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What ARE they?

July 23, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment
I wish I’d read Does Anybody Look Like Me? three years ago when it was published; or better yet, that it had been published sometime between 1996 & 1999 and I’d read it then. The book contains a lot of good information about how children process racial concepts through the various developmental stages, and describes the stages a multiracial youth goes through to develop a healthy and fluid racial identity. It’s provoked a lot of thought for me, but what doesn’t these days?
“Over time, our daugther has developed a kind of public shell she retreats into when others approach. She refuses eye contact, sucks her thumb and puts her head against my side, her arm grasping mine. How much of this sudden shyness, when we are out and about, is due to innate personality, and how much of it relates to having to squirm under each stranger’s magnifying glass, we’ll never know.”
You may recognize Halle in this passage… or recall me having complained about how being ‘petted’ by strangers was affecting her. This ‘zooing’ is something I’ve always felt was somehow invasive and inappropriate, although all I could really chalk it up to was that it’s an invasion of privacy. Donna Nakazawa put my feelings into words perfectly,
“Perhaps when people encounter a biracial child they often are compelled to look, and look again, in order to figure them (and their family situation out), yet at the same time they feel awkward staring without saying a word. In order to mask their discomfort, they may overreact, touching our child’s hair or commenting repeatedly on how beautiful our child is. Read more…

Famous Last Words: Exploring the Depths of Racist Conditioning

July 21, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

By Tim Wise

Published as a ZNet Commentary, April 24, 1999

Without doubt, convincing whites that we have internalized racist beliefs proves difficult. You can’t make the point with statistics, or poll numbers, or by pointing out the disparities in life chances that form the backdrop of American racism. Convinced they are free from the biases that characterize “real” racists, such folks inevitably are the most resistant to the analysis offered here thus far.

It is with this in mind that I return to my grandmother. For her death, and her life up until she died, offers more in the way of proof that racist socialization affects us all than anything I have experienced in my thirty years. You see, my grandmother was one of those good liberals. In fact, she was beyond liberal, particularly given the time and place in which she spent most of her life.

Born in the Detroit area, her family moved south in the 1920s. Her father was a member of the Ku Klux Klan; a member that is, until the day when his only daughter informed him that she had fallen in love with a Jew, and that in addition to that, his prejudice toward blacks was unconscionable to her. She then asked if he was going to burn his robes, or if she and her mother were going to have to do it for him. She challenged him despite what must have been the palpable fear of standing up to a man who was none too gentle and most certainly capable of violence. As it turns out, he burned the robes, left the Klan, and by all accounts changed his attitudes, behaviors, indeed his life thereafter. 

Throughout her life she would stand up to racism on many occasions. Like the time she and my grandfather were looking for a house, and the agent made the mistake of mentioning, as if it were a positive thing, that there were no blacks in the area. My grandmother’s response was simple: he had best get in his car and drive away, or she would be forced to run him over in hers.

She would regularly challenge racist comments, from whatever the source. The fear that too often paralyzes whites and makes us unwilling to challenge racism, described by James Baldwin as the fear of being “turned away from the welcome table” of white society, was something that played no part in her life. For all of her many human flaws, she was a woman of principle, and though not an activist, she instilled in her family a sense of right and wrong which was unshakeable in at least this regard.

The story in this article is part of the book; it brought me to tears when I read it read it, and the second, and the third, and has been haunting me.

“Now think carefully about what I’m saying, and why it matters. Here was a woman who no longer could recognize her own children; a woman who had no idea who her husband had been; no clue where she was, what her name was, what year it was; and yet, knew what she had been taught at a very early age to call black people. Once she was no longer capable of resisting this demon, tucked away like a ticking time bomb in the far corners of her mind, it would reassert itself and explode with a vengeance. She could not remember how to feed herself. She could not go to the bathroom by herself. She could not recognize a glass of water for what it was. But she could recognize a nigger. America had seen to that, and no disease would strip her of that memory. Indeed, it would be one of the last words I would hear her say, before finally she stopped talking at all. “

 

Posted by CURLYGURL on July 21, 2006 – Friday – 12:22 AM
[Reply to this
Ei 

 
It made me cry too…and made me a little more than frightened. 
 
