that white lbgt voters voted for Romney more than Obama? I can’t find that in the exit poll breakout I’m looking at, but I don’t have the full panel data in front of me.
I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume you’re a white woman, in which case, you just did exactly what this article told you not to do. Try reading it again. Seriously.
Okay, I really didn’t intend to, and to be honest, I’m not sure how I did. I thought this article was meant to express how white women can misunderstand how to be an ally, and how to be inter-sectional. And I take that responsibility very seriously. But I also thought this article was inviting conversation, so that learning could take place. Based on your comment, perhaps white women shouldn’t be allowed to ask questions. In which case I am left with a serious quandary. I cannot change my circumstances, I cannot find out how other people experience the world, unless I ask questions. So what should I do? Give up on ever learning to be a better person?
I seriously struggle with feelings of depression and suicidal thoughts, partially because I feel like a horrible person. I try very hard to be better, but what are my options here? Honestly, I cannot help feeling like I should just remove myself from the world, since I’m never going to be able to be a good person.
You didn’t! Your response was totally reasonable. More light, less heat. You are not a horrible person, and conversations of the sort that you are having are positive. Don’t listen to people trying to censor or reduce you, particularly when you’re trying to learn and exchange ideas.
Okay, super-gently here:
The article was about how equating non-black experiences with black experiences as if they are comparable is really damaging. You responded with a comment that attempted to equate the experience of sexism with the experience of racism, albeit in a way that put both on the same side.
I completely get the frustration with trying to figure out how to be better as a person, and this article was hard for me too. I had to re-read three times before I figured out that her proposed alternative to doing any of these things, or indeed asking the nearest black person you know about these things (because they may well not want to talk about these experiences), is to self-educate by reading and listening and observing as much as possible and trying to form a better position independently.
Does that help? I hope it helps. It always sucks when you catch yourself being not as good of a person as you might be, but this does not make you a BAD person. What makes you a bad person is not caring when you discover these things about yourself and telling everyone else to deal. You clearly care, and you’re struggling with what to do about it, which makes you a good person. But we could all be better people, I think. That’s a life-long thing. And this article just pointed out a way in which we could be a little better.
I also have a bunch of mental health issues + deal with Depression + suicidal thoughts. So do plenty of Black people. It’s not okay to deflect criticism about anti-racist allyship by pointing to mental health issues. If you’re unsure what you’re doing wrong, speak less and listen more. (I say this as someone who used to sound a whole lot like you when I tried to comment about race.) Don’t reframe the issue to be about sexism + white men or your personal problems + feelings. Take some of the author’s reading suggestions to heart. Maybe don’t comment on these kinds of articles for a while. Sit with it.
Allyship is a process, not a race, and racism isn’t something you need to be able to speak on or opine on immediately. Take time for yourself if you need to, and then take more time to read + listen to people of color. It’s not about being a bad person or a good person. It’s about being a person who’s willing to be wrong + to learn from it.
You have silenced—and possibly squashed—a person whose only crime was trying to parse, and follow, the impossible rules of conduct set out in this article and I think it was wrong.
Yep. No one scares me more than an able-bodied straight white cisgendered man.
sorry, the more i read this the angrier i got, so bonus comment! the above was a gentle way of saying the following: your fear of someone more privileged than you does not excuse the ways you oppress, especially not when you read an article and then pull the EXACT SHIT the author told you not to. _listen._ _internalize._ just because you have a basic understanding of how “the system” works doesn’t mean you get a free pass to replace Black narrative with your White perspective on what we should really be spending our energy on (which neatly sidesteps your complicity in the violence in that Black narrative).
Wow I didn’t read it that way at all. I mentally added “Instead of being afraid of black men,” to the beginning of her comment, because I thought that’s what she was talking about; how illogical and baseless this general fear of black men as a monolith seems to be, whe the power base in society is white men.
?
That’s exactly what I read as well, BUT, I do think pyrrhic and the other commenters have a really good point.
yeah, me too. seriously–i thought it was pointing out that racist fear of black men is not only morally wrong but also illogical.
I think we should be aware of the ways that white men abuse their privilege and of their embedded privilege, but we shouldn’t assume a posture of fear. I don’t think endorsing fear is a way to change a system that “protects, serves, and keep[s]” white men empowered. I think that only confronting and assuming power can start to change the situation you describe.
I was asking a question. I was trying to learn, trying to be a better person. I guess I have no hope of this. I really should just kill myself. This will be my last comment on this discussion, this website, on anything really. I know I have no value.
you have value. i mean it.
What? Wait! Don’t do it. 🙁
Oh darlin. I don’t want to derail this discussion into talking about a white lady’s feelings, BUT I’m not made of stone, so I’m just gonna leave this ONE comment and not engage further.
You are not worthless, you are a person, and a person who reads the Toast, and I have seen you contribute valuable thoughts to discussions, so you have added richness to my life personally.
It is true that not one day goes by that we as minorities ( I’m a white woman) are not fighting for something that the white man is trying to take away. in the meantime, we as minorities need to come together, stop separating our selves… to put the white man is his place. Meanwhile, I need to stop making this pain, caused by racism, about me. how can I help, specifically??
Lots of thinking here, even though (maybe because?) I’m not white. Thank you.
I really appreciated this article, I really hope to see more of your writing here. Now I’m off to read the Audre Lorde article.
Very thought-provoking, thankyou.
More of this and pieces like this, please.
Wow.
Um, I have questions. And I gather you would rather not be the person who teaches the answers, which seems pretty damn reasonable to me. So if you’ll all excuse me, I’m off to do some research about what one does to be a “good” white ally, because I’m getting a little scared I’m doing it wrong.
P.S. It was an amazing article. Incredibly powerful and well-written. And it scared the fuck out of me, which I’m decently certain it was supposed to do. I just didn’t want to forget to say it was amazing, and thank you.
I’m certain I’m doing it wrong. I think (hope?) the trick is to not worry so much about trying to be exactly the right kind of ally, because then the frame of reference is me: my actions, my kudos, my satisfaction of being a good ally. It’s the centering thing Jessie-Lane is talking about. If I’m worried more about being a good ally than I am about empowering the disempowered, then I’m failing the cause, not just personally failing.
Fear of doing the wrong thing is paralyzing! But I find it shifts some of the burden when I consider that my own personal fears aren’t central to the goal of fighting inequality.
I’m even afraid that this comment was too soapbox-y. I hope it’s not.
You’ve said it far better. I didn’t mean it in quite such an ego-centric way, just in a “oh, shit, I may be unwittingly hurting the people around me” way, but you’re right, the way I expressed it was very much about me, and it’s important to keep the real goal in mind.
But aren’t you also failing the cause when you fail to be a good ally in a way that hurts people? Not saying any of it is easy, of course, but I think it’s more about focusing on being a good ally for the sake of other people, not for your own sake. Because I disagree, being the right kind of ally, when actually done right, has almost nothing to do with you personally.
Wait, I think that is what I was saying? It’s what I was trying to say, at least. My point that I was trying to make is that being a good ally isn’t about me.
I’m not seeing exactly where you’re disagreeing with me.
Oh see, I took your comment to mean the opposite. It sounded like you were saying, stop worrying about being a good ally in a way that’s personally satisfying and just go out there and try to empower people. And I’m saying that’s dangerous; I think being a good ally is sort of an independent concept where whether you’re doing it for yourself or for other people it should really look exactly the same (and will probably look less like ’empowering the disempowered’ and more listening to and supporting those who are better fits for those tasks.) Therefore, keep overanalyzing your words and behaviors because regardless of whether you’re doing it to feel good about yourself (still, bad) or doing it to support others, you need to do it the right way.
Ah. OK. Well, then I think there might indeed have been something in my comment for you to take umbrage at! And I wouldn’t disagree with you. The point I was trying to make was more about how to overcome the paralysis of worrying about doing the right thing: Step back, realize your own personal feelings aren’t the point, and get back to work.
I get what you’re saying, that self-analysis is essential to the process and endemic to being a good ally, but I do think there’s a Zeno’s Paradox–like effect that can take hold where you do nothing for fear of not doing it exactly right. I think that’s counterproductive, too. It’s a balance, in my view. Be cautious in your actions, and when you screw up, figure out why and don’t do it again.
Oh yes exactly! I agree with you completely. That’s why I threw in “Not saying any of it is easy” – there’s no right/wrong switch you can just flip by taking your ego out of the equation, so there’s definitely going to be mistakes regardless..
I had a feeling you weren’t saying what I was reading, but I thought it worth asking for clarification.
Hey! Thanks for the feedback. Happy to hear you liked it. Being an ally is truly a process, for everyone.
That’s a good place to start.
I am glad to have read this piece. I am still very much in my “just shut up and listen carefully when people of colour talk” stage of anti-racism. This was an excellent thing to get to shut up and listen to.
Excellent, excellent piece. Thank you, seriously.
(And I’m so glad we’re getting stuff that requires deep thought and self-examination along with “If the Royal Baby is a Changeling” here.)
So, I’m not white, but I strongly disagree. White people describing their own racism or racism they’ve observed and wanting credit for it – we agree, bullshit. But this goes much farther into an ourobouros of ally-censorship and division among the left. Self-aggrandization among allies is annoying, but this is exactly what Bhaskar Sunkara was criticizing in Jacobin recently (http://jacobinmag.com/2013/04/fellow-travelers/); the left is eating its own young. Let’s shit on Bill O’Reilly in public, and have a more nuanced discussion about Jessica Valenti than the above.
Gotta say, I was not expecting commentary on “an ourobouros of ally censhorship” by a dude whose handle is JoeGreensFlaccidPeen, but we live in a strange and varied world, teeming with mysteries.
Can I not make fun of self-important venture capitalists and also disagree with the premise of this article? It’s pretty easy to be so offended by everyone that political goals get obscured, which is what Bhaskar was pointing to [though amusing caveat, Jacobin is currently being sued for calling Catherine Brennan trans-phobic, so maybe a little hypocritical]. Attacking white allies who are race aware seems like an actively good way to poison public discourse, and not like a good way to improve such discourse or reduce privileged actors’ power.
How is it hypocritical to call Catherine Brennan exactly what she is, which is violently transphobic? The woman has written to the UN demanding that transgender people be denied equal rights. That’s not a case of harping on someone for unintended privileged missteps.
sorry for the threadjack but FUCK CATHERINE BRENNAN AM I RIGHT
you’re right. truth. my point was poorly stated re jacobin/brennan.
i mean, jessica valenti is a pretty damn privileged actor
by which i mean that white allies are almost by definition likely to have much more access to power than the black people they’re in solidarity with, and that power should be interrogated
i don’t know, i’m with you on the ouroboros thing, because this sort of stuff really paralyzes me. i think at the moment i’m coming down on the idea that paralysis is good – pressing the pause button on my white nonsense until i figure out how to make sense of it and make it useful seems like a wise idea
Yeah, I mean the internet/world is full of white people talking about their feelings, would it be the end of the world if we all just occasionally stopped and thought about how we were complicit and what we can do to change it?
it would be a bad idea, though I don’t know that it would be the end of the world. in what community should they adopt a new direction or change, since communication between whites about their uncertainty is itself problematic, according to this logic? there’s a foucauldian prison here — you can’t say things outside of a discourse.
i don’t think it’s communication BETWEEN WHITES that she’s claiming is problematic; we talk about men policing themselves all the time as a strategy against gender violence, right? it’s when a white person with a lot of power and privilege stands up on a platform for everyone, taking a whole lot of space that could/should be occupied by a PoC, and says “this is how my white experience is affected by x y and z, so that’s why and how racism needs to change”
Hi! Thanks for reading! I don’t mean to imply that communication between white folks about racism is problematic, nor that communication between POC and white folks is problematic. Rather, much like pyrrhic2036 said, we have been talking about this type of problematic narrative for a long time. Let’s move the dialogue forward. And let’s make sure that when folks who are working on being allies are vocally contributing to the movement, that their contributions move it forward, instead of staying within the same confines.
