when white people fuck up, a continuing series
I wanted have something profound or thought-provoking or interesting to say on the occasion of International Blog Against Racism Week (ibarw). That never quite came together, so I'm retreating to familiar territory: When White People Fuck Up.
I hope that I am a good anti-racist ally. Julia likes to joke that I "came trained out of the box" because my line of work has afforded me the opportunity to attend a lot of formal anti-racism workshops and trainings. But I still fuck up. Unintentionally, but I still fuck up all the time. One thing that's come up this week is that many people of color only feel comfortable having discussions about internalized racism in private spaces, which is completely understandable. On the flip side of that, though, I think that white people have an obligation to discuss their racism-related fuck-ups in public spaces, so here's one I made this week:
My boss is black. She's worked at this organization for about a year, and worked in Boston for about four years. Because of where our office is located, this is the first job she's had in Boston where it makes the most sense for her to take the train to work. I complain about the MBTA like it's my job, but I love taking the train to work, I love not having to commute by car, you couldn't pay me to start driving to work again. She hates it, complains about it all the time, says she can't wait until our office moves and she can start driving again. Every time she complains about how much she hates taking the T to work, I have a moment of feeling morally superior, because public transportation is better for the environment, it's less expensive, it forces you to get more exercise, blah blah blah etcetera.
This morning she told me about how some guy was harassing her on the train and the conductor eventually had to stop the car and get transit police involved. And then I thought, "Huh. This isn't the first time she's told me a story like this. She tells a story about getting hassled on the train at least once every other week." And then, well, duh -- maybe I should have considered that she hates riding the T because she's a young black woman traveling alone and she's more likely to get hassled.
Is that the truth? I don't know. Maybe she hates riding the T because she's agoraphobic or because, well, it's the MBTA, it sucks. But the point is that I was reminded that I interpret EVERYTHING through the perspective of a middle-class white girl, and every assumption I make based on that perspective is an opportunity for me to check my privilege.
So I did. Was it earth-shattering? No. Am I asking for a pat on the back? Seriously, no. What I'm trying to say is this: it's really, really easy to assume that the white experience is the default experience. But it's nearly almost as easy to catch yourself doing it and say "yeah, no, stop doing that." Admit to yourself that you fucked up, and stop doing it. Admit that you fucked up in public, so other people see how easy it is. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I hope that I am a good anti-racist ally. Julia likes to joke that I "came trained out of the box" because my line of work has afforded me the opportunity to attend a lot of formal anti-racism workshops and trainings. But I still fuck up. Unintentionally, but I still fuck up all the time. One thing that's come up this week is that many people of color only feel comfortable having discussions about internalized racism in private spaces, which is completely understandable. On the flip side of that, though, I think that white people have an obligation to discuss their racism-related fuck-ups in public spaces, so here's one I made this week:
My boss is black. She's worked at this organization for about a year, and worked in Boston for about four years. Because of where our office is located, this is the first job she's had in Boston where it makes the most sense for her to take the train to work. I complain about the MBTA like it's my job, but I love taking the train to work, I love not having to commute by car, you couldn't pay me to start driving to work again. She hates it, complains about it all the time, says she can't wait until our office moves and she can start driving again. Every time she complains about how much she hates taking the T to work, I have a moment of feeling morally superior, because public transportation is better for the environment, it's less expensive, it forces you to get more exercise, blah blah blah etcetera.
This morning she told me about how some guy was harassing her on the train and the conductor eventually had to stop the car and get transit police involved. And then I thought, "Huh. This isn't the first time she's told me a story like this. She tells a story about getting hassled on the train at least once every other week." And then, well, duh -- maybe I should have considered that she hates riding the T because she's a young black woman traveling alone and she's more likely to get hassled.
Is that the truth? I don't know. Maybe she hates riding the T because she's agoraphobic or because, well, it's the MBTA, it sucks. But the point is that I was reminded that I interpret EVERYTHING through the perspective of a middle-class white girl, and every assumption I make based on that perspective is an opportunity for me to check my privilege.
So I did. Was it earth-shattering? No. Am I asking for a pat on the back? Seriously, no. What I'm trying to say is this: it's really, really easy to assume that the white experience is the default experience. But it's nearly almost as easy to catch yourself doing it and say "yeah, no, stop doing that." Admit to yourself that you fucked up, and stop doing it. Admit that you fucked up in public, so other people see how easy it is. Lather, rinse, repeat.