White on White

In an earlier post, I wrote about a thread on Facebook, on the page of a popular black blogger, in which she prompted her black readers to ask white readers one question that they'd always wanted to know. In that previous post, I described how, while the thread contained a great deal of good discussion and what seemed to be real discovery for many people, there was also a theme that kept popping up among white respondents who did not find themselves identifying with some of the questions that were asked. Time after time, commenters who were white, but did not recognize themselves in some particular aspect of a question, responded by giving some version of the answer "I guess I must not really be white," or even, "I guess I must be black."

This joke, I wrote, can be a joke for people who have the option of seeing their race as inconsequential. Like other serious subjects, it is easy to joke about if it has not touched you in ways that are painful or difficult. If it is not a matter of life or death.

Today, however, I'd like to pose a different question. And that is, when is a joke not a joke?

I think that most of us haven't reached adulthood without realizing that at the root of all jokes is some kernel of truth, or at least the intention of one. All of us, I imagine, have at some point been on the receiving end of a "joking" statement that hit too close to home, or was knowingly meant to hurt. That's a negative example, but there are positive ones also--in fact, I'd guess that most of the jokes that the majority of us encounter in our lives are well-meaning, and often occur without any conscious intentional subtext. Nevertheless, it's the truth behind the joke that makes it funny, and I also think that can tell us something important about what the speaker is really saying, even if it's not something they are conscious of trying to communicate.

In all these responses where white people joked about not being white, I believe there was an intended kernel of truth that is important to see and name. Despite all the protests admonishing me to lighten up, enjoy the fun, and appreciate the joke when I suggested that maybe the joke wasn't appropriate, I believe that at some level, the joke wasn't really even a joke.

What I heard, over and over, was a striving to separate from whiteness--to say, "I'm not THAT kind of white." Some people even went farther in putting this into words. I saw responses that said, "There is Florida person white and other person white." More than one person adopted, "I am invited-to-the-cookout white and you are I-want-to-see-the-manager white." As a white person, I heard other white people working hard to say two things. First, "I am one of the good white people. No, really. I'm a good one." And second, "I'm like you. We think alike. I know just what you're talking about. All those other white people might be clueless as hell, but I get it."

I believe I can hear these things being said because I can identify with the impulse to say them. I think our shared history in this country, a history of racism and oppression, acknowledged by all, not only has deep roots on which we are all drawing, but casts long shadows in which we are all still living. Racial discrimination and inequality in this country are not things of the past. And while both the marginalized and the privileged may wish it were so, we are coming to that wish with different motivations, and often with different understandings of how to make that reality.

People and communities of color understand that the only way to overcome and move forward from our past is to face it head on. Our legacy of racism and injustice must be acknowledged honestly in order to be reckoned with. But for those of us whose white skin has afforded us generations of privilege at the expense of people of color, there can be a deep desire to move away from the shameful heritage of oppression in our past by a process of disassociation--to say, "I am not one of the people who caused this, I am not one who perpetuates it, I have no desire to prolong it." We feel the need to distinguish ourselves from the bad actors of both the past and the present. This is not only because it is painful to connect ourselves to unjustifiable wrongdoing, but because it is difficult to admit that our connection to it could create feelings of anger, resentment, and animosity, and that it's reasonable and appropriate if those feelings are directed toward us, even if we aren't personally, intentionally, individually responsible for specific instances of this wrongdoing. It would be much easier, much more pleasant, to put all that behind us--not only to expect to be already forgiven, but to expect it to be understood that we don't need to be forgiven, that we have nothing to be forgiven for--and to move on to being friends. We would like to focus on being accepted by each other, on being liked by each other, on being like each other. Instead of doing the hard work of listening, hearing, understanding, we would like people of color to know that we already understand. That we never would have made those mistakes in the first place like our ancestors did, like those other people did. Because we are the cool white people, the woke white people, the nice white people, the innocent white people. We get it. And we hope this will make everything OK again.

The problem with all this is that, of course, it can never make everything OK. Racism and discrimination continue to exist. White privilege is still real. And one of the things that allows these injustices to endure is a persistent refusal by those of us who benefit from them to allow ourselves to be made uncomfortable by acknowledging that benefit, which is the bright dividing line between us, and in which we are complicit. But the line is still there--our refusal to acknowledge it, as with so many things, makes it no less true. Paradoxically, our refusal only highlights the reality of the distance between our experience and the experience of those on the other side of the line. We don't get it. We can't get it, and we won't get it. And the worst thing we could do, under these circumstances, is insist on acting as though we do.

I know all this is difficult to swallow, but if we can make it past the worst of it, there is good news. The good news is, fellow white people, we don't have to get it, we just have to receive it. We need to listen--humbly, and without defensiveness; we need to make our best efforts to understand how our actions have impacted others and continue to do so; we need to take the initiative in finding out how we can be an ally; we need to be open to hearing about our own mistakes. But we cannot gloss over or seek to eradicate our differences by distancing ourselves from our white experience. It's important that we respect the dignity and make room for the voices of people of color, but it is equally important that we own the responsibility and the power of our whiteness. We must be able to see ourselves clearly and come to terms with that truth in order to move forward together honestly and with real humility, not just shame or guilt. The barriers between us can never come down until we learn to accept and appreciate both ourselves and others, just as we are.