Observations about American Black Society by a socially regarded White American with Mixed Ancestry

 Observations about American Black Society by a socially regarded White American with Mixed Ancestry

Normally I start my blogs with some sort of introduction of how the time of travels has gone by so quickly, or the fact that I had visited some enlightening or inspiring monument, tried a new food dish, or realized something about myself… These are the typical cheesy things, of which I find myself often writing, and I don’t realize the amount of cheese present until I read at a later date. Usually I am the kind of person who loves a good life lesson, a good love story, a good moment of clarity… however today’s blog is somewhat different.

Now you might be curious about the title of my blog, and I bet for most of you the length of the title and the somewhat controversial – the idea of a White American woman posting her thoughts about Black people online is probably what made you click on the link. I have been inspired to write today by the book titled Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. In my previous posts I have mentioned her book, and while I first fell in love with the book for the complicated love story which spans distance and time between the two main characters, Ifemelu and Obinze, I quickly learned the narrative of their love story was a framework to talk about deep rooted societal issues in a variety of contexts. Ifemelu becomes a popular blogger in the book, and she discusses the role of race and cultural tribalism in the United States after her immigration from Nigeria. Her blog changes titles a few times, but it is always something similar to Raceteeth/ Various Observations about American Blacks (Those Formerly Known as Negros) by a Non- American Black. The title for my blog today is obviously adapted from this title.

Before I begin, I want to highly recommend this book to readers of all races, of all social classes, and of all intellectual levels. It is been quite some time since I have read a novel that has grasped at my heart and my head the way Adichie does in this novel.

PREFACE

The following parts of my blog will be about my personal observations, experiences and thoughts on race in America, as well as in the world at large. I want to emphasize the word thoughts. I do not think my word is “the end all be all” of race ideologies, nor do I admit to know much about it on an academic level. I simply have been having ideas swirling in my head for the past few months, and I thought I’d put them down “on paper” (AKA on my blog). My overall goal for this isn’t to cause controversy; in fact I am terrified that many will think I am ignorant. I grew up learning that “no question is a dumb question” so these are my questions… you can be the judge of their merit.

            I grew up in a small town in west Michigan, just north of Grand Rapids, called Rockford. Growing up in Rockford was wonderful. It was a good neighborhood. We had great schools. We had a nice downtown square with ice cream shops and restaurants. It is the kind of town where your mother’s sister’s cousin is also your best friend’s teacher. Everyone knows everything about everyone else, especially if you’re what I like to call “Rockford’s Elite,” which are those select few families who normally have multiple kids, making them known at numerous levels within the school system, but more importantly… the sports system. Growing up in Rockford was like “Friday Night Lights” meets “One Tree Hill” for all of my Netflix watchers. Sports were everything, and you were defined by the sport of which you played. Didn’t play a sport? I guess you better hope you’re talented at art or music, because what you did defined you. I don’t mean to sound bitter about my childhood or the school I grew up in. I grew up comfortable, relatively; given every family has its issues. I had great friends. I got good grades. I was on the dance team. I was quiet for much of my life due to my lacking in confidence, but I was well known. I wasn’t the most popular girl in school, but I was happy. So why my mocking tone about my adolescence? To describe Rockford in a word, I guess you could say “white.”

            Rockford had a few Black kids. Xavier was one I became close with during my senior year. He was always the butt of Black jokes, pretending not to be bothered by the young and humorous racism that spewed from my guy friends’ mouths. Even today Xavier falls into the role of the token black friend, three years out of high school, and my friend group seems to think everyone remains the same person they were when we graduated. It’s crazy to me to think of this because I feel like a whole different person. I have just become so much more liberal.

           

In Rockford, there is a Catholic Church on every corner, and if you’re not Catholic, you’re a WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant), or potentially Baptist, essentially all forms of Christianity. We had our few Jewish friends, and our few Muslim friends, and our few atheist friends, but “Merry Christmas” was what you said when you left for Winter break, and even today most people don’t know when to celebrate Ramadan. Rockford is also conservative, a huge sector of Republicans, all smashed together and bound by religion. I can say this (I think) because I was one of them. I was co-founder of the RRR club, meaning “Rockford Republican Refuge” (* cue eye roll *). I was immersed into the Rockford Bubble, or rather the Greater- Grand Rapids bubble. I don’t mean to say religion is bad because I was raised Catholic by a good, respectful and well-intentioned family. I don’t mean to say Republicans are terrible people because my entire family is also republican. I am attempting to give a framework for my ignorance, especially around the idea of race.