It sounds like a key problem you have is that there are carpetbaggers and closet bigots in your movement. Although a lot of people do profile in urban environments and taxi drivers probably profile more than others since they have to interact with and trust a lot of strangers. But just from a mathematical standpoint most people passing through are not going to encounter violent criminals as long as they practice some sort of city sense. Statistically violent crime is falling. The crack epidemic was in the 1980s and early 90s. Before my time. We have a black president so many of the most at risk kids coming to age have been sufficiently startled and hopefully are putting their energy to more productive uses. University enrollment is up and crime is down but not everyone bothers to understand statistics. I do get irritated when I get blamed for the sins of other white people, just as you guys resent being a representative of all black people. Statistically minorities grouped together have more kids than white people so I am fine being a token in some environments. I don’t really care who throws the parties as long as someone is but I’m not going to redefine my identity just to reflect who I am hanging out with from one period of my life to another. It’s healthier for all of us if we just keep our own racial identities and just are comfortable with each other.
On trayvon Martin, mostly I just thought that zimmerman’s behavior was erratic. Visiting the gun factory? Really? He acted like someone who just got away with murder. Also for the victim they tried to make him out to be, he acted very much like either a complete idiot or a predator; and I don’t trust people who play dumb. Sure Martin could have been the aggressor, but in this case I put the odds on the guy with the gun. A mans possessions tell us something about how he views the world,
Also I get detailed arguments like you made in your piece more than general vague arguments which are a turn off. Not everyone took the same courses in college so when ideas are shortened they lose meaning for outsiders. Some of the complaints against white allies and white people in general I have seen online over the last few years have dropped most of the arguments and seem to be mostly POC bitching about white people. Without most of the content, the argument is a lot weaker and comes off as logically inconsistent.
ymmv; makes sense that for some people paralysis/pause button is a good choice. i think that as a community, it’s a bad choice. i disagree with a lot of what jessica valenti says, but i’d rather hear her say it than hold off on doing so. i disagree with the article that jessie lane-metz wrote, but i’m glad that the Toast published it, so we could have this conversation, etc.
two separate things though, right? because valenti’s writing sets a(nother) precedent for centering white experience, which is the opposite of what the anti-racist movement has been calling for since, like, 92 with hooks’ Black Looks. i think twenty years is enough time for white people to internalize that their narratives are not useful to this movement unless they know they are specifically speaking to a white audience in efforts to radicalize them
Isn’t that the kicker? I think there is always the presumption with more mainstream media (the Salon, for example) that the audience is white when in fact it isn’t completely so and then shit happens that only serves to alienate readers of color, particularly black readers.
Or maybe I should shut up now. But this was just something that’s been rolling around my head: the presumption of who the audience is by some of the writers and publications she’s mentioned.
by “know they are specifically speaking to a white audience” i pretty much exclusively mean “telling their story at a white privilege workshop.” to me there is just about no other context in which a public or large scale dissemination of this sort of thing is aight
Yes. This.
That makes sense; I agree with you and Metz re centering the white experience of racism. But I don’t see a place in Metz’s article for whites (also, let’s talk about essentialization, right? lots of that in this thread) to engage in the discourse about racism, whereas I think I hear in your comments more of a constructive attempt to build that space. (That toasty space).
I think it’s unfair and showing the same recentering of whiteness discussed in the article to imply that Metz, in a piece that is fueled by anger and hurt at acts of poor allyship, needs to present a five point plan for how each white person can continue to talk about race without feeling bad. It’s not her responsibility to build the space where whites can contribute to anti-racism that you are looking for in your comments, and I think it’s ridiculous to expect that of her, this article or other POC.
I’m non-white, fwiw, and, as noted above, agree re non-recentering. But I disagree with your other contentions – it’s not her responsibility to build a space, but it is, I think, actually a collective responsibility to have that space, in part because of my pragmatic political orientation. I think it’s hardly ridiculous to expect this or want this; you might disagree that “any” POC should provide it, but it seems odd that one should deny that one could want a space for this interaction, or that it might be fruitful and drive political goals forward to have such a space.
I think this is one of most interesting comments on Ms. Metz’s article so far–the tensions of those “allies” in the public eye, and the dual problems of silence and “bad allying” as sides of the same coin (for example, from http://thefeministwire.com/2013/07/were-not-raisi…. Situated in my perspective, I think the best we can hope for is sustained dialogue with some fuckups, and hopefully some learning. I found this article particularly useful in thinking about the white silence and white allies: http://theangryblackwoman.com/2009/10/01/the-dos-…
Not to out myself, but I teach in higher education in a field closely related to the content of this article. In my professional life, I’m particularly interested in positive political projects: helping students aquire new tools (alongside the tools they may already have) in which to encounter and challenge social structures in their world. They often make mistakes, I often make mistakes. I’m cringing when I read that folks read this article, and then want to shut up. Listen, learn, speak; make mistakes, do better. It’s a long game, rather than a short one.
basically, i don’t want to be a “helpful ally.” i have political objectives and want a strong coalition to achieve those objectives. having a normative/pragmatic outlook over-determines my disagreement with this line of argument; that’s a privileged position I’m adopting, which I accept rather than rejecting. I can easily see weighting the rejection of privilege higher than the pursuit of political coalition building, in which case my response might be different.
i mean, snaps, and this coalition will never be ontologically pure, but setting rejection of privilege and coalition building on a dialectic assumes that white processing is a necessary part of said coalition building, which i reject. i think if we did a better job framing arguments for solidarity, and made it easier for white people to feel good about shutting the fuck up, we’d get places faster with fewer hurt feelings on all sides
Amen. [where shutting the fuck up means not having to introduce discussions with white-splaining here’s how I came to learn about racism]. In practice though, I think that they are on a dialectic, at least for now.
how do we go about undoing that dialectic without insisting that white progress becomes one of the objectives of a movement meant to foster the well-being of black people?
I don’t know. More broad coalitions led by non-whites? I don’t presume to know, but I think that the President struggles with this problem, as seemed to come out in his public remarks on the Martin case.
yeah, zero reference to systemic stuff. it seemed like an intentional plea for empathy to so fully keep his back stuck to the wall of the personal rather than the political/structural in that narrative
my research at the moment is about what the PIC means for white feminists’ potential to map a masculinity that makes room for gender justice, and one of the things i’ve been trying to sit with is whether whiteness can be undone from the inside – in which case white people are necessary/useful, and white feminism might still have something to add outside of apologizing and then being Black anti-racist activists’ coffee interns – or whether this whole goldberg race-as-civic-religion thing supersedes any and all coalitional contributions, in which case, ????armed revolution????
to me one of the central barriers to coalition building is how off-putting it is for white ladies with opinions to be told to sit down – we have just enough of a claim to marginality that we ffffiercely defend our right to be incredibly strident. dqing those women from anti-racism doesn’t feel like an intelligent use of resources, though. i dunno i dunno i dunno
I haven’t read goldberg (david theo?) and I should, though I imagine I’d disagree. I’m not much of a fan of armed revolution or of dialogic status by racial position; but maybe I’m too optimistic about the capability to somewhat radically redefine/re-map spaces of privilege in a more inclusive way [it’s possible that, in particular, the rapid redefinition of marriage has made me too sanguine].
This has been a really fascinating comment thread though; I’ve learned a lot and enjoyed it. Thanks!
i have no idea how you identify, but i want to point out for the folks watching that appropriating slang from black culture (“snaps”) is not a super-great idea.
valid. apologies!
Is that valid? I’m lost here. Truly lost. American English is a crazy mix of many languages and dialects. Are we only allowed to use the parts that connect with our own ancestry?
I also find this confusing. Are my black friends not allowed to use “white slang” or is this a one-way thing? I pick up new slang words every time I move to a new part of the country or make a new friend that has pet words. Am I supposed to make sure they aren’t off limits? Why?
I’m glad I’m not alone in this. I get that power differentials are real, as is the history of cultural appropriation. We can’t change that and it sucks. However, I don’t see how telling white people they have to stick to their own kind makes anything any better. I think it’s fair to have open discussions about the unfair advantages white people have in freely taking from other cultures without actually respecting them, but that is different from saying each individual person is doing that. I’m listening and I am open to learning and I definitely don’t want to be hurting anybody, but I am really confused about what this means. Where are lines drawn? What words can be used and by whom? I need some help here.
i think that using slang terms that come from the practices and experiences of people of color isn’t okay, especially when the people doing it make a very big, very public deal about their identity as an anti-racist white person who can tell others how to behave. i don’t think we can talk about how white people “in general” do something without looking at we, as individual white people, actually do. i think the poster should have known better. she agreed.
because of the dynamics of privilege, marginalized people adopting “white slang” isn’t the same. knowing where words come from matters to me. you disagree and that is fine, but it just means we disagree, not that i’m wrong or absurd.
Yeah. There are definitely ways to inappropriately appropriate (ha) language and that shit should be policed but thissss is a stretch. Like, to the point that I think this is satire (please tell me this is satire!)
it’s not satire. she agrees. i personally don’t use language that i know is appropriated, and when i hear people who clearly consider themselves very serious anti-racist allies, i expect the same from them. re: my feelings about this particular term, i take “snaps” and the dozens very seriously a part of a practice about pleasure and resistance that isn’t mine to part out. you don’t have to agree.
The first time I heard the “snaps to you” expression was by Reese Witherspoon as Elle Woods in Legally Blonde 2, so I’m thinking that expression, even if it did start with black people, is kind of up for grabs at this point.
ok, yeah, no, i don’t think “snaps [to you]” is your expression to use.
Very thought-provoking. Thank you for contributing. As a white woman I know I have privilege, and I try very hard to be a listener, not a speaker, when it comes to things about race. Thank you for giving me more to think about.
I am so fucking proud of you right now, for so many reasons.
Well I just love you so much. Thanks Heather.
Me, too. To watch where you two DR girls have gone thrills my soul.
This gives me a lot to think over about how to be a helpful ally. Thank you for donating your time and mental energy to express this.
Yes, me too.
Thanks very much for this, Jessie.
I get “please for god’s sake do not not start recounting your own racist thoughts”–couldn’t agree more. But I’m having some trouble understanding why keeping anecdotes about racist behavior out of anti-racist allies’ writing is a unilaterally good idea. Couldn’t sensitivity to the potential reading experience of members of the discriminated group lead to, as above, labeling such material with trigger warnings, rather than necessarily self-censoring it out of the dialogue? I’m not sure I totally get how recounting an anecdote about racism *in order to express public disapproval of that behavior* is itself an act of racism. I can absolutely see how it could be beyond insensitive (or done insensitively), but I can’t really see how doing it in a way that is mindful of the experience of the reader, could be racist.
It’s potentially racist because it’s an issue of focus. With something like “I Am Not Trayvon Martin”, for example, it would seem on its face to be a universally positive thing, because privilege is something that the vast majority of white Americans are never taught and haven’t thought about – if anything they’ve been taught about prejudice as the sole purview of overt and intended actions and speech, with no regard given to structural or cultural -isms. In this context I Am Not Trayvon Martin can be seen as good.
But a lot of people of color take issue with IANTM, because it reframes the takeaway from the Zimmerman verdict – the takeaway from legally sanctioned murder of black children is that violence and oppression against people of color in America is inescapable. Whatever its origins and intentions, IANTM steers dialogue such that it is centered around how if you’re white, privilege is inescapable. Which is true, but it’s not the object lesson of this disgrace. It’s not about white people. The locus of reflection is all wrong.
I am interested in how including those anecdotes ever are useful. And would be curious to see what would happen if people took a break from doing it for a while.
The reason they are useful is because so many white folks are blind to the extent that racism is still alive in this country. How am I supposed to educate them about it without talking about it?
Exactly. As a white woman who grew up in a suburban part of central Pennsylvania, I was certain that racism was dead. It wasn’t until I went to college and then (even more eye-openingly) moved to the rural South that I was smacked up alongside the head with it.
Without racist anecdotes, without talking about revelations of my own racism (which everyone, not just white folks, has internalized at this point, according to all the studies I’ve seen), I don’t know how to convince clueless white folks that racism still exists. Statistics only get you so far. (Plenty of folks don’t understand that kind of data, anyway.)
Prefacing something with trigger warnings or explicitly noting that your message is directed at white folks sounds like a good start to me. Specifically acknowledging your audience of other races would probably also be useful. But just because this process (the process of making white folks aware of racism and privilege) started decades ago doesn’t mean that young white folks are born with this knowledge. Or that they’re taught it at home, or at school, or anywhere that it’s just white folks talking to each other. On the Internet, you can’t be sure whether your audience is white or black or brown or whatever. But that doesn’t mean white folks shouldn’t use the Internet to educate other white folks. It’s might seem like Step 1 while you want us to be on Step 3 already… but when the audience hasn’t yet taken Step 1, that’s where the stepping needs to start.