Posted by Ei on July 24, 2006 – Monday – 7:04 AM
[Reply to this

Famous Last Words: Exploring the Depths of Racist Conditioning – CURLYGURL’s MySpace Blog | Cyndi–s Jewels.

Cyndi’s First Racial Experiences

July 19, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

Part 3 of 3

I am reading this book, voraciously… and the way this chapter is laid out I didn’t really pause to fully answer what my first experience with race was, before I was too far into the page to really answer it without the light Tim Wise shed on the subject.

For background, I don’t have any conscious memory of the first time I saw a black person, or hispanic, asian, pacific islander, etc.  My mother was in the military, as was her second husband, who adopted me, and we often lived in military housing, or in communities near the base.  I remember either my immediate neighborhood or the school I attended as always being racially and ethnically diverse; but then I wondered if it wasn’t all that diverse, if it just seemed diverse compared to Herington, where there was (briefly, I’d say only one grade level) one black student in my class from 5th thru 11th grades.  I went digging through some old photo albums to see if my early childhood was really as diverse as I thought it was.  Of course I found some baby pictures of me with my Italian-Mexican-American cousins, but I was looking for some evidence of diversity in my community… this is the oldest/first picture of me with a playmate.  No smart ass comments about me having been born a blonde, please. Read more…

Tim Wise & First Racial Experiences

July 18, 2006 curlykidz 4 comments

Part 2 of 3

Most whites havent given it much though, which is not surprising. Truthfully, why would we? Race, after all, is a subject that, for the most part, we rarely have to engage directly in our lives.

But what has always bothered me more; more than the blank stares that often manifest on the faces of whites asked the question, is the self assured response of those whites who actually think they know the answer, who have given it some thought, and then proceed to talk about the first time the encountered a person of color and noticed the difference or had it pointed out to them, or saw some overt form of mistreatment meted out against a black person Latino, Asian, or whomever. Read more…

What was your first experience with race?

July 17, 2006 curlykidz 18 comments

Well, if you’re reading my blog it’s no surprise that Im now reading Tim Wises book, White Like Me. And in it, he mentions facilitating or participating in race workshops where folks are asked to describe his or her first experience with race. He made an argument, and the point was something I kinda thought I knew and understood, but he really kinda drove it the rest of the way home. Read more…

Note to self: Try this on American Children…

July 11, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment
Modern Love

What Shamu Taught Me About a Happy Marriage

AS I wash dishes at the kitchen sink, my husband paces behind me, irritated. “Have you seen my keys?” he snarls, then huffs out a loud sigh and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels, anxious over her favorite human’s upset.

In the past I would have been right behind Dixie. I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe my husband with bromides like, “Don’t worry, they’ll turn up.” But that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown angst-ridden drama starring the two of us and our poor nervous dog.

Now, I focus on the wet dish in my hands. I don’t turn around. I don’t say a word. I’m using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer. Read more…

“I wish I was white”

July 11, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

Last week while we were watching My Date with the President’s Daughter, Halle turned to me and announced “I wish I was white.”  For those of you who haven’t seen the movie or are star-challenged, the movie stars Elisabeth Harnois, who is a very pretty girl with long silky hair (see picture).

I got clued into the challenges of instilling healthy self esteem in children who do not look like the ‘All American Girl’ when I was pregnant with Halle, which is when Ro’s oldest daughter, then 12, was spending the summer in AZ, and a great deal of it in the pool.  Half Puerto Rican, half Sudanese, and all hair that she had no idea how to take care of.  Unfortunately, neither did I.  Read more…

But mommy, white dolls are prettier

July 11, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

But mommy, white dolls are prettier – CURLYGURL’s MySpace Blog | Cyndi’s Jewels

teaching your daughter to embrace her own beauty – the war on girls parenting

Ylonda Gault Caviness

As she stood in the toy store struggling to remain calm–to reveal no judgment in her tone–Kerri Mubaarak looked deeply into her daughter’s eyes. The child she had given the African name Aya Sikudhani repeated the words with her usual self-assuredness: “I want the White Barbie.”

“But, baby, look at this beautiful Black one. Her brown skin is so pretty,” Kerri countered. Her 5-year-old stood firm. “She’s nice, but I want the White Barbie.”