            So what turned my Catholic, Republican, anti- immigration, Pro-Life, against gay marriage self into a hard-core social liberal? Some would say Ann Arbor, but I think it has been talking with people – all kinds of people. Slowly but surely as I developed my own ideas, rather than believing those ideas I was brought up around, I found myself reading Pro-Choice articles, being interested in welfare programs, encouraging my friends who were gay or lesbian to be more open and asking them questions out of pure curiosity. When gay marriage was legalized in the United States my heart fluttered with excitement rather than disgust. I found myself attempting to understand groups other than ones I had previously identified with. My dad always says “Liberal at 20, Conservative at 50,” and maybe he is right. Yet it wasn’t until this year that I found myself thinking deeper about race.

But I said I didn’t see color

It was the beginning of February when I was set up on my blind date with Anthony Carson. He was older, a graduate student with actual career goals, which I had liked. He was smart, which I had also liked.  My mom had always told me I should look into dating older men because she thought everyone my age was too immature to deal with my “old soul self,” which was her nice way of saying my mood swings. I had stalked all of his online profiles. I could tell you the captions on his Instagrams and the location of his profile picture on Facebook. I tried to get a sense of his personality before our date, which is always dangerous but so irresistible given the technology of today. I remember going through all of the information I could find days before. After describing him to a friend, she asked to see a picture. She turned to me and said, “B, he’s black.”

She wasn’t trying to be racist or even negative; I simply just had not mentioned his race in previous descriptions. Somehow I hadn’t noticed the color of his skin. My description probably included something along the lines of “tall, great smile, dark hair, dark eyes.” After our first date, I would later go on his Instagram and realize his fraternity was a Black fraternity and ponder how I had missed something so obviously stated.

When I met Anthony at Charley’s, a local bar in Ann Arbor, I was already nervous because somehow I had arrived early with the deliberate intention of being late. He was also 30 minutes late, a signature Anthony move I am now aware of today. I had been thinking about my friend’s comment too because, well, I had not ever dated a Black guy. Correction: I hadn’t ever been interested in a Black guy. Sure I had seen men of all colors on the street or at parties who I thought were attractive, but other than my friend Xavier and some kids in random classes, I didn’t ever engage in any sort of intimacy with any of them. I thought about the town I grew up in, and my clear ignorance of race and racial issues. I worry about everything, but I was exceptionally worried he wouldn’t like me because he could somehow see through me, into my lack of knowledge and understanding.

Our conversation ended up flowing incredibly well. We talked for seven hours, and shut the bar down. Despite the lack of alcoholic beverages, we sustained ourselves on French fries drenched in ketchup. We had managed to avoid the topic of ethnicity or race for quite some time, but I found myself opening up to him too easily. I wish I could have recorded the conversation, to look back and laugh at some of my comments. It wasn’t until he asked, “So… what are you?” did the direction of our conversation change… I could write novels about this question alone. It’s incredibly tedious to be asked, but nevertheless everywhere I go someone asks. I suppose it’s better to ask than assume. People think I’m Hispanic because of my dark hair and olive skin. Some go as far as to pick specific countries, most think Brazil. People also like to pull the Italian or Spanish card. Those who don’t ask simply accept that I am white (a topic I will dive into later.) Most people don’t realize my family is from Indonesia, which I explained, and I also expounded on the fact that the rest of my ancestry is relatively unknown with bits of Norwegian, Irish, German, and some supposed Chinese, but I was not aware of the exact makeup. After I described this to him, I couldn’t get myself to ask “what he was.” Was that a thing people asked? He’s black, but could he be black from the Caribbean? Black from Africa? An immigrant? Was I allowed to ask? Is it rude if I’m white and I ask? He’ll think I’m stupid if I ask because clearly he’s just black, and that’s that. So I avoided the entire topic. He later told me about his black fraternity and about his parents, one white, and one black. It made sense when he explained, and I was relieved he had revealed this information on his own. However, I was thrown a curveball when he asked what I thought about being out with a black guy, and if I had dated black guys before. I told him I hadn’t. He was surprised because he thought I seemed like a girl who wanted more “flavor” (a line that still makes me laugh when I think about it)….But I said I didn’t see color.