A lot to think about — some stuff I strongly agree with, some stuff not so much.
Here’s what I think about a lot though, as someone who reads blog posts like this regularly: I’m white, but my wife, and therefore my future children, are black. Does this mean the most I get to be for them, vis-a-vis racism, is an “ally”? Someone who “shuts up and listens”?
Am I allowed to have “the Talk” with my son(s)? Or should I wait until they have their first negative encounter with a cop or get followed in a shop, then nod gravely while they tell me about it and say “that sounds terrible. I’m here for you as your ally.” Or just wait for the opportunity to passively take in the terribleness of the lived experience while I go identify his/her body. “I’m being a great ally!” I could think, as I scan the corpse for identifying features. (Am I being hyperbolic? If so, why should I be less worried than other person with a future black son/daughter about that child’s survival?)
Am I allowed to worry about colorism? What do we tell our future kids when they ask if they’re African-American (since I’m white and their mother is not from the U.S.)? What do I say when a black classmate teases them for being too light or too dark? Or for “talking white”? Or for having an accent?
What do I tell black Americans who tell me that France is more racist than the U.S. despite my wife’s own experiences (and her family’s) of living her whole life there and experiencing singificantly less racialized weirdness than in her year in the DC?
What do I tell black Americans who tell me that I will never, ever understand Black people (like my wife)?
What do I say when I read an article written by an American implying that Black experience is universal, when my African and Caribbean friends tell me constantly how they feel sidelined and misunderstood and silenced by the black Americans who dominate (or try to dominate) this discourse?
What do I say when people tell my wife she’s not really Black because she speaks French, even though there are more black people in this world who speak French than English? (plus Angela Davis)
Frankly I think human rights are everyone’s business, regardless of who is being oppressed and who’s doing the oppressing. But I *definitely* believe I have more of a role than mute bystander when it comes to my own fucking family’s encounters with oppression. Don’t I!?
By the way, there are at least 690,000 married couples in the U.S. with a black and non-black spouse, so this isn’t some weird edge case we’re talking about here. Any theory of ally-dom needs to make serious space for people like us.
(BTW this isn’t meant to be a defense of the likes of Eve Ensler’s Trayvon piece or whatever.)
I’d also like to know who white activists writing about black peoples’ experiences with racism are supposed to get their permission from. Is there like a P.O. box you write to C/O “All Black People”?
I can relate to you on a lot of this, as I’ve (perhaps needlessly) droned on about on both here and the Hairpin, particularly in the aftermath of the verdict of the GZ trial. There’s so much to respond to in your comments (!!!), but I just want to quickly say (about to leave for home here) that to me, the overall point of this post wasn’t just “shut up and listen” but “shut up, listen, think, take action.” Some of the stuff you ask here seems to point to the idea that you’re already doing the latter.
Yeah I got a little fired up there so I do want to reiterate I’m not in like, total disagreement with this piece or its author.
I think what gets me most about some of these kinds of criticisms though is how hermetic they can be — when your’e in this line of thinking it’s very easy to accuse people who disagree with you for valid reasons of being the kind of people who disagree for the wrong reasons, y’know?
So I like you as a person (as much as I can say that, since we’ve never met, but I enjoy your contributions to The Hairpin/Billfold etc.), and I think you have some really good points here, but there are some other things that are really off-putting. First of all, cut it out with the “allowed” bullshit. I get where you’re going with those questions, but framing it that way suggests that you believe that the requests made of you by people working against racism are oppressive, which is ridiculous.
“Shut up and listen” doesn’t mean “never say anything.” It means pay attention to what people with less privilege than you are saying, and make sure you’re giving them a chance to say it. It means not assuming that your experience as the father of a black child is universal to every father of a black child. Implying that people who are asking you to listen to their experiences rather than telling them what their experience is are asking you not to speak out about the murder of black children, to the detriment of your own black children, is disingenuous at best.
Are you “allowed” to worry about colorism, or kids being teased for being “too white”? Sure! Anyone who says you can’t worry about the systemic issues that your kids will face just because you’re white is an asshole. I honestly don’t see where you’re getting this objection to the piece.
As for what you tell black Americans who tell you that France is more racist, or that a certain kind of black experience is universal, tell them what you would tell an American of any color who told you that.
If someone tells you you’ll never understand black people, what they’re probably saying is that no matter how much you try to learn about someone else’s experience, you’ll never have the visceral understanding of how that experience informs every aspect of their lives. That doesn’t mean you should give up, or that you’re a bad person, or that you can’t be an ally, or that you can’t have a rich and fulfilling relationship with people who have different experiences than you.
I just…obviously being an ally isn’t about saying and doing nothing, because that’s the opposite of helping. What I got from this piece, though, is that a lot of writers are failing to understand or care about the ways that their actions can hurt the people they’re ostensibly trying to help. If you don’t like the definition of allyship here, you’re “allowed” to ignore it – no one’s saying the author’s an authority any more than anyone else.
OK I’m going to stop responding to every response I get (at risk of digging myself into some kind of hole) but I will take all this on board, as you are all lovely thoughtful people.
I know you said you aren’t replying here any more but I feel compelled to respond anyway, since I am basically your future child if you and your wife switched genders (but not really) (I just have a white American parent and a black non-U.S.ian parent). don’t mean to imply by this that I represent all such people by a long shot; the very nature of the identity is one of great diversity. but your comment made me contemplative so I figured I would share my thoughts, in case you are interested.
your child will learn very very quickly that “the black experience” is far from universal, simply because theirs is not the norm. they’ll feel misunderstood by all types of people, black and white included. they will almost certainly be told by people, at one point or another, that they’re not really black. they may be made fun of OR if they look classically mixed they will almost certainly be fetishized for their hair texture and skin tone. all of it will be a challenge (not to mention the challenge of simply being black in america), but the thing about identities is that they are dynamic, especially when you’re a child, and challenge is a fact of that process. you can help them with that, you can speak to them about it openly and honestly as a white dad. there may be some things that they don’t feel comfortable talking to you about, and that is okay. because no, you can’t ever understand completely what it’s like to be something that you are not, including a black person. that isn’t a shortcoming on your part nor something to get up in arms about, it’s just the humbling truth.
I don’t know what you’ll say when they ask if they’re african-american or how to help them deal with being made fun of — maybe just tell them the truth, that they are part of a big big big diaspora of black/african people, of which african-americans are one part, and that those people come in all types of lovely shades and speak all types of ways, of which their skin color and accent are examples. at least, that is what I personally would say if I suddenly had a 6-year-old in front of me at this very moment. but I’m not a parent and I don’t think there is just One Right Answer to these questions, and I’m sure that you will figure out what works for you and your family when the time comes. I’m sure your wife will be a great teammate in this.
with regard to being an “ally” (a term that I don’t like much, but): as you seem to suspect, parenting a POC automatically puts you in a position that is way more complicated and nuanced than mere alliance. it’s a position that comes with more accountability and connection, and it is a potentially transformative experience for your own understanding of race. that doesn’t mean that you suddenly have no racist tendencies and are an expert on black people and racism; far from it. my mother certainly is not. but you certainly are called to step up a bit in terms of effort and openness. these issues can’t get more personal than when they deal with your own damn kids, the Trayvon case being a prime example of that.
my mom may not be the best about race; she is a long way from social-justice-grad-seminar-speak about privilege and power. but because I am her daughter (and because she’s a good mom), if I choose to tell her something about my racial experience, she believes me. it’s not hard for her to step aside and just listen sometimes, something which is, as this article was attempting to point out, normally so hard for people in positions of privilege to do. you sound like a thoughtful person, so I don’t doubt that you will be like this too, with your hypothetical future kids.
it’s really not about shutting up all of the time. so far from it, and so much farther from it when you have a black child depending on you to help them process the world. of course you have more of a role than mute bystander, as a white person and as a husband and as a future parent. everyone does! it is so harmful to just avoid discussing race or taking action completely. but it is important to learn when/how to step down, too, which is how I read this article: it’s not about shutting up, but rather about realizing that it’s not always about you. the anger described here comes from feeling overwhelmed by white voices talking about whiteness, not the mere fact of white people ever speaking about race to anyone ever.
and no, there is no Black People Spokesperson, but I do think that when someone tells you about their experience as a black person you should believe them, as an authority of their own experience, and moreover that whether or not that experience is representative of a black monolith, *it is important to listen to and worth giving a platform*, precisely because of the lack of widely-heard black voices. there doesn’t have to be just one black voice, there should be many. centering the discussion around black experiences and reactions when appropriate (e.g. when discussing anti-black racism) is always a good thing to try. this will be especially important when those people are your kids, and — as I said — it may very well become second nature when they are.
(my comment got too long lolz so I am just sticking the rest here)
an anecdote, as an example of a time when I think my mom did pretty well with this: one time I mentioned to her offhandedly how frustrating it is that people constantly question my racial identity and how exhausting it is to explain my heritage to people all the time. she was bewildered; it became clear that she had had no awareness of this part of my experience. she didn’t just sit there silently and nod. nor did she make it about her, or about why people ask those questions (who cares), or about whether my experience is typical (who knows). those are valid topics but it wasn’t the time to talk about them. her response shocked me, actually: after asking questions to try to get a handle on what it was like for me, she suggested that I just don’t tell people I have a white parent, if it would make it easier for me to deal with the constant questioning. she said it was none of their business and that I should just tell people what I identify most as, if I felt compelled to indulge their nosiness at all. I imagine it must’ve been hard for her to say something like that to me, to encourage me to publicly ignore her half of my heritage — I mean, ouch. but it was a tool that was really helpful for me, because I DO identify as black, and it has made it much less agonizing and destabilizing to deal with those questions to just say that. she suspected that, and she put her own shit aside in that moment. (I do mention my white mom when it’s relevant, obviously, but I no longer bother to mention it when people ask that annoying question “what are you?”) anyway my point is that it can be a productive, race-related dialogue and still decenter whiteness.
I know your questions may have been rhetorical and probably you weren’t asking for parenting advice from random internet people. apologies if I sound at all womansplainy (if one can use such a term) and that this is so long! I guess you just came across as panicked about the prospect of being a parent in your particular situation and I wanted to pop in and be like, yo, if these hypothetical babies come to exist, it will be hard, but it will be hard in a good way — just in case you were unsure.
also, I second what SarcasticFringehead said.
Oh man I knew I said I wasn’t responding anymore but I’m glad I still had this page open and that I hit refresh before I closed it. Thank you for this and the subsequent comment.
I like your questions, and wish I had answers. I am a white male living in a predominately black Mississippi town; I teach English to 11th and 12th graders in the most diverse high school in the state. My classes include Asian kids who long to assimilate into black culture, black kids who suspicious of rednecks, white kids who think we live in a post-racial era—it’s a truly interesting gig. The students get along because they know that our school is a ticket out, so they focus on what they want to do more than on who they are. There may be a price to pay for this tendency, I know, but it has an enormous upside.
I couldn’t agree more, or have said it better. As the likely future parent of biracial children, I have a vested interest in anti-racism work. I do my best to hear everyone’s point and analyze these issues from as many angles as possible, but one thing I won’t do is allow over analysis of what it means to be an ally to paralyze me or keep me from staying active in the fight against racism. I acknowledge my white privilege, but I take racism very personally, and will not allow anyone, white or black to limit my degree of involvement to this movement. I’m not interested in anti-racism work to get a pat on the back or to ease my white guilt. I’m in this movement to fight racism, by any means necessary.
Hey Stuffy! The sense I got from Jessie’s writing was not one of “no white person should talk about these issues” so much as “there’s a torrent of white people writing very publicly about this case in particular and their feelings about race in general in ways that are insensitive and thoughtless, and here’s how I think public/online conversations like this should look instead.”
It’s pretty hard to read the below and take such a charitable reading as yours from it. This is a discourse about the assumption of power, and it’s definitely one that places stuffisthings in an inferior position. There’s not, in Metz’s article, a claim about a better discourse from white allies – there’s subordination of those white allies, punishment for incorrect speech, (perpetual, as suggested below, and in the comment on Ensler/Sirota) and an unclear permissioning structure for their contribution at all. I think that you and pyrrhic2036 are opening up the possibility of a better discourse, but the piece argues against it.
