Black History Month

Today I sat across from a client who told me the following story:
A well-known lecturer visited her school to give a seminar on some topic of his. The room began to fill up with about 40 students and teachers while the host and speaker chatted together in the front row. When it was time for the meeting to start, the host teacher walked to the podium and surveyed the room thoughtfully for a moment. She noticed that a number of people sat in a group in the front seats, and that about five Black teachers and students sat in a row at the back of the room against the wall.
"Come on up and sit here," she addressed the group of Black attendees. "You don't need to sit in the back anymore."

It was deathly silent. She looked around, smiled apologetically and said, "I hope no one is offended by that comment. It's just that you don't need to sit clear back there."

People of color were deeply offended, especially since this occurred right after a Martin Luther King celebration the day before. Making reference to civil rights struggles are not funny to a people whose blood was once spilled in the streets for no good reason. My client was shocked by the comment that had been made, and cited numerous other ways that she experiences marginalization every day. Another teacher frequently quotes White students in her class, but never repeats comments of Black or Hispanic students. Emails to White students are warm and humorous, but are cryptic and abrupt to Black students. And this teacher has the power to flunk her students. So it is no surprise that this client feels hypervigilant and sometimes sick to her stomach with anxiety in this teacher's class.
"Barbara, why does this still happen? It's at such a subtle level that no one can really attack the problem. Because if you do, you look like you're splitting hairs. But in the context of all the inequality and things like nooses that have been found hanging on the doors and in the lockers of upwardly mobile Blacks, this is frightening. It's making me ill."
I was impressed that a student her age could so clearly explain her response and articulate what was happening. But then, she has had years of watching this happen, receiving it, and thinking about what it is. I have not.
As I told her, I am White and I have White Privilege. I don't get questioned about my motives or intentions. I don't get stopped when I'm driving my car just because I'm in the "wrong" neighborhood. No one discriminates against me because of my race or ethnicity. I am recognized readily in classroom settings and my comments are not subject to scrutiny, nor are they marveled over skeptically with a "how did you know that?" People don't cross over to the other side of the street when they see me coming. I don't have the legacy of knowing that my family tree cannot be traced because my great grandparents were sold down the river.
I felt terrible about what Kimberly was experiencing. It may not sound like much to a White person, but a it would if it came in a reasonably steady stream and provoked one's anxiety.
We talked for awhile about my client's feelings of impotence and frustration. We discussed how she might decide if she should confront the teacher, or speak to an ombudsman, or the school principal. There is clear risk in each of these actions--risk that I may not be aware of because I would not have negative responses should I approach any of these people. But she very well could.

It was interesting for me to reflect on my experience as I helped Kimberly clarify what had happened and how she was affected by it. I felt a rush of shame that someone like me had offended her. I couldn't make up for it but I wanted to somehow. Yet this is the way life is. I can't protect her, only empower her to advocate for herself, think about her options, and move toward life experiences that fulfill and value her for who she is. At the same time, I feel some annoyance that life has to be so complicated and that people have to watch everything they say. That we have to worry about saying or doing something that is politically incorrect. Our country didn't used to be so pluralistic--it was all White, Protestant, hard-working, patriarchal, English-speaking, family-oriented, heterosexual. Now, everything is different and we must view reality through the eyes of many other kinds of people than how we used to.

I remember living in Hattiesburg Mississippi during the civil rights era--1961 - 1964. Even though I was a sheltered little girl, there was an awareness that the world was not a safe or pleasant place. We went to a Sears store one time in Jackson--my older sister, brother, parents, and me. As we were shopping, my sister saw a drinking fountain and helped herself to a good, long drink. She was too young to be able to read the "Colored" sign that hung over the fountain where she was drinking. A pipe came from the wall and split into two directions: left to the "Colored Fountain" and right to the "Whites Only" fountain.
We all stood by while Dana got her drink.

A store clerk--a man of about 35 or so--rushed over to us. "Don't let her drink out of that fountain!" he fairly shouted in a panic. "It's the Colored Fountain!"
My very Northern father quietly said, "But it comes from the same source as the White Fountain, so what's the difference?" Daddy studied the man with a bit of challenge in the way he held his head.
"Get out of here!" the man demanded. "We don't need your kind in here! N--lovers!"
Daddy demured.
"Get out! You will not get service in here." He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at us. I was scared to death and started crying.
I don't remember more than that, except that it was awful. Daddy was livid and Mother was indignant. They sputtered all the way home in the car. And as an adult I'm incensed at the humiliation and unnecessary segregation and pain that was leveled at Blacks during those very dark years. But I didn't do it. My people did--and that makes me feel silenced sometimes when called upon to respond to things that are happening. I either want to apologize for centuries of anti-Black behavior, or ignore that it exists altogether.

Discrimination still happens, only at a very different level. In defense of the teacher who made the comment at the beginning of this post, she makes terrible verbal blunders on a regular basis. I know this because I know her. She often says things without thinking about the implications of her words. She doesn't filter what comes out of her mouth very well. But she doesn't have a malicious bone in her body. In fact, she feels that she is a champion for diversity. She talks a lot about power differentials due to gender, race, socioeconomic status, etc. But it is hard for her to put it into practice all the time. She has no idea of how she has put the Black community off by what seemed to be a humorous comment.

As we reflect on Black History Month events, perhaps it is useful to think about our own individual journeys in terms of embracing people who are different than we are. All of us bring life experiences to the table: events in which we were harmed or had a negative reaction to a person of color. Or when we were resentful that we have had to move over and make space for someone who previously was not invited to the table. It is hard sometimes to learn new table etiquette and converse in culturally sensitive ways. However if we were all the same, life would be pallid at best and intolerably boring at worst.

I hope my young student finds grace as she begins to openly address these issues that look very different from her perspective.