Maybe the Problem is White Thinking

I was sitting around most of the day today in the hospital with the husband with nothing much to do except read Twitter.  Now I have thoughts.

Most of my bookish timeline was taken up with discussions on diversity.  A lot of the discussion was about white writers not explicitly pointing out that characters are a certain race.  Another line of discussion was about People of Color wanting to have their race acknowledged in discussion.  Seeing those two discussions side by side made me realize what part of the problem may be.

White people are taught to never, ever describe anyone by their race.

For example, if you are trying to point out a person across a room to someone else, a white person will go through all kinds of verbal gymnastics.  “The lady with the hat and the red shirt.  Over there.  Next to the man with the green tie.”  If that fails and there is no other recourse, the white person will then whisper, “The Korean woman.”

Here’s why.  It isn’t because we don’t see race.  It isn’t because we are trying to dismiss the person’s race from their life experience.  It is because we have been taught that simplifying a person to a description of their race is what racists do.  Nice people don’t do what racists do.

I don’t know who made up this rule for white people.  I don’t know if any People of Color were consulted about how they feel about that.  But I promise you, if you started the above scenario by telling another liberal white person, “See the Korean woman over there?” you are going to get hissed at.  “You can’t say that!”

Now, take a person with that life training.  Have them write a description of a crowd.  Even if the crowd they visualize is multiracial, they are not going to write that down unless the race of characters is an essential part of the plot.  I tried that exercise myself one day.  I looked over a food court in a mall and imagined how I would describe what I see in a book.  I would have to talk about the Chinese couple holding hands on a bench and the Indian woman riffling through her shopping bags.  I felt a little bit icky as I thought that.  There is that remnant of Never Describe a Person Just By Their Race making me feel like putting in the detail of their races makes me a racist.  I’m not saying that’s right.  I’m saying I bet it is how a lot of white writers think.  (I’m not talking about main characters.  Obviously they have other characteristics that need to be discussed.  I’m talking about background characters only right now.  Characters that will never be seen again and have no influence on the story.)

Contrast that to how some other writers handle that type of a scene.  This is the first paragraph of Central Station by Lavie Tidhar.

Daniel Jose Older is wonderful at this.  He can set scenes in urban areas that describe the people unapologetically.

After listening to what many people are saying, I see that not acknowledging race in this manner is not what most people want.  I think more white people are going to have to hear that message before they feel comfortable talking and writing openly and honestly about multiracial communities.

Or maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about and all these white writers aren’t imagining multiracial groups and they are all just racist.  I don’t know.  Thoughts?

Evangelicals’ Persecution Complex

“Having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame.”  1 Peter 3:16

People are rightfully wondering why white liberals haven’t done a more effective job of calling out their friends and families who are on the other side when it comes to social issues.  I think a lot of the problem comes from evangelical Christian thinking.

It goes like this:

1. I have an opinion that I think is right.
2. I can find support for my opinion in the Bible or in church therefore it is Godly.
3. If people disagree with me on this, then they are disagreeing with God.
4. Jesus told me that people will disagree with me and I need to stand strong in my beliefs.
5. Therefore, if people call me out on my beliefs, I must be right.
   

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“If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.”  John 15:9

 

If you’ve never lived in that world it is hard to get your head around that warped mindset.  Logical arguments about equality or fairness or ANYTHING bounce right off that kind of thinking.

“No wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.  Therefore it is not surprising if his servants also disguise themselves as servants of righteousness, whose end will be according to their deeds.”  2 Corinthians 11:14-15

“Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 5:10

The Christian persecution complex is real and powerful.  But where the writers of the New Testament were talking about being killed for their faith, western Christians today take that to mean any disagreement.  So call them out on not separating church and state?  Persecution.  Don’t say Merry Christmas?  Persecution.  Say that gay people deserve to live happy lives?  Persecution.  And they know what to do when they are being persecuted.  Dig in and defend their position to the death if need be.

How do you get through to people who believe that?  It is hard.  I don’t know if it can be done by outside forces alone.  People who have left tend to get there mostly by having one breaking moment like a crack in an iceberg.  Something happens that doesn’t fit nicely with how they were told the world was going to be and suddenly the whole thing crumbles.

What I found really interesting is that while I was leaving Christianity, I was experiencing exactly what I had been told would happen.  I was told that it would look like I had come across some great new wisdom.  It would seem to make more sense than Christianity.  I was told that these were signs that I was being deceived.  Luckily I was able to push past those voices in my head and laugh at the church’s foresight in programing that one last thought into escaping people’s heads.

My hope is that things like having gay marriage and the sky not falling might be that crack that starts the iceberg tumbling.  It is slow and it is hard but it is working.  I have a lot of hope for people younger than me.  They are seeing through this.  They live in a world where this Christian mindset is not the only way they see.  I think supporting them is the best way forwards.

