-So, this is me, being super honest and putting myself out there. Comments are encouraged, and please know that this is part one of a series. I have a lot to say about this, but not enough room/time to do it all in one post! Let me know your thoughts!-
As I mentioned in my first post, I'm adopted! (YAY!). I don't know, however, if I mentioned that my family is white. And by white I mean, we live in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania. On a farm. (We don't have cows or horses, or chickens...but my dad is a veterinarian.) So, the town I live in is a rural farming community with more cows than people (or so we say...I don't actually think that's true), and according to Wikipedia (citing the 2000 census), it's 98.02% White. I kid you not. 6.49% of the total population at that time was African American. Pause: I wonder If I get counted in the 6.49% or the 98.02% since our household is "white"...? I digress, my view of the world is very biased and slanted.
*DISCLAIMER: My parents did an excellent job at teaching me and talking to me about black culture. I have shelves of books about Black History, Black Literature, the Civil Rights Movement, etc... Additionally, my oldest sister lives in Camden, NJ and works with inner-city youth. They are the LEAST prejudiced people on the planet. So, what I'm going to say is in no way a reflection of my family's influence. They're awesome.*
Ever since I can remember, I've had white friends. Every single person I've ever referred to as a "best friend" has been white. It wasn't a racist thing...It was a demographics thing. I think the numbers speak for themselves. Sure, I had a smattering of black friends in high school. The majority of them were (and still are!) nice, but hanging out with them was rare. The confusing part was when I would see black guys in the hallway at school doing their swagger walk with their pants around their thighs and bandannas around their heads. Not only did they look RIDICULOUS, but they were trying to create a culture that they would feel comfortable in. And if you know my town, you would know that this is not impossible, but you just end up looking silly. The way they talked was slang-ridden and, quite honestly, they made me uncomfortable. In fact, you could probably say that I might have been a little bit racist. *GASP* If you're shocked at this admission...I'd encourage you to stick with me.
High school is the kingdom of Political Correctness. I had teachers glance at me and gulp during lectures for fear I'd be offended. My response (occasionally out loud): "I'm offended that you think I will be offended during the slavery/civil rights unit." Overcompensation is what offends me, not historical happenings being discussed in front of me. I've been in rooms where white people have cried over how terribly their ancestors have treated black people. My response: "OH MY WORD, move on. I don't hate you. Stop hating yourself, it's so not worth it." Maybe I'm misguided in that thinking...but come on. Don't cry over something you had no control over. Instead, focus that energy on rescuing the 27 million people who are in slavery today! I've also been in a room where a white girl said she knew her black friends had to work harder in school to understand the material and "get to her level." THAT offended me. But I didn't say anything because we were in a Judaism class...not exactly a great battleground.
Moving on, let me tell you about my experience hanging out with the black kids in college. I'm not going to mince words: they made me feel inferior. (Oh, the irony.) I was raised to be nice to everyone. But, if you're going to parade around acting super-privileged and super "I'm a better black person than you because I'm actually urban-ly cultured," then we're gonna have a problem. There have been many black girls who I've tried to be friends with and it exhausted me. We had nothing in common, and I was clueless about a lot of the things they were discussing. That sounds like an exaggeration, but it's not. I hate BET. I like over 100 things on the "Stuff White People Like" list. I'm not into super-urban gospel music, I didn't attend a black church, and grits scare me. Oh, and let's not talk about my hair. If you only knew how much money, fuel to drive me across state lines, and emotional trauma my white family has spent on this head of hair...you would be more gracious.
I remember when my college started the Black Student Union. I like to keep an open mind about these things, so I went to the first meeting, and never went back. I couldn't stand it. A room full of people discussing things that I, quite frankly, didn't care about. I stared at my hands the entire time. I just wanted to cry and leave. And no one knew, because I'm an expert at hiding my feelings. (That's a whole different topic).
I didn't understand why black kids felt the need to unify. The white people on campus were SUPER nice, not going to shun them! The black kids were also nice! But, they were segregating themselves, it seemed, the very thing that our ancestors were against. I felt offended; probably because I'm so assimilated into white culture. It felt like every Pro-Black activity was Anti-Star in some round about way. I was always ready to defend my whiteness and my white family/friends. But I didn't, because I hate conflict and already felt on the outside. So, I continued to hang out with my white friends, because God forbid I step outside of my comfort zone.