Read more…

Small Town Shake Down, day 2, the Fair

July 9, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

Well, we made it to the Herington Fair Saturday night. The kids had a BLAST. I had my ups and downs. One of the kids’ cousins didn’t make it in town, leaving an extra wristband for MOI. Before I had a chance to go on any rides, well, the sky opened up and spit on us.  But the one good thing about Kansas, as soon as somebody sneezes the weather will change.  We waited it out in the community center and sure enough, the fair went on.  So I went on the flying swings with Halle, and then I let her convince me to go on the sizzler.  And Ro already pointed out to me that Halle is only six… but she can be damn persuasive.  Well, I’d eaten leftover taco pizza for dinner.  I was thinking my stomach didn’t feel quite right as I got on the sizzler, and about halfway through the ride I was really wondering if I might be the talk of the town for puking over the side.  I made it off the Sizzler with my dignity, and when Halle suggested the Ferris Wheel, I thought that would be a good idea… you know, a nice slow, non spinning ride. 

But not.  As Halle told me how she wanted to leave home and not to go live with Oma, (which is her equivalent of “I’m running away) but so that she can “…explore the world…” (I swear, that’s a quote)… I wondered if it would really ruin the bonding if I hurled over the side of the ferris wheel.  I was no longer concerned about my dignity. I hobbled my old ass to the car and laid down until Heidi arrived.  By then my stomach had settled and the show went on… Heidi and I even did two rounds on the flying swings again…

Small Town Shake Down, day 2, the Fair – CURLYGURL’s MySpace Blog

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small town shakedown, day 1 – JUL 8 2006

July 8, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

So I arrived safely in Kansas City, MO yesterday… and much to her relief, so did Heidi, who doesn’t like driving in cities.  She got into and out of Kansas City without getting lost… but did take me on the scenic route getting home to her new home in Madison.  Her husband suggested she take a short cut… ’nuff said.  Lessee… I almost went blind pulling into Madison when I saw the red brick road, at which time I immediately began screaming “a red brick road… oh my god my eyes my eyes…”  If you don’t get that… I probably can’t explain it to you.  The Herington-ites all know what I’m talking about.

So her house is teeny and cute… it reminded me of Neicey’s little bungalow cottage.  We stopped at the (notice I said, “THE”, not “A”) gas station and I got my first fix of the trip… cherry Nibs, which can’t be found in Phoenix but are a staple in every gas station in the heartland.  We stopped at the National Guard in Emporia, where I met Mr. Heidi Paugh… James, who REALLY DOES look like Bruce Willis, specially in fatigues and a beret. 

At this point, Daija has finally awaken.  I let her stay up until she passed out Thursday night… and that time was around ***3AM*** Friday morning.  So she slept through the wait at the airport, the flight, and the majority of the drive from KC MO to Madison, KS.  She was fully alert for the jaunt to Emporia to Herington and almost made us (well, at least me) pee myself.

Daija wants to pick up someone she knows from a school.  I can’t figure out what she’s talking about, and she describes a male, with an adams apple… this is normal and I’m wracking my brain trying to think who we know that has a prominent adams apple.  But wait… Daija says he has an ant on his head… no, not an ant, a spider.  No, he has three spiders… not four spiders, but three spiders, and she waggles her fingers above her forehead as though spider legs are just sprouting from her skull.  And he’s a monster, and he’s eating her brother.

(dramatic pause)

But my brother is not a snack.

(deadpan, she says this).

OMG, she is hilarious.

So we got to Herington, see my stepmom, and swing by Heidi’s childhood home to see her parents.  Then it’s on to the local Pizza Hut for my second fix of the trip… TACO PIZZA.  You’d think I could get something like that in a city the size of Phoenix… but not.

 I’m not sure how this started, but at some point in the joking around Heidi knocked on either Tyler or Halle’s forehead and I’m not sure if she said it or they started the multiplication.  But I look up and I see Tyler and Halle taking turns ’knocking’ on Heidi’s forehead like they’re knocking on a door.  It goes like this…

T: (knock knock) times two

H:  (knock knock) times four

T: (knock knock) times 20

H: (knock knock) times 40

T: (knock knock) times a million

H: (knock knock) times a thousand

T: (knock knock) times times Pie

(as in, the math equation, not the fruity dessert)

Thankfully, I’d recently visited the ladies’ room.