At the time I thought this response was good. He knew I was above all that racist bull crap, and I wanted him to know that despite my small town upbringing, I was an intellectual. I was smart enough and posh enough to look beyond the racial constraints society placed on us. I had passed my test with flying colors. I thought my response was transcendent of race, as if I was some sort of white poster child for understanding racism in American society.

Wrong.

“Don’t say ‘I’m color-blind,’ because if you are color-blind, then you need to see a doctor and it means that when a black man is shown on TV as a crime suspect in your neighborhood, all you see is a blurry purplish-grayish-creamish figure (Adichie, 373).”

            The way I see it, there are two forms of racism that exist today. One is the outright unequal treatment of blacks vs. whites, the feelings of resentment the white men hold in their chests and act upon, the lynching and the Jim Crow Laws. The other is the mute racism. The fake reality we live in of which we accept that racism does not exist. Us liberal whites, we think we are above the racism of the past and that our indifference to color makes us superior to our ancestors. Indifference is the opposite of respect, not hate.

            “In America, racism exists but racists are all gone. Racists belong to the past. Racists are thin-lipped mean white people in the movies about the civil rights era… If you’re not a bloodsucking monster, then you can’t be called a racist. Somebody has to be able to say that racists are not monsters. They are people with loving families, regular folk who pay taxes…. Or maybe it’s time to just scrap the word “racist.” Find something new. Like Racial Disorder Syndrome. And we could have different categories for sufferers of this syndrome: mild, medium, and acute (Adichie, 361).” 

Questions:

Does racism exist today? Yes.

How can we define racism in a world supposedly “without racists”?

Then I said, “but you’re half white”

            As Anthony and I continued to go on dates for the next few weeks, I became comfortable talking to him about almost anything. He had an ease about him that made me feel calm, despite my tendencies toward anxiety and worry. I would forget about the business of daily life and be enthralled in our conversations. We talked about food (a lot). We talked about movies and music. We talked about his days in undergrad, and he asked me about my life as a “sorority girl” (*insert second eye roll*).  We compared experiences, and he talked about the nuances between Black fraternities, and “White” fraternities, making it clear that IFC was not a typical place for a Black man. I didn’t understand, however, why he had chosen a black fraternity over a “White” fraternity. After all, he was half black and half white. In my mind, he could technically identify either way. That’s when I learned about the one-drop rule…

One Drop Rule: An American concept that means whoever has any sort of African ancestry, no matter the depth of the color of their skin, their parentage, or their personal preference, is simply Black.

            “Race is not biology; race is sociology. Race is not genotype; race is phenotype. Race matters because of racism. And racism is absurd because it’s about how you look. Not about the blood you have. It’s about the shade of your skin and the shape of your nose and the kink of your hair. Booker T. Washington and Frederick Douglass had white fathers. Imagine them saying they were not black (Adichie, 387). ”

Questions:

So this is my question to all of you, if Anthony and all other half-black, half-white Americans are categorized into the box of being Black without consent or without personal opinion, then what am I? Some of you will tell me to select white, ticking my answer to the demographic question on application forms and surveys. Everyone thinks I am white when they look at me, therefore I must be white. Right? That’s the same ideology behind the One-Drop Rule. What would you say if I told you as I identify as Caucasian and South Pacific? Would you say that I couldn’t be both? Would you say I am cheating the system because I have been given white privilege? Is white privilege still a thing if I didn’t ask for it? What if in my mind, I am not entirely just white?

 “That’s like… Reverse Racism”

            After originally trying to keep things “casual” given the looming summer months, Anthony and I started officially dating. It wasn’t long until the next sorority date party came around, and I was too thrilled to be bringing him. We were renting out Ann Arbor’s famous Big House stadium, and I was hoping to impress him with my new red dress. I’ll admit, it was the first formal date party I had ever brought a guy I actually liked to, and I was nervous. I have a tendency to want everything to move perfectly, which it never does.