It's amazing to me how comfortable I was with not associating with people of my own skin color. I am THE exception to basically every "African American Rule" minus my hair texture. And my nose. And the fact that my skin gets ashy all the time! But that's just it. Those exceptions are superficial. Underneath that, I'm just a 20-something girl with a fantastic family, crazy dynamic mood swings, fabulous friends, and a great boyfriend. To see me as "white" only defines the culture I grew up in. And really, I'm more than that: I still love my fried chicken and collard greens.
[End Part I]
Hey lovely,
ReplyDeleteThanks for writing this. It reminded me of a special lecture assembly we had at my high school about racism. My high school was a private Christian school and my grade had 50 kids in it, 3-5 of which were black depending on year. We were all like family and it didn't matter one iota too us what skin color someone was, so the very idea of the lecture was perplexing.
It got weirder when the lecturer, who looked like a 40-year-old Barbie, blonde hair, fair skin and all, started talking about the adversity she faced "because she's black". We all wanted to ask "where are you black, exactly?" but held our tongues. Anyway, we sat and listened until she got to a point where she started telling us to make a point of seeking out black friends. I started to squirm in my seat as she went on about "If you don't have at least 5, you are racist" until I couldn't hold it anymore.
I stood up and asked her how that was any different than choosing to only have white friends. Either way, you are choosing friends solely based on skin color, which is bogus. Others joined me in explaining that all of us chose our friends based on similar interests, not color, and if we were going to make a false judgement about someone it was normally because of their clothes. White guy in thug clothes? No thanks. Black guy in converse and flannel? Absolutely.
She flipped out on us, left the school, and never returned. But I've always wondered about it... It sounds like you have felt pressured to choose friends who are black because you are even if they don't have similar interests, and that's bunk. I felt at that assembly, and I still feel now, that we shouldn't ever try to treat someone differently, better or worse, just because of skin color, and when it comes to friends, a colorblind choice based on shared interests is enough for me.
I am glad we are friends, I don't ever see skin as something that separates us, and I'd love to jam to some musicals with you again soon. <3
Have you ever read "Why Are All The Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?" I read it a few years ago for a sociology class. It got me thinking. It's speaks to the need to unify. The author says with race and ethnicity we all have a need to form some identity, white or black or whatever. Maybe you'd like to read it. But I definitely sympathize with you about not always fitting in with black culture. I grew up in a predominantly black neighborhood, went to a predominantly black elementary school, and a predominantly black church. I have fond memories of eating grits and singing gospel music growing up. But because my family was pretty conservative spiritually, I did not grow up watching BET or listening to popular rap and R&B. I didn’t really fit in with everyone, didn’t understand. I watched warily, somewhat fearing the people around me because I didn’t understand. I wanted to branch out and meet people of different races with similar interests as me. And yet when I was in more diverse areas and then predominantly white places, I also felt the desire to be a part of the group who experienced life as a black person. Every black person has a different experience. Every person has a different experience. I don't always feel connected to black culture when it is defined strictly by what is popular. And yet I sometimes go to black people because I felt other people don't get where I was coming from, don't feel the irritation as you explained with teachers and awkward moments of offense. I think class also works its way in there. It's a complicated issue.
ReplyDeleteI would say not to dismiss the black people you have come across. I think from pain and fear many black people stick together. It's what we have done to survive in this country for centuries. It's what people do--stick to family. (Maybe that is part of your experience, sticking to your family.) I do think it can be limiting when we don't allow ourselves nuance. Maybe some of the guys sagging their pants just didn't see any other way of expression, felt trapped perhaps. And I think the push that the previous commenter talks about to have diverse friends come from a desire to lessen the effect of marginalization. That group formation may very well be a product of marginalization.
I don't like the idea of colorblindness. Color has meaning. Seeing our complexity, like how you talk about your nose, your hair, etc., that's special. And you see color as you talked about. I think it's more crucial to develop sensitivity. And I think talking about it, as you do, is part of working through it all, processing it, and learning, all a part of sensitivity.
Most of my good friends are not black. We relate based on our interests and experiences. But I know my blackness is something that is part of my experience as an American and I like to talk about that sometimes. And sometimes I like to discuss that with other black people to see their experience. I don't want to be limited to that, but I don't want to miss out on it either.