My stepmom took the kids’ home, and Heidi and I cruised around town for a few minutes before stopping at one of the three bars Herington offers, which advertised karaoke.  I was prepared to be driven out in a short period of time by drunk, off pitch singing of hyper patriotic or ‘my dog’s dead, my truck broke down, gimme a beer’ style music.  We were both really surprised, not only by the skill of almost everyone who sang, or that there were a lot of men singing, or the range of music being sung.  We heard a rendition of “It’s a Wonderful World” that gave us both goosebumps.  Oh, and we saw ***eye candy***.  I don’t remember Herington offering much in the way of eye candy.  And I’m pretty strictly a Levi’s kinda girl, but I even saw some eye candy wrapped in a pair of Wranglers that was rather appealing.  Also ran into a handful of people we knew from our high school years, including a friend from the little clique that I ran with, Ray Perez, aka Moose. OMG, I have a picture I should try to dig up, from Spirit Week, specifically Career Day.  Me and Jennifer Fringer (now Cooper) dressed up as hookers, and Chip Cooper and Ray Perez dressed up as our pimps.  LOL, Jennifer brought in a couple garters… mine said “World’s of Fun” (snort).  OMG, I wonder where that is… thinking back on it now, I can’t believe we didn’t get sent home.  I promise to scan it if I can find it.

The one thing I was really disappointed in is that with most of the dancing (to the pop music anyway) was done pretty exclusively by women and the men sat and watched.  Towards the end of the evening they played a couple songs I love so I danced, but by Heidi at the bar, because I wasn’t interested in being part of the simulated orgy playing out on the dance floor.  That got some notice, and I had a guy come shake my hand and another walk over and raise his hat to me.  I guess if I ever wanna move back home I can count on a relatively successful career as an exotic dancer.

 via small town shakedown, day 1 – CURLYGURL’s MySpace Blog | Cyndi–s Jewels.

WHITE PRIVILEGE SHAPES THE U.S « COMMENTS TO HIS PAPER

July 4, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

By writing about the politics of white privilege–and listening to the folks who responded to that writing–I have had to face one more way that privilege runs deep in my life, and it makes me uncomfortable.

 

The discomfort tells me I might be on the right track.

 

Last year I published an article about white privilege in the Baltimore Sun that then went out over a wire service to other newspapers. Electronic copies proliferated and were picked up on Internet discussion lists, and the article took on a life of its own (the essay is available online at http://uts.cc.utexas.edu/~rjensen/freelance/whiteprivilege.htm )

 

As a result, every week over the past year I have received at least a dozen letters from people who want to talk about race. I learned not only more about my own privilege, but more about why many white folks cant come to terms with the truism I offered in that article: White people, whether overtly racist or not, benefit from living in a world mostly run by white people that has been built on the land and the backs of non-white people.

 

The reactions varied from racist rantings, to deeply felt expressions of pain and anger, to declarations of solidarity. But probably the most important response I got was from non-white folks, predominantly African-Americans, who said something like this: “Of course there is white privilege. I’ve been pointing it out to my white friends and co-workers for

years. Isn’t funny that almost no one listens to me, but everyone takes notice when a white guy says it.”

 

Those comments forced me again to ponder the privilege I live with. Who really does know more about white privilege, me or the people on the other side of that privilege? Me, or a black inner-city teenager who is automatically labeled a gang member and feared by many white folks? Me, or an American Indian on the streets of a U.S. city who is invisible to many white folks? Whose voices should we be paying attention to?

 

My voice gets heard in large part because I am a white man with a Ph.D. who holds a professional job with status. In most settings, I speak with the assumption that people not only will listen, but will take me seriously. I speak with the assumption that my motives will not be challenged; I can rely on the perception of me as a neutral authority, someone whose observations can be trusted.

 

Every time I open my mouth, I draw on, and in some ways reinforce, my privilege, which is in large part tied to race. Right now, I want to use that privilege to acknowledge the many non-white people who took the time to tell me about the enduring realities of racism in the United States.