Echo Chamber vs Safe Space

Because of what I like to call my wayward youth that I wrote about yesterday, my Facebook page had gotten particularly nasty.  When I say that I’m talking about people who felt safe to post memes actively encouraging violence to Black Lives Matter members and Native American protestors at Standing Rock along with the common memes of the “Don’t like it here, go live in (insert country here).”

Twitter was my safe place which always makes me giggle since the typical conversation about Twitter make it seem like everyone on there is getting constant abuse.

I had been avoiding Facebook for weeks.  I don’t feel like I was free to be myself on there.  So many people knew a person that I used to be.  I didn’t want to get into the conversations that would ensue if I let that world know the real me.  Part of it comes from being a very private person.  I don’t like to let people I know in my brain to know what I am actually thinking or feeling.  It is much easier to talk to strangers about it.  Part of it is being very non-confrontational.

But, I’m also the first to criticize people for setting themselves up in an echo chamber where they only hear their own thoughts reflected back to them.

I’m not sure how to find a balance.

Yesterday I realized that I wasn’t going to go on Facebook anymore the way it was.  I do get a lot of news from several sources through my timeline there and I wasn’t getting it.  I wasn’t getting updates from groups I participate in.  I either needed to walk away entirely or fix it.

I ended up cutting out half of my friends.  It was a sad and strange process reading down my friend list and thinking, “Are you a racist?”  I consider the people I have left to be on a probationary period.  Two have already been kicked out.  In case you feel I am being too harsh here’s what they posted last night that made that decision for me.

One posted a picture of a man snuggling multiple assault rifles and was captioned, “It’s alright.  You’re safe now.” I spent yesterday watching friends on Twitter expressing real fears for their safety and their family’s safety.  That picture was callous at best.

The other posted a cartoon of multiple women crying.  This included some caricatures meant to demean people.  It was labeled SJW (Social Justice Warrior) Tears.  Again, the pain right now is real and people who don’t get it are reveling in it.  (As an aside, why do people think SJW is an insult?  That’s an awesome title to have!)

How are other people handling this?  Is this just a retreat?  I feel like it is but I also know the reality is that if you call people out you just end up reinforcing their rightness in their minds. And that will be tomorrow’s rant…

I’m Horrified but Not Surprised

I’m numb this morning.  I’m horrified.  I wish I was surprised.

White, college-educated people voted majority Trump.  That’s my demographic.  Those are a lot of the people I know.

I grew up in western Pennsylvania in a rural area outside of a city.  For most of the time when I was in school there was one non-white person.  I don’t mean in my class or in my school.  There was ONE non-white student in the entire school district.  She had been adopted by a white family.

My extended family on both sides was very racist.  Recently I found out that my great-grandmother was a Klan member.  Which great-grandmother? Oh, the one who was a teacher.  Yes, the most educated great-grandmother was KKK.

I was raised as an evangelical Christian.  That was a lily white world.

My classes for my major in college were all white.

I went to vet school in Tennessee.  There were 2 POC students in my class.  I didn’t know one of them was Latina until the last semester of our fourth year when she was talking about how people always speak Spanish in front of her because they think she can’t understand them.  She was born in Columbia.  I met my first openly gay person during my second year of vet school.  (Turns out that I was raised with a gay man but I didn’t know that until much later.)

I didn’t have any African American friends until I moved to a rural county in Ohio that was 97% white.  We made friends there with some neighbors and the father of some kids in my 4-H group.  But guess who was the most vocally concerned about us moving to a very racially diverse city?  “Are you sure you want to move there?  There are so many black people.”

“Um, we live by you now and you are black.”

“It’s different.  Make sure you find a white neighborhood.”

Are you getting the idea of how segregated the United States is and how easy it is for white people to be completely isolated from any engagement with people of color?  It is so easy to think in terms of “those people” when you don’t know any people who don’t look like you.

And let’s be honest, white people, if people of minority races are terrified of what white people say and do in public, I don’t even want to let them know the things white people say when they think they are among like-minded white folk.

That brings me to Facebook.  Dear god.  Consider my past life.  With that background you know my Facebook page is white-white.   By contrast my Twitter feed of primarily book people and social justice people is diverse.  I think there were four consistently pro-Democratic people on my Facebook page.  I’m sure there were a few other quiet ones but my Facebook page is meme after meme of pro-police brutality, pro-DAPL, and anti-Kaepernick rhetoric.  I countered with pro-sanity links which probably only got read by the people who already agreed.

I’m sure that any social justice awareness I have was started though reading.  I can name the books that started to open my eyes to life experiences that were different from my own.  That’s why continuing to read books written from a variety of viewpoints is so immensely important.