“However, I have had discussions with Steph about her post, and she has apologized and reflected upon her work. She is aware that I have written about her post in this piece. While what she wrote has damaged our relationship, likely irreparably, something I state with great personal pain,…”
Except you’re confusing “being asked to reflect on how your activities affect the people about whom you are writing and who you are trying to help” and “being put in an inferior position.” And, I’m sorry, “punishment”? The author disagreed with something another author wrote, and ultimately decided no longer to be friends with her. Nobody got disappeared to a reeducation camp in Siberia.
We agree that white allies should “reflect on how [their] activities affect the people about whom you are writing and who you are trying to help” and should not “white-splain.” We disagree about how we interpret the intention of the author, which I took as setting up a ‘discipline and punish’ discourse (more Foucault than Soviet) of appropriate speech for allies. That said a) possible I was wrong, and b) much happier that we agree on what communities should do than whether we disagree about a text. Cheers!
ugh.
I think what got to me was the argument that white people who care about racism should only listen to/support Black people’s reactions to the case (yes I’m oversimplifying), which is a common theme in a lot of “what it means to be an ally” stuff which is overly binary. I mean this whole situation made my white cis male self really sick inside, not just because of abstract anti-racism reasons but also because my parents live in a gated community in Central Florida full of armed xenophobes and what happened to Trayvon could easily happen to my own son.
I just don’t think “white people should shut up about this case” is necessarily the best response to a bunch of white people who claim to be anti-racist “allies” saying stupid shit about the case. My response to those people is that they should shut up if they don’t have anything to say that’s not fucking stupid. A good example would be that time I got schooled in the Hairpin comments on the Wendy Davis filibuster. If people had just been like “shut up, you’re a dumb man” I don’t think I would’ve have gone away super convinced.*
I do hope reactions like this article make people think twice about whether what they have to say has any value, or whether it’s actively hurting people, and I’m glad you published it for that reason.
* ETA: Obligatory “it’s not their responsibility to educate me” disclaimer.
Jessie, thank you for this post. Its unsettling to reflect on how I could think I’m being a good ally in instances where I might use a platform like social media to promote writing or speech about an issue, but by virtue of picking an author who isn’t actually a member of the affected group do exactly the wrong and most painful thing I could do, and to think how many people go around doing that.
People love to give big props to people who always get time off from the issue for giving that issue their cursory glance, while ignoring or attacking the people for whom that issue is their lived daily experience and struggle.
This article was really great and I’m pretty excited and hoping to see more stuff like this and maybe that conversation between Valenti and Metz in the future.
After reading the comments which I may be misinterpreting, it seems like most people are taking issue with the idea of “please don’t tell me about the time you witnessed racism in action” and don’t understand why she’s asking for that consideration. Not to yet again put the focus back on white women but I feel like the best way for white feminists to really grasp the idea would be to think about “well, what if a man did the same thing when writing about sexism?” It would seem at best a little pointless and mansplain-y. Granted, that’s not the same type of reaction Metz says she has to stories about racism, but thats because they’re two different types of oppression with different histories so of course it’s not completely analogous but it’s a start, right? Am I totally off base about all of this?
It puts me in mind of some posts I’ve read by white dudes when they finally started to see an inkling of sexism in action and were really surprised/upset about it.
Nobody wants to be the Hugo Schwyzer of intersectionality.
Can I put that last line on a bumper sticker?
As a feminist, I am super excited every time men seem interested in sexism and feminism and gender. If it’s a dude who isn’t yet well-versed in feminist theory or is just coming to understand sexism, it might not be very compelling, but I think we need to welcome all comers.
Honestly, if I’m in a conversation with a guy, and he wants to talk to me about times he has witnessed sexism in action, I am so freaking excited.
But you can see how in some situations it would be a little obnoxious, especially if you felt that the guy only wanted to talk about his experience and either purposefully or not, cut you out. Also I came away from the article with the notion that Metz was mainly concerned with those stories in the context of published writing by prominent white feminists, which is different from a casual in person conversation.
So yea, in person it would be cool, but it’s different when its a high profile piece that’s been (hopefully) thoughtfully written.
And this entire article just reminds me of something Heems from Das Racist said once, which was basically “Yea I know about racism, but when a woman talks about sexism or a gay person about homophobia, I listen to them and take their word for it” that’s not exact and I tried googling it but couldn’t find it.
long story short, I am a white lady, so when it comes to racism I need to listen to the voices of people of color and take their word for it when they say something is hurtful and damaging. There is still room for dialogue and questions and clarifications but still.
I get it, kind of. I get the wariness, but I think we are being too simple and too essentialist when we say “when a woman talks about sexism.. I take their word for it.” Really? Because I listen respectfully, sure, but I don’t take Catherine McKinnon’s word for it. Or Phyllis Schlafly’s. Or the lady down the block who told me there’s no such thing as feminism.
Because, here’s the thing, we can’t just take everybody’s word for it. We have to have some sort of filter and we have to decide who is right and who is wrong. I definitely agree that we should check ourselves, read more, take time to reflect, and listen openly when it comes from someone from an oppressed group talking about their oppression. But we can’t just throw out the filter and just say, “I believe you.” Cause we’d be believing a lot of contradictory stuff. Are we believing W.E.B. duBois or Booker T. Washington? Louis Farrakhan? Ta-Nahesi Coates?Clarence 13x? Audre Lorde? bell hooks? These people do not agree on everything. Some are diametrically opposed.
So yes, listen, think, read more, take a step back before you hop on the judgment train, but you HAVE to judge. And sometimes you have to say someone is wrong.
Thank you for the essay.
The first thing that I learned when receiving an education in gender studies and social justice concerned the regulation of one’s voice and cognizance that the space within which speech takes place is not unlimited. After my first class some of my classmates took me aside and informed me that I was speaking too often, too loudly, and out of turn. It’s a mark of privilege to assume that, by nature of their existence, our thoughts are affecting and important and deserving of attention.*
It can be confusing, when you’ve privileged identities, to navigate those spheres, because our impulses tell us that we are to be held accountable and that it is our responsibility to hold accountable others of our kind. But given our society’s inclination to tune out all voices but ours it is our first duty to serve as amplifiers for those closest to an issue, to call attention to them instead of ourselves. I’m reminded of Jackson Katz, and the chagrin that so many express when he makes paid appearances at conferences and lives as a successful author standing on the shoulders of women who’ve made the same points.
Lived experience is the currency of legitimacy. If something does not affect us, we are not fit to speak for ourselves on it. I’m a survivor of sexual violence and I bristle whenever I’m spoken of as a hypothetical person, or mentioned as an inconvenient asterisk and an “also” in the introductions of books and essays, getting token nods before being shuffled aside so issues of real importance to the author can be addressed. Those are instances in which I feel comfortable speaking out, and humbling people if they’ve the mind to be humbled, but there are no other circumstances in which it is appropriate for me to do such things.
There are times when oppressed people feel acute fatigue, always having to speak and be heard, and they lament that it is their apparent duty to school the rest of us, expressing frustration that privileged voices aren’t being turned against privilege often enough. I’ve been on both sides of that scenario at different times in my life, and I know neither what I should say nor what I want other people to say in my stead. In those situations amplification seems inadequate. How do we draw attention to issues, and shoulder burdens of voice, without making them about ourselves?
* Incidentally, this is why so many social justice autodidacts, particularly men, fuck up so often. They were never humbled, and thus parade their knowledge in a show of intellectual prowess and personal virtue.
I just wanted to let you know that I found this comment particularly helpful for me, so thank you for taking the time to write it. Especially the part about using privilege to draw attention to those who are speaking, rather than speaking on their behalf. Sort of like Mallory and Nicole using The Toast to give a platform to writers like Jessie-Lane Metz, rather than giving us their own thoughts. 🙂
For every other white person commenting about how they now don’t know what to do about racism or don’t know how to talk about race: the point is that you should be doing and saying less on racism and race, and doing and saying more in support of PoC doing that same (but much more vital + legitimate) work. Our thoughts + opinions on race are influenced by our privileged experiences, which already take center stage and drive common racist narratives. We should be playing supporting roles in anti-racism, boosting the actions and words of people of color. It’s not that we don’t have any experiences with race or that we shouldn’t talk about them *ever*, including amongst ourselves; it’s that the work of anti-racism is something that NEEDS to decenter white people and also needs our support in doing that. Ms. Metz gives a number of suggestions for what to do: read more, listen more, re-tweet/re-blog/ otherwise publicize the work of writers of color, go to protests being led by PoC for PoC, educate other white folks by encouraging them to do the same. It’s not that we should do nothing or do less, it’s that we should do *differently* in centering PoC in the discourse on the issues that affect them.
Well, but here’s the thing. It isn’t like all PoC have one united theory and plan of attack. It’s not as simple as, listen up and hitch your wagons here. You have to start by listening, absolutely, but there is a multitude of voices out there, and you have to filter, critique, choose, and make up your own mind sometime.
I’m not arguing that we shouldn’t do all of the things you suggested, I’m just saying, it isn’t as simple as just following the lead of people of color. Because you’re gonna have to choose who to follow and where.
Thank you for your comment… I think you put the emphasis where the article meant it to be. It wasn’t “hey white people, shut up”, but rather, “hey white people, don’t you think maybe it would be more helpful to have an actual BLACK PERSON (or other non-priv person) speak about this than you, right now?”… that I get. I don’t really get the anger directed at people trying to be helpful & do the right thing (myself I would go with dissapointment, sadness, etc., but I guess for some angry is just how you feel), and I don’t think I could be friends with the OP based on that, but I will take the points in the article to heart.
But here’s the tricky thing: these white people have a platform. They are writers with audiences. Would it be better for them to ignore it? To never write about racism or, if they are men, sexism? God, I don’t’ think that would be better at all. It is unfair that the people with platforms are 99% of the time white and, too often, men, but the ones who are up there and willing to talk about shit that matters, I am thankful. I may not agree with everything they say, but at least there isn’t silence.
But couldn’t they use their platform to invite POCs to speak about their experience to an audience they wouldn’t otherwise have access to?
Maybe. Then again, I don’t really know how that works. Can Maureen Dowd (or whoever) just let anyone write her column instead of her? Will people still read it? I don’t really know how people’s contracts are written, but I kind of doubt that most writers have the ability to decide who can write something in their place.
Thanks for this. You definitely read it as I meant it to be read.
Hey everyone! In an effort to combat racism, let’s list every racist thought you’ve ever had here. It’ll be fun and constructive! (Don’t do this.)
I have to say, this seems paralyzingly hyper-sensitive to me. Here’s one vote for appreciating the people who are basically fighting the good fight even if they say something boneheaded every once in a while and not wielding the accusation of privilege like a weapon.
Um wait, who is the hypersensitive one here? You completely missed the point.
*Privilege* itself is the weapon women wield while recounting stories of their own racist fears. Also, it’s been done to death. It’s not groundbreaking or progressive.
I am a black female writer and activist. I research and write on racism and social justice issues every single day. I was so blown away by this piece that I had to process it before coming back to reread it days later.
I see you, Mr. Sandwiches, commented on it the day after it was posted.
Here’s one vote for appreciating folks who have the humility to admit that she may have more to bring to the table on this topic than they do. Thank you.
This is one of the best pieces I’ve seen post-Trayvon (besides my own).
Get it, girl.
Thank you so much. This means a lot to me.
Brilliant, brilliant reflection. May we all be rewarded for the work that you do.
Thank you.
Thank for sharing your honest thoughts and feelings through this piece. The one thing I would like to offer as a thought is regarding our society’s general expectations of those who identify as “Allies”, and ways in which we can support and educate people to be allies in a way that benefits everyone (not just themselves). Where I see a giant gap is that society tells privileged people: “You need to be a good ally”. And then what? How does one even begin developing as an ally? Where are the role models, teachers, and mentors that I can look toward to learn and grow? I believe in self-work, but I don’t think that it’s possible to learn everything by myself in isolation. I do believe that it should not be on the burden of those who are oppressed to “teach” the oppressor. I also feel strongly that there needs to be strong examples and role models for all people to learn from.