 

And, I want to talk to the white people who I think misread my essay and misunderstand what’s at stake. The responses of my white critics broke down into a few basic categories, around the following claims:

 

1. White privilege doesn’t exist because affirmative action has made being white a disadvantage.

 

“« The simple response: Extremely limited attempts to combat racism, such as affirmative action, do virtually nothing to erase the white privilege built over 500 years that pervades our society. As a friend of mine says, the only real disadvantage to being white is that it so often prevents people from understanding racial issues.

 

2. White privilege exists, but it can’t be changed because it is natural for any group to favor its own, and besides, the worst manifestations of racism are over.”

 

« Response: This approach makes human choices appear outside of human control, which is a dodge to avoid moral and political responsibility for the injustice we continue to live with.

 

3. White privilege exists, and that’s generally been a good thing because white Europeans have civilized the world. Along the way some bad things may have happened, and we should take care to be nice to non-whites to make up for that.”

 

« Response: These folks often argued the curiously contradictory position that (1) non-whites and their cultures are not inferior, but (2) white/European culture is superior. As for the civilizing effect of Europe, we might consider five centuries of inhuman, brutal colonialism and World Wars I and II, and then ask what “civilized” means.

 

4. White privilege exists because whites are inherently superior, and I am a weakling and a traitor for suggesting otherwise.”

 

« Response: The Klan isnt dead.

 

There is much to say beyond those short responses, but for now I am more interested in one common assumption that all these correspondents made, that my comments on race and affirmative action were motivated by “white liberal guilt.” The problem is, they got two out of the three terms wrong. I am white, but I’m not a liberal. In political terms, I’m a radical; I dont think liberalism offers real solutions because it doesnt attack the systems of power and structures of illegitimate authority that are the root cause of oppression, be it based on race, gender, sexuality, or class. These systems of oppression, which are enmeshed and interlocking, require radical solutions.

 

And I don’t feel guilty. Guilt is appropriate when one has wronged another, when one has something to feel guilty about. In my life I have felt guilty for racist or sexist things I have said or done, even when they were done unconsciously. But that is guilt I felt because of specific acts, not for the color of my skin. Also, focusing on individual guilt feelings is counterproductive when it leads us to ponder the issue from a psychological point of view instead of a moral and political one.

 

So, I cannot, and indeed should not, feel either guilty or proud about being white, because it is a state of being I have no control over. However, as a member of a society–and especially as a privileged member of society–I have an obligation not simply to enjoy that privilege that comes with being white but to study and understand it, and work toward a more just world in which such unearned privilege is eliminated.

 

Some of my critics said that such a goal is ridiculous; after all, people have unearned privileges of all kinds. Several people pointed out that, for example, tall people have unearned privilege in basketball, and we don’t ask tall people to stop playing basketball nor do we eliminate their advantage.

 

The obvious difference is that racial categories are invented; they carry privilege or disadvantage only because people with power create and maintain the privilege for themselves at the expense of others. The privilege is rooted in violence and is maintained through that violence as well as more subtle means.

 

I can’t change the world so that everyone is the same height, so that everyone has the same shot at being a pro basketball player. In fact, I wouldn’t want to; it would be a drab and boring world if we could erase individual differences like that. But I can work with others to change the world to erase the effects of differences that have been created by one group to keep others down.

 

Not everyone who wrote to me understood this. In fact, the most creative piece of mail I received in response to the essay also was the most confused. In a padded envelope from Clement, Minn., came a brand-new can of Kiwi Shoe Polish, black. Because there was no note or letter, I have to guess at my correspondent’s message, but I assume the person was suggesting that if I felt so bad about being white, I might want to make myself black.

 

But, of course, I don’t feel bad about being white. The only motivation I might have to want to be black –to be something I am not — would be pathological guilt over my privilege. In these matters, guilt is a cowards way out, an attempt to avoid the moral and political questions. As I made clear in the original essay, there is no way to give up the privilege; the society we live in confers it upon us, no matter what we want.

