mindful living (Page 44)

“All Whites Are Racist!” screamed giant red letters on the yellow banner in the student center. It didn’t say much more than that, except to come to the theater at a certain time that day. I was outraged and I wondered what in the heck was going on, after all, that was total nonsense — I wasn’t racist and neither were my friends. We were good people, not scummy ignorant bigots. How dare someone imply otherwise?

What followed was a workshop with a man named Tony Harris. I don’t remember many details of the workshop but I walked out of there with a deeper understanding of my own racism and the impact it had on my life. Mr. Harris showed me that our tendency in looking at racism is to see how it negatively affects non-caucasians, when, in fact, caucasians are suffering great emotional pain because of racism, too. The workshop wasn’t a touchy-feely, “oh you white people have it so bad” kind of thing, but rather it was an experience that revealed painful truths: no matter our intentions, we white people are racist.

Defining “racist” must go beyond a dictionary definition. The way we use the term “racism” in this country is not simply “making decisions based on race.” The term “racism” as it is used today is about oppression and power. I define racism as “people with power oppressing people with less power, based on their apparent race.” Of course there are exceptions to “all whites are racist” but it is for the most part a true statement and the exceptions are fewer than most people like to think.

We white people grow up with advantages born unto us. For example, we are less likely to get stopped by the police and more likely to be hired for a job. Whether we like it or not, we have more power than people with darker skin. Because we have advantages based on our skin color, we are participating in a racist system and are therefore racist ourselves.

Through our families, through the media, through implicit and over messages we are taught stereotypes about people who aren’t white. Because we believe these stereotypes on some level, we’re afraid. Because we are afraid, we avoid people who don’t look like us so we can avoid feeling uncomfortable. Because we avoid people who don’t look like us, we have no opportunity to disprove the stereotypes we are taught.

Additionally, because so many of us are good, well-intentioned people, we feel guilty for our position, for our advantage, and for our country’s history of oppression. Because we feel guilty is one more reason we avoid anyone who isn’t white, so we don’t have to feel uncomfortable — so we can pretend it isn’t so.

Given this premise: all us white folks are racist, what can we do about it?

I have some ideas how on an individual level we can work towards breaking the bonds that have been holding us all down in this racist society.

I think of where I have lived. When I lived in a white suburban area of town I had rare occasion to interact with a non-white person. I had no idea the impact this had on me until I moved to an area of town where most people have dark skin — at first, I was literally afraid! All logic was out the window, and I just felt nervous and guilty and I felt I stuck out like a sore thumb being so white.

Well, it’s been some time (this happens each time I move in and out of neighborhoods where there are more dark skinned people than light skinned) and I love where I live. I no longer feel nervous and I no longer feel guilty most of the time. I haven’t escaped my racist background, but simple proximity to people who don’t look like me helps me recognize my biases and move beyond them.

Another thing I suggest is for you (if you’re white) is to be the minority for a while. Go to a bar filled with mostly Asian people, go to a Hispanic neighborhood association meeting, or go to a black church where you are one of the only white people around. The experience is terrifying and shocking when you realize this is what it must be like for so many dark skinned people in “your world” when they “visit.” It also helps to bring yourself into the reality that there is no “one” black person, Asian person, Latino person — among the darker skinned people there are tremendous varieties. There are fat and skinny, there are poor and wealthy, there are sloppy and neat.

It seems sad to suggest such things as “get next to a darker skinned person to get over your fear and your guilt” — it would be nice to believe that dialogue would be a first step. I think living in the same worlds is the first step, and I think it’s up to those of us who have the most power (the white people) to recognize our advantages and use our power to help make changes. We can choose to live in “black/Asian/Latino neighborhoods,” we can choose to attend churches and temples where not only white people worship, we can simply shop in supermarkets where not only white people shop. We can live our lives with conscious thought and with intent.

Since I don’t believe we can ever be entirely free of our racism as white people I believe educating our children is the most vital step we can take to changing our world. It’s our responsibility to guarantee our children grow up next door to people who don’t look like themselves, that they sit at school desks and work on homework assignments with children who don’t look just the same, and it is our responsibility that they are exposed to the richness and variety of the world’s cultures rather than just the white culture around them.

All whites may be racist, but it’s true that the children are our future and it’s up to us to teach them.

——————
Here’s a link to some information about Tony Harris, he’s connected on this website to a “show” called “American Pictures” which looks quite interesting, the site itself is well done:
http://www.american-pictures.com/english/show/tony.htm

Note: This essay was first published on my website in 1999. 