The one challenge I would invite the author to engage in is to reference a privileged identity and situate their own experiences as an ally. I feel that too often people of color (myself included) see allies as the “other”, whereas I know that I have many contexts where I am in a position to potentially be an ally to someone. I think that it is an important lens that helps shape my view and experience of doing ally work, and I would love the author’s perspective as well.
And for transparency, I identify as: Asian American, cis-gendered man, male, heterosexual, able-bodied, raised Catholic, middle class, college educated. I welcome feedback and continued dialogue!
Hi Vuder,
Thanks for this comment. I think that there are a lot of spaces for people to talk and learn about being allies. I’m pretty sure there are a million books, coalitions, and communities built on respect and trust were conversations can happen.
I do carry all kinds of privilege, and in fact, think of my responsibilities as an ally a lot. I fuck up lots too. I know it is a process. I specifically wanted to address white privilege in this article, but I do hope to have an opportunity to write to my own privilege in other pieces. I think it is important too.
The Martin case teaches me that a 17-year old (and younger) person of color in that locality has no rights. We’re all usually unaware of having our rights until we need our rights to protect our prerogatives as people. But most of us as US citizens abide by the fairy tale that we enjoy “inalienable” protections. I’m not trying to be “post-racial” in any way, but if Trayvon Martin has no rights, all our expectations of protection under the law and the Constitution are suspect.
Minority voices always need to fight to be heard. The Hegemony doesn’t care to listen to complaints, as a rule. I’m hopeful this case may serve to finally allow a discussion about the disgraceful segregation that blights contemporary life in America. A secret segregation that none must admit the existence of, yet every American knows in their heart is the New World Order. This secret segregation cost Trayvon his life. I’m in agreement with this post on this point: white people can’t be the ones to affect change to fight segregation. The most effective thing they can do is stand aside and listen.
So, you’re asking white people to take your personal feelings and personal response as speaking for all black people, or a majority of black people, or what, exactly?
I have a fundamental problem with this idea that if someone’s position offends or hurts even one person, that response is invalid and itself oppressive. I don’t believe in a one-person veto on progressive thought, because I don’t believe that one person can speak on behalf of their entire group.
I’m not out to police anyone’s anger, or resentment, or pain, or anything else. Everyone is entitled to their own response. I am, however, out to deny that one person’s (or a few people’s) anger or resentment or pain creates a moral obligation for someone to retract or modify their position.
We all resent when a white person says “well, my friend who is a POC said this is not racist, so it’s not racist.” We oppose the idea of someone like Clarence Thomas validating the anti-black feelings of white conservatives, validating their refusal to accept to the very idea of racial inequality. We strongly assert that these individuals do not speak on the behalf of all black people.
Well, it cuts both ways. Your personal pain is important to you, and to the people who are personally connected to you. It is, however, not widespread. The problem I have is that I think this article conflates your personal outrage with an objective moral value, without doing any of the reasoning work to move from one to the other. “I hurt, therefore you are immoral.”
There are many black folks who have no problem with Jessica or Steph or some of the others you critique. Does that mean that, because they agree, those stances are in fact moral? Whose personal, subjective experience is more valid? Who gets to decide when their personal experience speaks for everyone?
Here’s the thing–you don’t present the negative consequences of these white feminists’ words, other than your own personal pain. That’s really the only negative consequence you use to justify your appraisal of their words as racist and immoral (other than a vague, hand-waving mention of “re-centering” without bothering to expand on or prove that claim), and I’m sorry but that’s a really weak consequence to present. Plenty of white people are hurt when they are shown the ways in which they are racist. They feel pain when they are accused of oppression. So what? I don’t care then, and I don’t care now. White people don’t get to avoid hearing the truth about racism because it makes them feel bad, and Jessica Valenti has no obligation to alter her position because it makes you feel bad.
If you wanted to present some other, objective or widely-shared harms of these positions, that would be one thing. As it stands, you are implicitly, by conflating your personal pain with racism, saying that your pain is shared by all black folks. You are implicitly homogenizing all black people when you turn your personal experience, which may or may not be shared, into a proxy for racism, which is shared, regardless of personal experience. Racism exists outside of any one person. It exists whether you feel it or not, whether you acknowledge it or not, whether you care about it or not. Racism doesn’t exist because you are angry. So when you turn your personal, individual anger into proof of racism–well, you’re speaking on behalf of others. You’re saying that your personal pain is proof of oppression of all black people.
SHORYUKEN. Owned
And further, it seems to me like what you’re somewhat dancing around is that there is no white response to this event that you want to hear. You want white people to listen, and to listen only. This is the only conclusion I can take away from this post, because you are strongly decrying what many people would consider reasonable, progressive, and anti-racist positions, and provide no alternative, and continually refer back to the idea that black voices should lead and white people should listen.
That’s fine, and there are things in there I agree with (e.g. that black voices should lead the conversation–but “lead” is different from “constitute the entirety of”). I won’t begrudge you that feeling. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to hear white voices at such a time. But again, to conflate your personal feeling with objective moral truth is…well, entitled. It screams of your academic privilege.
You are, whether you want to admit it or not, part of an academic elite whose members often feel entitled to craft the discourse–indeed, the only ones who are so entitled. You are the learned ones, and the layfolk must bend their opinions to the teachings you deign to offer them. You are not interested in educating patiently or kindly, because obviously the lay people should listen to your sermons and simply agree. That they might resist, or that they might have disagreements cannot be legitimate, because you are an anointed thought-maker. Obey, or you are the enemy. Agree without question or dissent, or you are the enemy.
This is a growing trend in progressive circles. That the entire intersectional world of social justice is determined by the MOST personally aggrieved. In other words, the majority is ignored (not just of progressives, but of the concerned oppressed groups). Lone voices purport to be arbiters of orthodoxy, and feel comfortable labeling any and all opponents as racist/classist/transphobic/misogynistic/etc. If one does not agree in whole with the most fringe individual, then they are not a legitimate part of the discussion.
Well, it’s nonsense. Morality exists beyond your own entitled feelings. Moral duty is not defined by your anger, nor anyone else’s–or else by what means could we deny the anger of racists and sexists and transphobes and the rest of them? Personal rage, personal pain CANNOT be the metric of morality, because all people, no matter how horrible those people are, have personal rage and personal pain. It does not legitimate their views. It does not make them arbiters of morality.
I think academia has given you an inflated sense of the importance of your feelings, because it has conditioned you to think of yourself as belonging to a special elite who are uniquely qualified to speak on issues of social justice. Naturally, this inflated self-image grows to include one’s own emotions. You develop a view of yourself as a living, walking definition of morality. Your own body, your own feelings, every thought and word and emotion is an arbitration of right and wrong.
It is not so. You do not own this movement. You do not define this movement. This movement is owned by all.
Thank you
Best two internet comments I’ve ever read. Write a book
Wow. Right on. This entitled, cloistered, frankly childish attitude is what most infuriates me in progressive circles. Though I’d quibble and note that this isn’t necessarily a growing trend, just a long-enduring and long-hobbling one.
I tried to pen something half this insightful and eloquent down below but gave up and just gave a snarky single paragraph…
Do you have a blog? Is your writing available elsewhere? Because what you wrote is so important and so beautifully stated, and, as you mentioned, relevant to all progressive circles.
Thanks so much. I do have a blog/website (mostly just linking what I’m writing and where these days). I’m not sure if you will get an email notification on this response, but here’s hoping. jessielanemetz.wordpress.com
This is excellent. I’m not a progressive guy, at least in the way it’s usually used nowadays. But I try to keep an open mind and read stuff that challenges my worldview, like this article. Sam’s comment is valuable because (among other reasons) the ideas underlying the comment animate the feelings of many conservatives and others who have come to believe that no matter their goodwill, no matter what they say, no matter how fair they try to be, people like Ms. Metz will always consider them scum. And less open-minded conservative types can use that feeling as ammunition for continued ignorance, racism, etc.
Sam, do you have a blog? I’d be interested in following it.
I am still trying to wrap my head around this. My instinct is to bristle when anyone implies that I have no right to speak on a subject. I kind of feel told that I should just sit on the sidelines and not cause trouble.
Having been on both sides of privilege as a white woman I am trying to find a point of reference, as that is how I process and learn. In doing this I realized that maybe that is how and why so many fall into the trap of “being a bad ally”. Because many of us learn by putting something into a context that we are more familiar with, feel more viscerally or feel we have a right to comment on and then try to build understanding from there, we actually do what the author is terming “being a bad ally”.
As someone mentioned earlier I immediately tried to place myself in the closest approximation in my life to what the author was speaking of which was sexism. I thought back to conversations I have had with well meaning men about how it feels to walk down a sidewalk late at night alone and hear catcalls, drunken laughter and footsteps behind you. The terror you feel at the certainty that “this is it”, the moment when your going to be punished by a man for being a woman that many women are taught is inevitable. Many men admit that they don’t get it, don’t have a point of reference for it but I feel that is is my job to try and help them find that commonality, to make it REAL for themselves, therefore I am happy to have the conversation. I don’t get angry or tell them to just shut up and listen. I try not to perpetuate my feeling marginalized by marginalizing them.
I have to admit that this essay did make me feel left out and I’m not sure that ever leaving anyone left out of a conversation this important is a good thing. Acknowledging that not all our experiences are the same or translate equally is important but I think more is gained by the exercise of finding the deep common bond that allows us to come together is more productive than separating or segregating those qualified or unqualified to understand or respond to their feelings on a subject.
Hey, you know what, the author is saying that drawing on your own, unrelated experience is not appropriate, and says why. she’s not telling you to never speak out against racism, but that there are ways to do it, and ways to not do it.
god forbid that white people, or people who aren’t black, should sit back and listen to black people speak out about this, before jumping in with comparisons that are condescending, hurtful, and appropriative. we all serve to benefit from listening to jessie-lane metz first (and gary younge, mychal denzel smith, ta-nehisi coats, and others with firsthand knowledge and experience of the fuckery behind the trayvon martin killing and acquittal, and having that guide our support).
Hi! Thanks for reading. I don’t want to imply that anyone should be left out of the conversation. I want to invite people to think about other ways that they could engage that could be more productive to anti-racist outcomes. It is a think piece, I offer some more things to think about, I think that there is a lot of conversation in the comments about how people can continue to participate.
As a person of color, I will say that I identify with a lot of your emotions. But I will have to agree with Sam above me in saying that you just want “White people to listen, and to listen only”. While you are definitely putting forward an impassioned account of what it means to be racialized and how a white-centric approach might defeat the very purpose of empowering people of color to find their voices, I disagree with your approach to it. Frankly, I want my white allies to start speaking up. Definitely not for me. Or maybe even about me. But I definitely want them to start speaking with me; with me against a system they are very much a part of. So, yes, white allies need to do a lot of work to unpack their own personal bias in understanding what it means to be an ally to People of Color. But its about time we also make the commitment to provide support, challenge and constructive feedback to our allies so we can all work to achieve a vision of equity. Being an ally is a tough commitment, and they cannot do it in isolation.
Hi Duke. I agree with what you are saying here. I also want white people to speak. There are contexts where speaking about their own processes are even valuable. I just really want to caution people to think about what they are saying, and if it contributes to anti-racism. I want people to ask if they need to speak in every situation, to listen first, to do some research, see what has already been said. Give some credit for the words of others. While angry (which I am comfortable with), this is a critique with the purpose of moving forward. I hope to have other opportunities to talk about what that looks like.
I must confess a little skepticism here, Ms. Metz. You mention in places throughout the article a vague notion that there -are- appropriate contexts for white voices, but these contexts are not elucidated, and what seem like reasonable contexts to most people are excoriated in the same breath, so it begins to look like lip-service. I am curious what an example of acceptable white speech around the Trayvon Martin tragedy would look like to you. Honestly, I can’t imagine it being anything other than simply saying “this POC has something meaningful to say, you should go read it.” Which is well and good, and white speakers and writers should direct their audiences, which may not overlap with POC speakers and writers, to the words of POCs. But I’m not sure that really counts as “speaking” so much as “publicizing.”