I don’t know what to do going forward.  Obviously call out what I see but it feels so futile. I want to scream at them for their blindness to what they are doing to other people but I know that they don’t see it.  I don’t know if they can see it.  Fellow white people, what is your plan?

In the mean time, I’m clinging to my Twitter feed.    Book people are the best.  I think it is because we’ve all read this novel over and over that we can see where the plot is going next….

I Hit My Breaking Point Tonight

I’ve been a Trump hater since the beginning but today was the first day he made me cry.

I’ve been frustrated almost to the point of tears before while trying to explain why as a woman I could never support him to people who didn’t want to hear but I’ve never totally lost it before.  So why, after all the bullshit he’s said about women and Muslims and Mexicans and LGBT people and everyone other than U.S. born white men did today’s release of the recording of him bragging about grabbing women and kissing them and grabbing the pussy finally break me?

It’s because we’ve all been there.

We all have the stories.  The grabbing, the groping, the men who won’t back off, the ones who feel like they are entitled to any woman’s time and body.  Ask any woman.  Don’t be surprised if she asks you which time you want to know about.

I was living in an apartment complex with a popular bike trail that connected to the parking lot.  I walked out there after classes all the time.   There were always people around.  One day a guy came up behind me and grabbed me.  He kissed me.  When he let me go I did a quick scan.  We were completely alone.  That was really unusual.  He told me that he had been watching me.  I had never seen him before.  I never have the snappy comeback or the instinctive right jab that I should in these situations but I instinctively knew to turn and start walking back to the parking lot.  It wasn’t far.  He walked beside me calmly and asked if I wanted to go out.  I agreed in order to keep things peaceful and friendly since we were still alone.  Then he matter of factly told me that he was married and his wife was pregnant.  He was looking for someone to have sex with until his wife gave birth.  I remember his next words.  “Is that a problem for you?”

I turned and looked at him like he was the biggest idiot ever.  “Yes, that’s a problem!”  That’s when I got huffy.  I was offended on his wife’s behalf.  By then we were in the parking lot.  He let me walk away.  I think he was shocked that I had back talked him about his plan.

But here’s the thing.  Turns out they lived in the apartment above me.  He would stare at me in the parking lot or in the stairways.  He watched me get my mail.  I changed grocery stores because he worked at the one I had been going to.  I rearranged my life to avoid him but it never occurred to me to say anything about it to anyone.  Thinking about it now I really wish I would have gone up there and told his wife what was going on but I don’t think I’d change anything else I did.  What’s the point?  No one would have done anything.  He wasn’t doing anything illegal.

And that’s the point.  We rearrange our lives all the time to avoid these jerks and don’t think anything of it.  It’s just the way it is.

You know how you can always tell if a movie or TV shows was written by a man?  There’s a scene where a woman goes alone to her car in a dark parking lot.  While she walks there, she is fumbling in her oversized bag for her keys.  No, sir!  Never happened.  Ask any woman.  We know if we are going to have to walk into that situation.  We got our keys out when we were in the last secure and well lighted area.  We are holding them tightly in our hands in case we need to use them as a weapon.  If we are able, we remotely unlock the car when we are about 10 steps away.  Not so early that someone could get to it before us but in time for us not have to slow down much to get safely in the car.

We all know that because we are all taught to protect ourselves from men who feel entitled to us.  We are universally taught how to protect ourselves because men aren’t universally taught that we aren’t their property.

So to hear a man bragging about how he grabs women against their will broke me.

And don’t even “Not all men” me.  I know the majority of men are fine.  But let a woman go walking somewhere alone and she’ll be able to tell you the location of every man under the age of 65 within 100 yards of her.  I’ve had a man get within an inch of my face and roar at me.  I’ve been yelled at by a guy in a car while I was in the dog park who wanted to me to watch him masturbate.  These were in the last few years.  Don’t try telling me that it’s a compliment.  I’m in my 40s and believe me, I don’t dress up all pretty to go to the dog park.  I was just the closest female human at the time.

I had my hot bath with a candle and small cry.  Now, I’m more pissed off than anything.  This isn’t locker room talk.  This is bragging about participating in terrorizing an entire gender for our whole lives.   It’s time to call out the supporters of this toxic masculinity.

When The Old Folks Play Pokemon

When Pokemon came out in 1995 I didn’t notice. I was in the middle of vet school. I missed it completely. My only contact with it was a long time patient named Pokemon who was a gigantic Chow who never once tried to eat me. (That’s a truly rare and mythical beast.)

So when Pokemon Go started showing up on my news feeds, I decided to try it out to see what it was all about because people seemed excited. I didn’t understand it at all. I couldn’t make it do anything. I had to Google lots of stuff to even have the first clue of what to do.