Harriett was running down the hall, late for the luncheon with Senator Simpson. As she ran, she called over her shoulder, “someone canceled, do you want to come along?”

Did I?

I’d been working for Harriett Woods, former Lieutenant Governor of Missouri, at the National Women’s Political Caucus for just under a year. My most recent project was organizing luncheons with leaders of women’s organizations and each individual member of the Senate Judiciary Committee. This was just immediately following the confirmation of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas.

Of course I wanted to “come along!”

After passing through the metal detectors of the Senate building, I had to run to keep up with Harriett’s long leg strides. When we entered the private dining room, the architecture and decor seemed ancient and powerful. Two or three of the women’s group leaders had already arrived and were seated at the heavy wooden table that filled the small, bright, high-ceilinged room.

We took our seats and I sat, not speaking, just listening to Harriett make lovely appropriate small talk with the other women. No one spoke about what they were all there for: the topic was “discussing women’s perspectives on the Hill/Thomas hearings.” I was in shock. Here I was, 21 years old, sitting in a private dining room of the Senate with leaders of some of the most influential womens’ organizations in Washington, DC — we were all there together waiting for Senator Alan Simpson.
Senator Simpson, the vocal Judiciary Committee member from Wyoming.

After about ten minutes, the door behind us opened. The tallest man I’ve ever seen in my life limbered in followed by an elegant (and also tall) woman.

The Senator took a seat at the tremendous table. He took a seat directly across the table from me.

The woman who was with him, his wife Ann, sat at the head of the table on the other side of the room.

The Senate dining staff began serving our lunch as the polite and amiable chit-chat continued.

Again, there was no mention of what the participants were all there to discuss and I found the omission made the conversation shallow and stilted — though I see now how it was all about manners, protocol and style.

Finally, as I evaluated the fruit cup (yet another food item I couldn’t possibly eat with my stomach so full of butterflies), Harriett said something like, “Shall we get started?” Something like that. She crafted such an eloquent but simple statement, I wish I could recall the exact words.

She made her point: it was time to move beyond the small talk.

Then the Senator then took the lead.

He began speaking of Anita Hill and how she had perjured herself. I don’t know how long the Senator spoke, as I was still in shock, but I do remember distinctly that he mentioned the “corrupting effect of this rock and roll” — my jaw almost dropped onto the floor when he actually said that.

As the Senator spoke, I ground my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from speaking. The thoughts were a hurricane in my brain and I was afraid I would burst out in some verbal explosion of frustration.

He was missing the point, and no one was saying anything to him about it!

Were we going to sit there and listen to him slamming Anita Hill and just sit mute? Would all these nice manners continue and block any real communication about the frustrations of the issues of real sexual harassment in the workplace and the lack of women in the Senate?

At one point a sort of squawking noise escaped from my mouth.

My fingernails were almost through the skin on my palms.
I looked, pleadingly at Harriett after I made the sound and I said to her, “could… could I say something?”

And Harriett, the strong, impressive and grand woman announced to the shocked looking table members with her arms waving about, “Yes! Yes! My assistant, Heather, would like to say something!”

My hands relaxed in my lap.

I started to speak with a quivering and timid voice.

I said, “Senator, I understand that you think Anita Hill perjured herself. But, I don’t think that’s the point. I think the point is, there were no women up there on the Judiciary Committee, so no one could possibly know what she had gone through if she had been telling the truth.”

The Senator was just staring at me.

After I finished speaking I’m not sure if I even took a breath of air.

The Senator took a bite of his fruit cup and his head began to nod.
He chewed and said, “Hmmm…well, I never thought about it that way.”

I recognized even then that he was being kind and diplomatic — though I will always hope my words might’ve reached him.

I continued shaking and shivering throughout the rest of the luncheon. I have no recollection of any other words that were exchanged in the meeting. I just remember when it seemed it was time to go.

The Senator raised himself slowly from his chair, and the rest of us followed.

When all of the thank-you’s and good-bye’s were being exchanged came one of the most remarkable interactions of the whole experience.

Mrs. Simpson came over to me with her hand extended.

She introduced herself to me, and I introduced myself to her. She continued shaking my hand and looked deep into my eyes and said, “You keep on going,” and gave my hand an extra tight squeeze.

In the cab on the ride home, Harriett said to me, “I hope you’re writing about all of this.” That was eight years ago, and at the time I wasn’t. The experience, however, isn’t one I will ever forget. Each time I revisit the memory I’m energized by Mrs. Simpson’s words and I do “keep on going.”