I agree that people must think before they speak, and examine if their words really do contribute to anti-racism. I think we have very different ideas of anti-racism. I think anti-racism is something that meaningfully contributes to the alleviation of measurable suffering, e.g. income disparity, wealth disparity, employment disparity, educational disparity, incarceration disparity, and so on. To that end, I think engaging members of an oppressive class, who have the easiest access (by definition) to the levers of the oppressive system, to understand and begin to abhor the systems and institutions of oppression is a meaningful thing.
I do not think anti-racism can be measured simply by whether or not you, as an individual, are upset by something. I saw another post here on the Toast by a woman writing about how she shouted profanity at a man in public because he addressed her in a way that was racist and offensive. I can imagine nothing about this interaction that furthered anti-racism. I’m sure it made the woman who was the target of this aggression feel good, in the way that being angry and confrontational can make us feel good. I don’t think her enjoying her moment of rage is a valid metric of anti-racism.
Some of us still hold to the idea of self-sacrifice as being a virtue. For whites and other members of oppressor classes, that sacrifice is obvious–to relinquish privilege, and to actively empower oppressed people. But I find nothing admirable in this new progressive mentality that one’s social justice credentials are proved by how viciously angry you can be, and how condemnatory you can be, and how diligently you can pledge yourself to eviscerating well-intentioned allies and refusing to offer good-natured help.
I understand where this comes from. Black people -should not- have to spend their time educating, persuading, changing the minds of whites. People should not have to tolerate racist aggression.
But hypothetical moral truths don’t outweigh real-world consequences. And, let me just preface this by saying I’m not suggesting anyone ought to ever water-down the content of their beliefs. No one should edit their own values, “wait their turn” in the discussion, or present an edited-to-be-palatable selection of belief to the mainstream.
What people should do, however, is care about being persuasive. I find your post emblematic of an ethic that says that changing minds is less important than being angry. Condemnation is superior to persuasion. Rage is superior to kindness. Resentment is more moral than empathy. I still ascribe to the notion that there is moral value in restraining one’s anger and hatred and rage (which I have plenty of myself) and instead focusing one’s energy on what actually makes a difference. It seems to me that you do not ascribe to such an ethic, nor does the mainstream of the academized social justice wing of the progressive movement.
She is using the platform of her sociological social justice training and yes they do tend to teach them a certain way and there are biases students of her discipline pick up. However after her rhetorical rage, in the comment section she is warmer and more engaging. So I’m willing to cut her some slack as the incidents she related for her article seem to be reasonable. Yes she is coming from a position of academic privilege, but at this point aren’t most of us. Her thesis might be relatively broad but her individual criticisms are fairly narrow and specific. The end goal is for everyone to feel they can speak up and participate so we can all just be boring Americans.
After reading the comments on this article (this incredible, powerful article), I want to take a moment to say – Being an Ally is NOT ABOUT YOU. Just because you have thoughts about something, or are working through your privilege, doesn’t mean you should open a public discussion about it. That isn’t to say that having a discussion in an explicitly white setting about examining your own privilege can’t be productive. But PoC do not need to hear about your racism. The public conversation shouldn’t be about your racism, but about PoC’s experiences with racism. And, please, censorship? No one is stopping anyone from saying whatever they want, but everyone has a right to react and feel whatever they want about the things you put out into the world, and being an ally means attempting to account for that.
I want to say thank you for writing this and I am thinking it all over, deeply. I don’t agree with all of your ideas, but they did remind me of this quote by Malcolm X:
“I tell sincere white people, ‘Work in conjunction with us- each of us working among our own kind.’ Let sincere white individuals find all other white people they can who feel as they do- and let them form their own all-white groups, to work trying to convert other white people who are thinking and acting so racist. Let sincere whites go and teach non-violence to white people!
We will completely respect our white co-workers. They will deserve every credit. We will give them every credit. We will meanwhile be working among our own kind, in our own black communities- showing and teaching black men in ways that only other black men can- that the black man has got to help himself. Working separately, the sincere white people and sincere black people actually will be working together.
In our mutual sincerity we might be able to show a road to the salvation of America’s very soul.”
Yes, because segregation is a good thing? Separate but equal progressive thought and action? That has always worked.
I wasn’t posting the quote saying I agreed with it. I have some of the same misgivings.
But, while I have misgivings, I also think that Malcolm X didn’t come up with this solution out of nowhere. I think (in my limited wisdom) that it’s the wrong one, but I’m not going to ignore it or discredit it completely. Does that make sense?
thank you so much for this jessie-lane. white people fatigue syndrome captures it perfectly. this was a relief to read.
Negative reaction to professions of racist feelings and ensuing guilt, or simply unaware vaguely racists responses from prominent national writers, totally makes sense. But this article and the comments feel so insular and over-processed. Classifying everyone by detailed ethnic and racial heritage, biological sex, sexual identity, age, hometown, profession, income, etc., then setting out a bible length set of rules about what these carefully classified types of people are allowed to say, when they’re allowed to say it, whom they’re allowed to say it before or after, and to whom they are allowed to say it doesn’t lead to enlightenment, righteousness, or societal progress. It just makes you insular and irrelevant.
“It’s a long road to wisdom, it’s a short one to being ignored.”
Strange that this didn’t get a single response…
While I know the author means well, the net result of the article’s argument is that since Black people have the experience of racism, they then have the monopoly on not only its truth, but also its resolution, while White people must deal with their internalized racism as if dealing with a psychological complex on a therapist’s couch.
So essentially the structural architecture upon which systemic racism is based (a white person’s internalization of racist thinking!) is relegated by the author to the MARGINS of the debate!
Yes, people’s feelings need to be recognized (anecdotal racism as hurtful in itself). And yes, black people have a monopoly on the visceral experience of racism (in the black/white dichotomy).
But, like, for real. If this is to be more than a pursuit in using feeling words and recognizing what is hurtful and what isn’t, then the author might do well to recognize that there is a reciprocal process that must go on:
1: WHITE PEOPLE MUST RECOGNIZE, LISTEN TO, RESPECT, AND DEFER significant amounts of authority to those who experience racism as they work to shape and build a world that WORKS FOR them.
2: BLACK PEOPLE MUST SUPPORT, FOSTER, LISTEN TO, AND RESPECT the internal, psychological struggles that white people will struggle with. Offended by anecdotal racism like that mentioned in the article? That’s too bad, it probably does hurt. But if that kind of anecdotal recognition of one’s own internalized racism is the first step of changing beliefs and behaviors, then get the fuck over the hurt and help, god dammit.
A white person’s struggle with their own racism is not a re-centering of the struggle of black folk into a white perspective. IT WAS ALREADY IN THE CENTER, as the mirror image of black empowerment.
As the author should well know…it would be a sad, sad misstep to deny someone the reality of their own existence. In fact, she asks for the recognition of hers as the pre-requisite for being a good ally.
The LAST thing she should want is for white’s to work through their psychological racism, guilt, and sense of privilege in the absence of people of color., The fact that this is not PAINFULLY obvious to her casts doubt on the efficacy of her organizing strategy and on it being as intersectional as she believes it to be,
I would like to say thank you for this piece. Educating me (a white feminist who tries but often gets things wrong) is of course not your job but thank you so much for allowing me to read your own thoughts. Publicly being this open about one’s own extraordinary pain and thoughtful reflection takes a kind of bravery I surely don’t have. Good luck on your master’s defense. From reading this it is clear that you are sure to do great!
Thank you so much for wriring this, great insightful, painful article. Toward the end you wrote:
…I do not want to conflate or confuse that oppression targets specific marginalizations in very specific ways, and in the cases of Trayvon Martin, Rekia Boyd, Oscar Grant, Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Jordan Davis, Everett Gant, Darious Simmons, CeCe McDonald, and Marissa Alexander…” Please please don’t forget Kenneth Chamberlain!
Thank you for the education.
As a white person, this makes me want to just throw up my hands and say “okay, I guess racism really is not my problem to understand or solve. I’ll just go do something else since I’m not welcome in this conversation.”
i can understand why you’d be frustrated, and i also know that the wanting to throw up your hands and disengage because you’re not welcome is also white privilege. because choosing not to participate is only something we as white folks get to do.
Jessie-Lane, if you’re still reading comments here – I want to ask you about something – did you see the video that’s been floating around where LeVar Burton explains what he does when pulled over by police? In the version I watched there is a white guy (I’m guessing it’s Tim Wise) who gives a little summary at the end, and I was wondering if this was related to you were talking about – it felt so unnecessary to have a “White Person Translation” when LeVar’s point was so clearly made.
I did see that clip, although I didn’t specifically reference it in the article. I have so many questions for Lavar Burton about so many things, I was delighted to see him on tv. I had the eye roll moment at the end as well when everything Lavar said was then summed up and regurgitated by a white guest for no good reason. Case in point.
Jessie,
I really, really hear your point about white people not reciting their racist thoughts/experiences with POC. Totally makes sense.
The tricky part for me is I think that as a white person, my role in anti-racism work is to talk to other white people about this (in addition to backing POC) and often that talking happens in the public forum of the internet. I hear how important it is for POC to not have to listen to/read us do that AND we need to do it.
I think it’s important for white people to call out the racist thoughts running through our heads (with other white people) to model how this shit got installed and runs without us even noticing most of the time. Most white people have no idea all the garbage that’s running and they can’t stop it if they don’t even know it’s there.
I’m still working out how to do that while being mindful of POC. I’m in the process of writing a post directed at other white people, that may include examples of the ways this stuff got installed or is still running for me. After reading this, I think I’ll include a disclaimer/warning at the beginning for POC. Not sure I have a better solution but would love to hear your thinking if you have the interest/energy in commenting.
Feel free to find me on Twitter if you have some questions or want to chat!
I really like the disclaimer idea. I was struggling with the tension between “white allies educating other white allies” and the idea of not centering on whiteness and not relating racist and hurtful anecdotes.
I think that to get many white folks to move from complete ignorance to something better, sometimes they/we need to be talked to in a way they/we can hear, and then moved along to more difficult (for them/us) concepts. That type of educational system is more-or-less the same for racism as it is for math; it’s how people learn.
What *isn’t* the same is that unlike math problems, those early anti-o conversations are inevitably racist and hurtful. But they’re also necessary – I’ve never met a white person who made the transition straight from “I’m not racist” to understanding the things discussed in this article, without a lot of awful conversations in between. So then, how do we have those earlier conversations in a way that doesn’t further trample all over everyone else and simultaneously create the problem that we’re trying to help talk about? The confluence of psychology-education-power-privilege here is mind boggling.
Jaime, I look forward to your article. And thank you, Jessie, for yours.
I am a US history middle school teacher. I’m white and I teach predominantly POC in a very poor school on the urban fringe. My BA and MA focused on privilege and oppression in US and Latin American history.
We talk about race and racism in my class a lot, because it’s integral to US history. I explicitly teach them about the 1600s and how racialized slavery grew, what happened to people of color across the United States, and how long slavery actually lasted (until 1942). We talked about Trayvon Martin, too.
My kids think I am not racist, because I acknowledge racism. When I demur and tell them that I still have racist thoughts, they disagree. They don’t understand institutionalized racism and they believe that things are getting better even though I tell them that racism is going underground. Their own white friends totally accept them so that’s what they see. They think that racism is something “out there.”
During the course of last year some of my black male students got really upset. They experienced racism fatigue. They started to understand that racism still affects them. They got angry. Not at me, but at having to hear about it all the time. I wonder if I did them a disservice, but I don’t know.
I also feel awkward, because I feel that the only person I can legitimately speak for is myself. These are my experiences. I’m aware that this whole comment is about my experiences, and that makes this comment white-centric or something. But this is what I’m faced with, and I feel disingenuous trying to represent anyone else’s experiences any more than I have here. I’m not sure if I should have conversations about racism with my students because I am a figure of authority – a white one – and what I have to say about racism goes against what they personally perceive. And they want to know how I am racist, and why, and I feel that telling them how and why might help them to understand institutionalized racism better. I just don’t know if it’s appropriate.
I read a lot – quite fond of bell hooks – and I try to listen and not make myself central to the conversation. But to only ever talk to white people about how I feel and react and what I think is very difficult. Most white people I know think I’m nuts. My family strongly disagrees with me. My white friends who are allies are also confused. I try to listen to as many POC as possible, but it doesn’t help that much to listen to one group but be told to talk exclusively – and in private, only – with another group, especially when a chunk of my conversations about racism are in public, on facebook, where any of my white or POC friends can read. And I can only speak for myself, but now I feel as if speaking for myself about my own thoughts and experiences with racism is bad.