           

We had a good time, ate some sandwiches, and I embarrassed myself dancing goofily on the dance floor with my girlfriends. At one point in the night, Anthony turned to me and said he was going to talk to the other black guy at the party. It was then I had realized, before that point, he was the only one. Again I noticed my group of friends, my friends I had come to know so easily without thinking about race or differences in our cultures. We were all white. We were all Christian. We all came from good, wholesome families. In fact, every girl in my sorority is some variation of what society would deem as “white.” Some have family from different parts of the world or a heritage they strongly identify with, like me. From an outsiders perspective that night at the Big House could be characterized extremely stereotypically by a “bunch of white sorority girls dancing with a bunch of privileged white guys.” I had thought about what he said the rest of the night, and I hoped he had been comfortable. All I had wanted was for him to have a great time, with my great friends, and just be absorbed by the greatness of it all. My high hopes always took over my brain. I later asked if he felt out of place, and he denied it, but I doubt anyone would want to admit it anyway.

           

That same weekend, Anthony met my family. I brought him to Rockford, Michigan. I was 100% more nervous than he was, especially given the lack of diversity in my hometown. Again, I didn’t want to seem ignorant of racial issues, and I didn’t want the lack of diversity of my hometown to deter him from being with me.

           

Just a few weeks ago I had a talk about Rockford with a friend of mine doing research in Ghana, Ahmed. He and I have mutual friends from Rockford, and he has visited a few times. Ahmed’s family is from Sudan. He is an immigrant to the United States, and was born in the United Kingdom. He lived in a majority white town near Flint, Michigan since the age of five. He described Rockford as being the “greatest culture shock he’s ever experienced,” especially after recalling a 1950’s inspired diner of which white people of all ages and sizes sprawled around to indulge in pancakes and omelets. He said it felt like being in a time travel machine. Everywhere you went, white people.

When I arrived back in Ann Arbor, a friend of mine approached me to voice her concerns about the date party the previous week. She was tentative about asking me my opinions on Anthony’s comment just a few days before. I actually hadn’t thought anything of it. She explained how she thought it was rude that he went to talk to “the other Black guy,” and that it shouldn’t matter how many Black men were in the room at all. He should have been happy enough hanging out with me and my friends. She described it by saying, “That’s like... Reverse racism.” I must admit at the time I agreed with her. She had made a clear argument. She too believed the idea that race wasn’t an issue unless you made it an issue, just like I previously had thought.

Verdict: Reverse Racism isn’t real. There is no question to be asked.

“Don’t put on a Let’s Be Fair tone and say ‘But black people are racist too.’ Because of course we’re all prejudiced (I can’t even stand some of my blood relatives, grasping, selfish folks), but racism is about the power of a group and in America it’s white folks who have that power (Adichie, 374).”

We are all human, and we all have our biases and prejudices. We all have different ideas of what it means to show respect. We all have different definitions of politically correct behavior. Yet, if I were at a party, and I were the only white girl, would I be made to be a racist if I tried to talk to the white girl across the room? This cannot be answered, because I wouldn’t be the only white girl at the party. That’s how white privilege works.

When should I shut up?

Time moved on, Anthony and I kept dating. I don’t want this blog post to make it seem as if our relationship has been plagued by racial problems, in fact it hasn’t ever been an issue we couldn’t talk about. He’s taught me a great deal about Black culture in America, probably unintentionally through daily conversations and mindless tasks. Actually, just being around him I feel like (in general) I am continuously learning something about something -- from economics to sports to how to effectively make eggs without a spatula. We come from different areas of the US, we have different upbringings, different stories, and we’re of different races. We learn from each other a great deal, or at least I think so.

I left for Ghana in mid-May. He left for home and later moved to Chicago. I became absorbed by my life here, trying to keep my head afloat. I worked everyday to learn to love Ghana, and to not let the culture shock takeover. I began reading Adichie’s book, and I ran across a passage that struck my eye. It is the exact passage that made the cogs in my head start connecting the dots about these previously explained experiences. Anthony and I talked on the phone often, and I’d drop hints of my thoughts here and there – picking at his brain and aching for his thoughts about everything -- about race, Ghana, racelessness in Ghana, being a foreigner, being the only white girl for miles, recognizing my privilege as an American and as a white American. I began to wonder if I thought about race too much. Was it possible to talk too much about it?