I was excited to go to the Washington D.C. area because I figured that there would be lots more stuff to collect there. On our first night we took a boat ride on the Potomac. Some kids on the boat were playing. I turned my phone on to see if there was anything exciting to catch. Partway through the trip the husband started to wax philosophical about people looking at their phones instead of the scenery. I explained that they were playing Pokemon Go. He looked unimpressed.

It turned out that the street we were staying on was lined with Pokestops. I was sneakily playing on my phone as we walked so he didn’t notice. But one day we passed a group on the sidewalk all playing. He wondered aloud about them. I said they were playing and he asked, “All we all five years old?”

I handed him my phone with the app running and said, “Yes.”

The group caught up with us at an intersection. He asked the leader if they were playing Pokemon. She said yes. He said, “So is she.” Turns out that they were a Pokemon Go Facebook group on a group hunt. We got an invitation to join but I declined because we weren’t locals.

My vacation photos

I still have no idea what I’m doing. I find stuff. I turn in all but one of each species in order to get points to evolve the one of that species that I’m keeping. I think that’s right. Someone let me know if it isn’t.

I don’t understand the fighting at all. Julianne promises me that it is ok to have pacifist Pokemon.

I don’t know who is tougher than who or anything. I only know who is rare from this graphic. This made me really excited that I already had a wild Dratini. That’s the first one on the epic list.

I’m a proud parent too. I hatched this the other day after carrying it for 10 km.

I actually cooed over it when I saw it for the first time. “Aren’t you a sweet wittle killer bug? Yes, you are!”

Dear White Folks Who Are Mad About Beyoncé

Twitter is my happy place. That’s not something you hear much but my Twitter feed is purposely kept small and curated. It is great collection of book people, authors, and people with liberal viewpoints. Sometimes one person is all three. It is multiracial and multicultural and runs the gamut of most other “multi”s that you can think of. I read my Twitter feed and feel like the world is one big happy place where everyone agrees that the world should and could be better. Just before everyone holds hands for a heartfelt version of Kumbaya…

…I flip over to my Facebook feed.

Oh dear god. I get smacked in the face with the real world again. Here’s how that played out this weekend.

Saturday – I see on Twitter that Beyoncé has a new song. My feed is ecstatic. I’m not immediately interested because I’m not a big music fan but the joy overwhelms me. I watch the video. I get confused because I can’t understand the words. I’m over 40. I haven’t understood the words to a new song in 20 years. So, I go to this very obscure website called GOOGLE and ask. I get an answer. I even get some commentary. I go about my day happy that other people I like are happy.

Sunday – I watch the Super Bowl because Peyton and I were at university together. (He doesn’t actually know that but we were.) I watch halftime. I’m impressed by the marketing mind that had the song released the day before performing it on the biggest stage around. I wish I could dance like that. I wish I had dancers’ legs. I wonder who thought Coldplay was a good idea. Later I laugh appreciatively as I read through the happiness overwhelming my Twitter account. I go to bed and all is good in the world.

Monday – I get up and the first thing on my Facebook is a post wondering why Beyoncé looked so mad. Can’t she make happy music anymore? (Did she ever?) When someone mentions that the post writer isn’t the target demographic for the song, the response is that this person didn’t listen to the lyrics at all. By nighttime when I look again my feed is overwhelmingly angry about it.

To the People on my Facebook Feed

Seriously, ya’ll are making me embarrassed to be white right now. Stop talking.

• If at any point you are going to type “I didn’t understand the words” and that isn’t immediately followed by “until I googled them”, stop typing. You aren’t even trying. If you work “but I heard that they were about..” into the discussion you are having your internet privileges taken away for a time out.
• I’m not even going to try to explain the difference between the message of the song and the message of the video because life is too short and you aren’t listening anyway.

Let me try to explain how this got through my head.  I intellectually understood what people were saying but that didn’t mean that I really got it.

I am a middle aged white woman. When I imagine interacting with police I imagine either being annoyed because I got pulled over in a speed trap or grateful because they are helping me. I don’t imagine them viewing me as a potential suspect. I know I’m not a lawbreaker and I implicitly assume that they will see me as non threatening. Other people do not have that luxury.

This hit home to me when I once heard a father explaining to his white child how to interact with the police. His very first point was, “The police are not your friends.” I was taken aback. In white world that is something unthinkable to tell your children. The message is generally “If you need help, find a policeman.” A moment’s thought made me realize that he was correct though.

This was a nonneurotypical child with violent tendencies. The odds are very good that if he is in a situation involving the police, it is going to be because someone has called them on him.  The message for this child has to be, “Be respectful, do what they say, and shut up.” In other words, do what every other minority has to do to try to stay safe in a world where you aren’t automatically assumed to be harmless.

White folks – can you imagine teaching that to your children? Can you imagine having to? If you can’t then shut up, sit down, and listen for once.