I dunno, I’m not a teacher (I’m in school to become one) but I feel like bringing discussions about race and racism into the classroom can be a very very positive thing. it doesn’t have to be about you telling them, “this is what racism is in your life,” it can just be about bringing their attention to things and getting them to think critically out loud and on paper — giving them the space to work out their own ideas. presenting them with a more complete version of US history than is presented in regular textbooks, and being like, hey, isn’t it crazy that most people are not even taught about these things happening? what do you think about that? if they don’t believe you that institutionalized racism exists, I kind of feel like maybe… that’s okay? I mean, they’re kids, and their ideas about this will be changing over time. maybe they are allowed to have feelings about it that don’t match with yours. as a teacher, you are doing what you can, but you can only do so much, right? their thoughts and opinions are still their own. maybe one day they will come up against some serious institutionalized racism (I mean… I feel like Trayvon is an in-your-face example of it but maybe not to them) and it will be painful and you won’t be there to help them understand it but probably, hopefully, someone else will be. and maybe they’ll think back to your class and be reminded of your lessons. thinking back to one of the author’s points here, that it is indeed painful to hear about acts of racism over and over, that presumably includes hearing about it in school. it’s got to be fucking exhausting for them and, yes, infuriating. not because of you bringing it up too much (I have no way of knowing if you do) but just because it’s an emotional topic in general and there are seemingly no days off and it never ends and ugh. tiring. if that makes you think you did them a disservice, I’d have to disagree. I think it’s just something to keep awareness of, and maybe, if they seem to be getting emotionally worn out, switch gears to a more positive discussion of POC histories (e.g. community-building) for awhile. you’re in a position where you are, in my opinion, specifically obligated to speak with them about these things. if you’re teaching people of color about US history, you should be including a lot of stuff about their particular histories in this country. that will not only or even mostly be about white racism, but it will certainly come up.
I guess I’m feeling like, racism will exist and affect your students whether you talk with them about it or not. that is reason enough to talk with them about it. on the other hand, if it hasn’t traumatized them yet; if they still have friendships with white people that don’t feel slightly tarnished by racial dynamics; if they still think of you, their white teacher, as a Not-Racist White Person that they can trust; then I don’t think it’s your responsibility to introduce that pain to them. if they were already feeling that pain, already feeling the frustration of racism being invisible and pervasive even amongst good people, then I’d say it would be negligent not to discuss it in your classroom, and that they could seriously benefit from you doing so. but if they’re not… I mean, it probably won’t be like that for them forever. I can’t see it being necessary to get them to feel this way before they’re ready. I could be wrong, but I feel like discussing the ways that they do feel race affects them + teaching an inclusive history = the two most important steps you could take.
is it possible that at least some of your students are grateful for your frankness in approaching the topic? I ask because I feel like one of the most alienating things that white teachers of mostly-POC students can do is to not talk about racism at all. particularly when the students already have an awareness of it, but even if they don’t yet, it will alienate them later when they do. I’m black and went to urban schools with pretty big minority populations; my history teachers were my least favorite because they rarely acknowledged race or black history. I have no idea what it would’ve been like to talk about it often, probably frustrating in its own way, but I think it would have been a relief to get some acknowledgement that it existed and to be given the space to talk through some real shit with my peers. I would not, however, have wanted to hear about how my white teacher can be personally racist. that would make me uncomfortable, even if it was obvious to me through the teachings that it was implied (because all white people are implicit in racism).
but hearing about you attempting to do what you’re doing in your classroom, even if you don’t feel like you’re getting everything right all the time — you’re trying, and you’re keeping an eye out on how it’s working for the kids, and that’s great. I mean, I would’ve appreciated a teacher like that when I was in middle school.
p.s. I just read the essay “I Won’t Learn From You” by Herbert Kohl which is a great take on this topic, if you haven’t read it or want to revisit.
Thanks for the comments and the suggestion.
I don’t really bring up my own racism at all in the classroom because I’m still learning what it is and how to describe it, and when you talk to 11-14 year olds there’s a huge gap even in that 3 years between what they can understand, and when, and everyone matures at their own rate. So if I can’t really say it coherently to myself, there’s no way I’m going to be able to say it to them in a way they get. But then they ask “well, are you racist?” and I don’t ever lie to kids. But it’s hard to explain to them HOW I am racist, and they really want to know and understand, because their brains aren’t quite able to grok things like the financial underpinnings of white flight. And, they also see EVERYTHING as racist. If I talk about sexism or ableism or homophobia any of the rest of that, they see it as racism, so the first struggle is to disconnect and define racism apart from other modes of oppression, which they are loathe to do.
I didn’t learn any women’s or race history in K-12, which is part of the reason why I’m teaching so much of this “alternate” history now. I don’t want to be the teachers I suffered under. So thanks for the comments because I really have no idea how I’m doing. And my kids like me just fine, but that’s totally different than an endorsement that I’m doing a good job. I hope some day when they’re adults they come back and critically evaluate my lessons. That would be helpful. (But that’s me wanting to know how I’m doing as a teacher at least as much as me wanting validation from POC about my ally-ness.)
Thanks again for the recommendation for Herbert Kohl. I’m assuming it’s an article? I will be certain to find and read it.
ah, I see what you mean about them asking. that sounds really difficult! it’s so interesting that they struggle to differentiate racism from the other -isms… really does sound like it hasn’t become a fully-formed idea for them. although there is maybe something to be said about the commonalities of these power structures. man, I don’t know. teaching these massive (& massively important) ideas in a developmentally appropriate way has got to be quite the challenge. but I think there is something nice about the idea of an adult and a bunch of kids struggling to figure out racism together, with neither really the expert.
hope you find the Kohl article interesting!
I did, thank you! I’d actually read it during my credential program, but I’d forgotten it and it was definitely worth reading again.
Yeah, puberty is a challenge. It’s interesting to consider brain development during that stage. It was definitely something I wasn’t prepared for, and probably the hardest part of teaching middle school – their emotional systems are fully developed, but the cognitive parts of their brains change so much. What some kids are developed enough to understand others really struggle with. But by the end of 8th grade just about everyone is there.
I will keep trying. I have awesome kids and they’re totally worth it. But I digress and I feel as if I’m slightly derailing the OP’s comments, so I’m going to bow out here. 🙂
Found the Koch article and am reading it now. Thanks!
I’m imagining myself in your situation pressed with the question “Are you racist?” and wondering how I might handle this hard thing. It’s been a long time since I was student-teaching. And yet variations of this come up in life too. I read this dialog within the comments here with interest. Whenever I find I have “resorted” to the word “racism” or “sexist” usually I’m aware it’s a sad shorthand with whoever I’m talking to. If you’ve already spent the vast majority of time just going through history/stories of the many blossoms roots and immense twining-everywhere of African-rooted creative intelligence this country and the world benefits from (and even if you don’t know that much of it probably the little you know is well-worth discussion — including frank Q and A about why you don’t know more. most of this can be done without resorting to the word “racisim.” Why oh why did those people kill Emmet Till or why did they restrict voting for non-whites — will come up. The answer isn’t just “racisim.” Why do you think, young Middleschooler? If he says “racism” another question — that’s a word — but what do you think might have caused someone like that to come up with that law. [much more discussion, being careful to not let white voices dominate — and to cut them off as soon as can be done when non-blacks start with the the stories of racism they’ve heard, so that others in the class are spared. “Let’s save that for now” or whatever and then privately talk tol the student bringing up the examples from their white lives of associates making racist comments — how emotionally hurtful that can be for the non-whites who are after all reminded of these things time after time after time to be reminded of it here. No, young white Middleschooler, I know you didn’t mean to — its’ ok. Sometimes we want to be compassionate by not telling every stupid thing we’ve ever heard to people who may re-experience a bit or more than a bit of trauma from the telling. …But Teacher, you let [black] Daniel and black Aaron tell about some of their experiences…and on it goes…Teaching is HARD — I only made it through student-teaching. Hats off for your doing this hard work. Reading over what I wrote though, I got an idea — if they ask “are you racist” (having tried to be more specific when possible) what if you ask them “do you think so? Isms seem to be a way of dehumanizing for other alterior purposes. I sometimes think we all engage in “Ism-ing” at times. “[ out of fear out of superstition perhaps based on fear out of ????]
I found this post to be very insightful and instructive. I work in a city that is mostly composed of people of color and this article has given me some ideas about how to work better with them and how to contribute more positively in the conversation of race discrimination there (I think I rewrote this sentence about eight times trying not to sound exactly like the people you described…hopefully I succeeded!).
I agree that hearing white people’s confessionals (especially in person), while meant to be a way of self-examination, can hurt and be an act of racism itself. It flips the script from trying to understand how racism affects PoC to entirely a conversation about how white people feel about their own racism.
What I disagree with you about though is that this type of dialogue by white people should end/be reduced. What’s often lost in the echo-chambers of college class discussions (and then in the pages of blogs/magazines/websites) about these issues is that the vast majority of people are not advanced in anti-racism work or discussions. There are plenty of white allies, and potential white allies, that are not up-to-date on the newest anti-racist, anti-sexist, anti-homophobic, anti-transphobic work. Hell, I’m a black grad student myself (not in social justice) and I’m not even up to the date on the vast majority of this type of work.
So I can forgive a white person that flips the script on a racism discussion to it being about their white racism and white privilege because at least they are trying and are demonstrating a willingness to examine these issues. Some people don’t give out points for effort, just for results. I’m not one of those people.
People deserve to have their willingness to change, and listen, rewarded. You’d be surprised how rare those qualities actually are in the world, so when I see it I applaud it.
But yes, white allies need to be more mindful about supporting PoC’s voices instead of making the focus about their own whiteness. It’s a challenge to white people to let PoC dominate the discussion while remaining engaged and committed. And it’s a lifelong challenge that I hope white allies don’t get scared away from.
hello – many thoughts. i am a white woman. have read audre lorde many times and will go back again to highlight in new places. i hear and appreciate your anger, and personally, wish that us white people were a bit more able to learn so you did not have to expend your energy in this way. i am in my 60’s and have been working at this institutional racism since i became a professor about 30 years ago. i “teach” social justice, though i do believe i learn as much as i supposedly teach.
i am part of a network called SURJ – Showing up for Racial Justice – both national and local, mostly of white people who want to end white supremacy. we work in conjunction with many POC and POC orgs.
first off, i continue to move away from traditional definitions of “ally.” i speak as someone who co-edited a book with Rose Brewer (African American woman) many years ago about alliance politics. Back then, i assumed we/whites could be allies because we said so. i now believe allies can not ever claim that term. we can perhaps be allies when the POC we engage with see us as allies. so i don’t use the term “ally” very often, because it feels like it’s white-centered once again, if i claim to be an ally.
i agree that when us white people talk about white privilege, we do it in a way that re-centers whiteness. i’m still struggling with how to best do it. here’s what i have been thinking/feeling…
i went to a Trayvon Martin rally in minneapolis where i live. for me, i felt like it was a funeral and i needed to go. it was not my place to shout out or feel “good” because i was there. i saw many people – both POC and white people, who were smiling and raising their fists. but what i observed more, were the young black children and their moms and dads who brought them to the rally. my heart hurt. i wasn’t smiling. i nodded if we made eye contact to attempt to acknowledge who they were and why they were there.
white people want to feel “good” at these events. we want to be at the center. i kind of think that when we white people claim we are “anti-racist,” it’s an oxymoron. if we just shut up, listen and then work to end white supremacy – taking the lead from POC, maybe we end this shit. if there’s a time to step up and be in front, can we do this with humility? not sure. another oxymoron – white humility. why can’t we live this work without claiming credit? ego? power mongering?
i appreciate your thoughts. academia is brutal. i wish you the best, Ms. Jessie. it’s a fucking bastion of white supremacy. take care of yourself in the best ways you know, and be in touch if i can “help” in any way possible. thanks, lisa
Thank you! Excellent, honest and courageous pieces of work, which I will be assigning to my well-intentioned white allies. Each time someone writes an articulate, crystal clear piece like this, that the rest of us can then use as a tool, it makes the wearying work of grappling with white privilege a little lighter.