“The only reason you say that race was not an issue is because you wish it was not. We all wish it was not. But it’s a lie. I came from a country where race was not an issue; I did not think of myself as black and I only became black when I came to America. When you are black in America and you fall in love with a white person, race doesn’t matter when you’re alone together because it’s just you and your love. But the minute you step outside, race matters. But we don’t talk about it. We don’t even tell our white partners the small things that piss us off and the things we wish they understood better, because we’re worried they will say we’re overacting or we’re being too sensitive… (Adichie, 335).”

I read this passage to my roommate, Jenny, an African American with Nigerian ancestry. She agreed with it, and I wondered how true it could be. I wondered how much people hid. I wondered what my Black friends had hidden from me. I wondered if this applied to other people of color. I wondered if I had been blind to this dichotomy of talking aloud and holding it in. I wished it didn’t have to be that way.

Questions:

How is it possible to be the white partner, the partner with privilege, and to also understand?

How much talking is too much talking? How much is not enough?

How do I begin attempt to understand a world outside my own?

How do I make this other world, part of mine?

“I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group”

            I have spoken a lot in this blog about white privilege. This term is thrown out so much in academia, in society, in everyday life. It’s hard for me to understand what it is, given it has been thrust upon me since birth.  

           

I recently read an article by Peggy McIntosh on the daily effects of white privilege. She lists 50 points of daily life of which people experience white privilege. The most shocking one for me was this: “21. I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group.” I thought about being in a conversation at a dinner party or some sort of academic event, and I know if my opinion were stated, it would not be accepted as the opinion of all white people. People of minority groups, do not have this advantage. People of minority groups often have their voices spoken for them by radicals or people who are in the media. Being white gives me the power to be my own person in most situations.

Reflecting now, I know I have been blinded by my white privilege, given my indifference to race and racial issues.

“Why must we always talk about race anyway? Why can’t we just be human beings? ... That is exactly what white privilege is, that you can say that. Race doesn’t really exist for you because it never has been a barrier. Black folks don’t have that choice (Adichie, 396).” She goes on to compare the experience of an “Appalachian hick guy” to a black guy on the street in New York. At the end of the day, the “hick guy” is still white, and he’s still one step ahead.

Questions:

 Is it important to label issues? Is it important to note which problems arise from race and which arise from class? Is ignoring the root of problems, just as bad as the problems themselves? How can we go about creating social change if we aren’t even collectively sure on if today’s societal disparities are due to class or race or both? Where’s the consensus?

What do I do?

            In her book, Adichie writes some solutions such as romantic love, asking questions, being curious, etc. Although I haven’t finished the novel yet, I’m hoping to gain more insight on what she deems is the best way to be the “White Friend Who Gets It.”

            I hope my blog post spurred some sort of emotion in you, whether it’s disgust for my opinions, or enlightenment of Adichie’s quotes. I hope it made you think. Obviously not everyone will agree with me, and that’s good. I don’t want you to. I want to argue. I want to finally talk about something that, even as a white person, I feel like I couldn’t question for so many years. It feels incredibly good to let my mind wander and to write my thoughts down, but expressing my ideas can only go so far. There is a greater conversation to be had, and I hope you are all as eager as I am to finally speak the mind.

Final Question: What can we do?

Special Thanks

            I want to give a special shout out to Jenny, Ahmed, and Anthony. Jenny - for listening to me rant about Americanah for the past few weeks, and for helping me talk through my thoughts. Ahmed - for sitting at dinner with me and indulging in my conversation about race and white privilege on college campuses, and for not letting me eat pizza alone. And obviously Anthony - for allowing me to expose parts of our relationship on the World Wide Web and for continuously putting up with my endless curiosity and chatty self.

            One last shout out to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie for opening my eyes and helping me to attain a greater understanding. I could write endlessly about how grateful I am to have read your book, and how I am in awe of your ability to create a novel with so many levels.

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