Our Experiences Resisting
Edited by Melanie Hardison
As part of a series of articles preparing for next year's Gathering on anti-racism and whiteness, the Louisville whiteness group brings you snippets of our own personal stories.
Presented here are individual experiences of white people in a racist world. As we talk and reflect with each other about the presence of racism in our daily lives, our storytelling keeps us honest and accountable to each other. It shows us where we feel strong and speak out against racism. It shows us where we have been part of the system of white supremacy and silent about our complicity in racist ways.
Various members of our group contribute the following paragraphs as a way of sharing with VOS the ways we are growing in our journey of becoming active resisters to racism in a racist world.
· "I was working in the boutique, barely paying attention to who was browsing, when he walked in the door. I noticed him right away. He was not the "typical" customer. Instinctively, I touched my pocket where the small alarm button was clipped to my side. It was there. I felt a bit more at ease. And then, I felt ashamed. Why did I have to check for the alarm? Because it had been four hours since I slid it into place and, frankly, I had forgotten it was there. But why did I really have to check? Because I have learned to be scared of 'others.' My immediate reaction as a white woman had been to check for back-up when faced with the presence of a black male. My immediate thought had been to question my safety because he was black and I was alone. My actions and unconscious thoughts betrayed me... I am a racist. I looked up and we locked eyes. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to take it back. I wanted to take off the stupid alarm and throw it away. But, I just nodded as he walked out the door, and I admitted to myself that no matter how much I would like to believe otherwise, I am complicit in a system of racism and oppression. I am part of the problem."
· "Last fall, I was sitting in the lobby of a restaurant waiting for my partner and his friend to meet me for dinner. The person next to me struck up a conversation about what I thought about everything that had happened since 9/11. I was hesitant to engage because I did not know how honest I could be about what I felt were our nation's racist and jingoist responses to a true disaster. As I wondered how I might articulate my thoughts, the man kept chatting. He finally said something that stunned me out of silence. He claimed that we wouldn't have had the problem of 9/11 if we hadn't let them in the country. 'Them.' 'Those people.' Meaning foreigners, immigrants. All I could think was to look him in the eye and to say, 'I don't know about that; I have a lot of "them" friends.' I think he was surprised by my reaction but tried not to show it; he got up and sauntered away. The back of his t-shirt had some Christian slogan on it. I sat there, still stunned, still angry, wishing I had said more, wishing I had called him back to talk as Christians about what our exchange meant. And I pondered how complex race relations are: this man was Black, I am White, and yet his comment was an 'insider' joke against another 'other.' We are all asked in a myriad of different ways to navigate this world of privilege, prejudice, and to collude in the privacy of varying forms of race stereotypes and nationalism. How do I take a stronger stand? How can I be a wedge in this perpetuating system of racial prejudice and dominance?
· "Down the stairs and out the door I was, to the bus stop, on my way to work. My stride broke at the presence of a neighbor and a policeman. Oh no, I thought, the crash I heard this morning included my neighbor's car. And there it was, her black sedan with a smushed front end. 'What happenned?' I asked. She replied aggressively. I was put off, with an urge to walk away and curse her. Yet the momentary anger passed as my eyes saw a flicker of history behind a familiar scene: a white male police officer taking a report from a black female accident victim. I stuck around. I watched. I listened. I wondered. Is this what it means to be an ally?"
· "Since leaving Ann Arbor, MI (my hometown) in1992, my cultural exposure dropped like a Barry White bass line. I went from having friendships with African-Americans, homosexuals, and kids native tothe Middle East, India, various Asian countries and Eastern Europe, to none at all! For over 10 years! It has had some disturbing and noticeable effects on my relationships with other races.
For example, I worked at a record store in Nashville in the late '90's. There were a few occasions when African-American teenagers (rarely seen) would come into the store. My physical and emotional reaction was immediately apparent. My heart rate increased. My palms began to sweat. I became disoriented. I would focus on their actions. What are they doing? Are they in the Rap section? Are they going to steal something? Do they notice my attention? Do they hate me? Why am I acting like this? I hope they don't ask a question. My reactions were shocking, shameful and extremely disturbing. I realized I had fallen into bed with white, privileged complacency. And I woke up!
Our community is guilty of 'look the other way' behavior. The issue of race is not approached or verbally recognized. I rarely, if ever, hear a person talk about the divided line in the city or the absence of a racial or multi-cultural presence in the 'popular' or 'common' areas of town. Among the suburban laypeople, not a word of racial disharmony is spoken. Is it accepted? Is it welcomed? Is it noticed? Does anyone care?
When I joined the resistance group I discovered that people do notice. People do care. People are just as frustrated as I am (and continue to be). Thank God! Realization is the first step to changing the complex system of cultural, sexual and economic ignorance. Then comes the hard part - action!"
· "I had been looking for coconut milk in the grocery store. Aisle after aisle I had gone when finally a clerk offered assistance. He led me to the aisle where cream of coconut can be found and tried convincing me that the two products were the same. I explained that I was preparing an Indian curry dish for dinner; I had made it many times and was sure that coconut milk was what I needed. The clerk proceeded to read out loud the words on the can, as if to prove to me it was what I needed. 'Fine quality cream of coconut -Product of the Dominican Republic' And then after a thoughtful moment of examining the can, he handed it to me and said, 'All that's missing, on that there can, is those little brown girls with no tops on.' And then he walked away. What? I thought. Did he really just say that to me? I stood there, stunned. When I could finally move, I fumed the whole way to the cash registers. Still angry after ten minutes of waiting in line, my heart still racing, I decided I had to do something. I walked up to Customer Service and registered a complaint; a store employee had been inappropriate with me in making racist and sexist comments, and such behavior was not acceptable. Determined not to be seen as an 'angry feminist,' I calmly told the manager the story and was promised the clerk would get a talking to. I left the store feeling the strength of speaking out against racism. But I also left the store knowing that I had not done enough. I had not confronted the man who spoke to me. I had not told him that I as a fellow white person do not accept his white racism or share his views about cans of cream of coconut from the Dominican Republic. Yes, I had spoken out, but not soon enough. I had not stopped racism dead in its tracks."
We hope that as we engage together, as we dance for justice, as we prepare for next year's Gathering, that we can support and learn from each other's stories and journeys. It is essential, urgent and life-giving work to bring down systems of racist oppression. VOS is taking seriously this call and invites your voices and participation and prayers as we travel this path.