I can understand how being a woman stuck in a car with a male friend saying things like “women really have it bad like examples a b and c here” (as if you aren’t a woman who might have something to say from your personal experience of wanting to be seen personally, not simply as a “member” and he didn’t start there can be wearying –(and that being near the good end of the man-spectrum). I can understand how my resorting to the word “racism” and lashing out when the young folks didn’t let me speak earlier and so I’m reactively but not effectively “getting back at them” now for assuming motives in some dumb thing they chose to post can be wearying (in other words, my own damned sad lack of finesse partly based in my own loneliness and fear to be vulnerable and admit this to them) can be wearying — but grappling with my white privilege be wearying? That I don’t get. Something doesn’t compute. You mean like if all us Americans were really serious about wanting a just world we’d realize we can’t all have gas-guzzling cars and so immediately give them up? And how riding a bike really IS wearying for us oldsters…? Maybe the words just sound a little embarrassing…
Thanks for this post. I am white, for the record, and I agree that much of this discussion about internalized racism and privilege veers very quickly into the realm of being self-congratulatory without going any further. I remember having similar feelings about a class discussion about some texts we’d read about the Holocaust– there was this disconcerting quality of feeling good about feeling bad in the conversation, as a way, I guess, of making us feel distant and very unlike the perpetrators of these acts. A discussion of white privilege that makes one feel good about feeling bad has missed the point in fundamental ways because privilege is structural; the conversation often slides right from structures of inequality right back to race relations and personal biases, to having the right frame of mind. This has an appeal that I understand– it feels solvable, and fixable, to have the right view, to feel like you can work it out in your head and have done your part, to, as you say, appropriate that pain and then almost breathe it back out like you were doing yoga or something. The structural dynamics of racism are a lot tougher to grapple with and change, because they require work in the world and not just work in your head.
Maybe. Then again, I don't really know how that works. Can Maureen Dowd (or whoever) just let anyone write her column instead of her? Will people still read it? I don't really know how people's contracts are written, but I kind of doubt that most writers have the ability to decide who can write something in their place.
Thank you.
Back in college when I began dating the black man who eventually became my husband, I started finding myself frequently being in settings where I was the only white person present. I noted that at first, I had this gut level discomfort and it occurred to me that each person in the room dealt with the.reverse experience all the time. That is they frequently found themselves being the only African American in a room of whites. And I realized that unlike me, these men and women would be completely justified in feeling uncomfortable being the only person of their race in a room. African Americans have never targeted whites for hatred, oppression and violence. Yet white people are the ones who feel that it’s reasonable to fear and teach their children to fear African American men. It’s crazy. But it does demonstrate just how self focused and lacking in empathy white attitudes towards the problem of racism is.
20 years and many very hard, painful conversations into being in an interracial partnership, I’ve come to see just what I think you are talking about here. White people have a tendency to make it all about us. If I’m racist or not. If my concerns are being addressed. If my perspective is properly understood. As if the biggest problem with race issues were our needs and not the desperate need to address the problems our African American brothers and sisters face!
During the 2008 presidential campaign I wrote quite a bit about race. I’m sure I did it imperfectly, but mostly what I wanted to do was to challenge the excuses white people use to justify passing judgment on the perspectives of black Americans. I’ve returned to the topic occasionally since then, mostly trying to be an advocate for black perspectives white folks tend to want to dismiss and explain away. I don’t know if it’s helped at all, but having had a front row seat to the often appalling challenges black men face, I am a firm believer that white people need to do a much better job in not just exploring our half of the issue, but in actually moving past ourselves and into a place of real empathy and advocacy for African Americans. But boy-oh-boy, are we white folks an obtuse lot!
Back in college when I began dating the black man who eventually became my husband, I started finding myself frequently being in settings where I was the only white person present. I noted that at first, I had this gut level discomfort and it occurred to me that each person in the room dealt with the.reverse experience all the time. That is they frequently found themselves being the only African American in a room of whites. And I realized that unlike me, these men and women would be completely justified in feeling uncomfortable being the only person of their race in a room. African Americans have never targeted whites for hatred, oppression and violence. Yet white people are the ones who feel that it's reasonable to fear and teach their children to fear African American men. It's crazy. But it does demonstrate just how self focused and lacking in empathy white attitudes towards the problem of racism is.
20 years and many very hard, painful conversations into being in an interracial partnership, I've come to see just what I think you are talking about here. White people have a tendency to make it all about us. If I'm racist or not. If my concerns are being addressed. If my perspective is properly understood. As if the biggest problem with race issues were our needs and not the desperate need to address the problems our African American brothers and sisters face!
During the 2008 presidential campaign I wrote quite a bit about race. I'm sure I did it imperfectly, but mostly what I wanted to do was to challenge the excuses white people use to justify passing judgment on the perspectives of black Americans. I've returned to the topic occasionally since then, mostly trying to be an advocate for black perspectives white folks tend to want to dismiss and explain away. I don't know if it's helped at all, but having had a front row seat to the often appalling challenges black men face, I am a firm believer that white people need to do a much better job in not just exploring our half of the issue, but in actually moving past ourselves and into a place of real empathy and advocacy for African Americans. But boy-oh-boy, are we white folks an obtuse lot!
A lot to think about here.
You advocate for a fundamental and necessary shift in the way that allies should act, putting the focus and the drive for change in the hands and voices of those who are actually facing discrimination. You are completely right. Especially in that context, a white person’s journey towards realizing that they are oppressor, and privileged, can be triggering, and takes the focus from where it should be (the struggles of Black people). It has no place in intersectional discussions, where the focus should (for once) not be on white people.
I wonder, though, whether such discussions could be or are helpful for white people who are not yet even to the point of being allies? Who have honestly never been confronted with the realities of their own privilege and racism. You argue that those discussions shouldn’t be occurring in places where they can hurt people, and they shouldn’t supercede the concerns and the voices of PoCs. I think you are completely right, but that doesn’t mean that those discussions don’t need to be happening, and that white people don’t need to be confronted with their own racism. It’s kind of the first step. The problem is when you don’t move on past that first step to actually LISTEN.
As a white dyke, I especially appreciate this sentence: “The narrative is no longer about Black victims of racist crimes and a deeply flawed justice system, it is about white feelings about Black bodies and their experiences.”
This gives me a lot to think about, and I will close now to go re-read Audre Lorde’s article.
Thank you very much.
I really appreciate this article and the discussions following. As a white man that wants to be an ally I can use all the help I can get. The one critique I will give is that I don’t this writing or speaking from a place of anger tends to be productive, simply because anger tends to leads to language that puts people on the defensive. This is a really great opportunity for all of us to learn how we can work together but it gets undermined when the focus is on what’s wrong, without bringing to light anything about what’s “right” to do to help.
For an ally who “can use all the help he can get” – are you aware of the long history and ongoing tradition of dismissing Black people’s voices for being “too angry”? White folks actually need to learn to listen to Black people’s totally legitimate anger in discussions about race. That defensive feeling is yours to work through; it’s not the author’s to take care of or prevent.
“I do not consent to being confronted with racism in the hopes that white folks can maybe start to exorcise their own internalized issues. Allies need to do this work on their own.”
As a white woman also learning to be an ally, this quote resonated with me and I think addresses the issue with you (a white man) advising a woman of colour on how to write about racism. It is our responsibility (in attempting to be allies) to rethink all of the standards and norms in our lives that have largely been established by white men of a certain class. Would you have given a white man the same advice had he written an “angry” post?
Stunning, essential article. What you said made me think about how Steph Guthrie and Jessica Valenti’s articles most likely did not consider that there would be any black members in their readership; when they wrote the articles, they imagined a white audience that they were addressing. This is extremely problematic in itself, regardless of the best of intentions. If I try to think about where they were coming from, maybe they would say that their pieces weren’t intended for a black audience because it isn’t the black community that needs to be educated about racism and white privilege, and unfortunately some white people will be more receptive to other white people on this matter because they want it framed in a way that’s legible to them. I’m not excusing this, and this is something white people need to seriously work on. White people should be able to see racism and their own privilege when listening to black experience alone— it’s all there.
Wow, this was an amazing read. I am a queer identified POC professor and I am walking away with much new insight and ideas for fostering discussions of diversity in classroom settings. Thank you.
It’s interesting to see Jesse recenter the issue of the racism and classism that undereducated black men experience to her individualized experience as a highly educated black woman conversant in postmodern dialectics. At what point does everyone’s experience become so atomized that no one has earned the privilege to comment on social justice issues that can only be solved with the collective efforts of all individuals.
this is so true. I never really got why people telling me their experiences of racism (from a white perspective) made me feel so awful. You named it. It is an act of racism to for a white person to relay this.
Hi Jessica-Lane Metz,
This article really woke me up as a white ally. But I also have a question.
I think I get it now:
When I see or hear about something racist, it feels painful to me.
In all odds, it most definitely feels more painful for a person of color to hear about it, as they might experience it vicariously or feel a sense of hopelessness or relive a past racist experience.
Therefore, if I am going around playing show and tell with racist experiences for the sake of being a proud ally, “look how much I am understanding and am outraged by,” I could be triggering black folks for my own gain. I need to do it for the right reasons: to educate other white people and to wake them up to institutional and interpersonal racism and privilege they don’t realize.
That leads to my questions:
1) Peggy MacIntosh is the one who woke me up; reading her checklist in college is part of the reason I am committed to undoing racism now. She’s writing to educate white people. Yet you make it seem like she is being selfish and appropriating black people’s pain for personal gain. I think she is waking up white people with her list, and if she can make a living off of it, why not?
2) I constantly post on my FB wall about racism. I posted a link to a blog recently about Miley Cyrus’ performance, ‘When Your (Black) Body Is a (White) Wonderland’. In the post I said “At first I wrote this off, but now I see.” I was confessing my guilt at thinking this was just another overreactive rant before leading it into my revelation. More black women than white people *liked* my post.
I was disappointed and yet happy for them. Why do you think they liked it? Because the author articulated something hard to explain? Because they were happy to see a white person who “gets it,” and that gave them hope? I’d like to think it was the first reason, because the second one might set up false expectations of hope for all white people, but isn’t dreaming okay sometimes?
Now if I had posted a link to another Trayvon Martin, maybe that would just be depressing and triggering. Or if I had just admitted my own racism and left it at that, without including and explaining, in detail, my revelation, it would have been selfish. At least that’s how I am justifying it now.
I think this is in line with the spirit of what I learned from you thus far. What do you think about this?
I think being a good ally is about
collective liberation
doing it for the benefit of all
including myself as a white person
If a bad ally is an ally who makes a mistake in the course of acting as an ally, the only surefire way to avoid being a bad ally is to not be an ally– not publicly, anyway.
I don’t think that’s the message that’s intended to be taken away from articles like these, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t the message that’s taken away. The fear of being named a bad ally and publicly castigated as such on the internet (or perhaps in person) could be expected to have some dampening effect on those who would be “good” allies as well, but who cannot discern logically what, explicitly, is inappropriate and what is not.
Largely, it might be expected that those white allies who will speak confidently in public forums will over time take on a specific and uniform character, one designed to avoid being called out. Views which privately differ from that specific character will be suppressed and not exposed to critique, for fear of castigation by the public. (It may be useful to point out here that death and rape threats have been sent to those working to be allies– fears around being a bad ally are not imaginary.)
Those who might have been allies but are too nervous to speak will take on a wide diversity of beliefs, largely isolated from and unchallenged by the current and evolving discourses, and may eventually develop private and increasingly intense racist beliefs and ultimately, racist actions. Discourse, we would hope, is helpful not only because it advances specific viewpoints, but because it allows for views to be challenged, remade, and exposed. It also allows people to bring themselves (their whole selves, which are by nature expressive and not merely receptive) into the dialogue, creating an emotional presence that can be transformed at the deepest level. This emotional transformation requires some risk, but should the risk appear too high, I believe we will see attrition from the attempt to do anti-racist work, a very silent attrition that will not catch up to us for a long time.
I know this is months after your post, but I am just reading, and I wanted to say thank you. I think it’s possible for me to be a much better person in this world after reading your clearly expressed perspective. As I read it, my words look trite, but truly, something has shifted in my being. I just want to express gratitude for the thought and care you put into your words and the follow up article.
Zami was an influential book for me in my 20s, but I have yet to read more of Audre Lorde and I am inspired to do so now.