 

So, I don’t feel guilty about being white in a white supremacist society, but I feel an especially strong moral obligation to engage in collective political activity to try to change the society because I benefit from the injustice. I try to be reflective and accountable, though I am human and I make mistakes. I think a lot about how I may be expressing racism unconsciously, but I don’t lay awake at night feeling guilty. Guilt is not a particularly productive emotion, and I don’t wallow in it.

 

What matters is what we decide to do with the privilege. For me, that means speaking, knowing that I speak with a certain unearned privilege that gives me advantages I cannot justify. It also means learning to listen before I speak, and realizing that I am probably not as smart as I sometimes like to think I am.

 

It means listening when an elderly black man who sees the original article tacked up on the bulletin board outside my office while on a campus tour stops to chat. This man, who has lived with more kinds of racism than I can imagine through more decades than I have been alive, says to me, “White privilege, yes, good to keep an eye on that, son. Keep yourself honest. But don’t forget to pay attention to the folks who live without the privilege.”

 

It doesn’t take black shoe polish to pay attention. It takes only a bit of empathy to listen, and a bit of courage to act.

 

Jensen is a professor in the Department of Journalism in the University of Texas at Austin.

WHITE PRIVILEGE SHAPES THE U.S « curlykidz.

WHITE PRIVILEGE SHAPES THE U.S by Robert Jensen

July 4, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

Years ago, Kenny (aka C.O.D lol) sent me this essay.  It was the first introduction I had to the concept of white priviledge.  Prior to that, I looked at race as very black and white (no pun intended, I promise)… you were either racist, or you were not.  This essay changed the way I looked at race.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 WHITE PRIVILEGE SHAPES THE U.S.

Copyright Robert William Jensen 1998 first appeared in the Baltimore Sun, July 19, 1998

 Here is what white privilege sounds like: I am sitting in my University of Texas office, talking to a very bright and very conservative white student about affirmative action in college admissions, which he opposes and I support.

 The student says he wants a level playing field with no unearned advantages for anyone. I ask him whether he thinks that in the United States being white has advantages. Have either of us, I ask, ever benefited from being white in a world run mostly by white people? Yes, he concedes, there is something real and tangible we could call white privilege.

So, if we live in a world of white privilege–unearned white privilege–how does that affect your notion of a level playing field? I ask. 

He paused for a moment and said, “That really doesnt matter.”

That statement, I suggested to him, reveals the ultimate white privilege: the privilege to acknowledge that you have unearned privilege but ignore what it means.

That exchange led me to rethink the way I talk about race and racism with students. It drove home to me the importance of confronting the dirty secret that we white people carry around with us everyday: In a world of white privilege, some of what we have is unearned. I think much of both the fear and anger that comes up around discussions of affirmative action has its roots in that secret. So these days, my goal is to talk openly and honestly about white supremacy and white privilege.

White privilege, like any social phenomenon, is complex. In a white supremacist culture, all white people have privilege, whether or not they are overtly racist themselves. There are general patterns, but such privilege plays out differently depending on context and other aspects of one’s identity (in my case, being male gives me other kinds of privilege). Rather than try to tell others how white privilege has played out in their lives, I talk about how it has affected me.

I am as white as white gets in this country. I am of northern European heritage and I was raised in North Dakota, one of the whitest states in the country. I grew up in a virtually all-white world surrounded by racism, both personal and institutional. Because I didnt live near a reservation, I didn’t even have exposure to the state’s only numerically significant non-white population, American Indians.

I have struggled to resist that racist training and the ongoing racism of my culture. I like to think I have changed, even though I routinely trip over the lingering effects of that internalized racism and the institutional racism around me. But no matter how much I “fix” myself, one thing never changes–I walk through the world with white privilege.

What does that mean? Perhaps most importantly, when I seek admission to a university, apply for a job, or hunt for an apartment, I don’t look threatening. Almost all of the people evaluating me for those things look like me–they are white. They see in me a reflection of themselves, and in a racist world that is an advantage. I smile. I am white. I am one of them. I am not dangerous. Even when I voice critical opinions, I am cut some slack. After all, I’m white. 

My flaws also are more easily forgiven because I am white. Some complain that affirmative action has meant the university is saddled with mediocre minority professors. I have no doubt there are minority faculty who are mediocre, though I don’t know very many. As Henry Louis Gates Jr. once pointed out, if affirmative action policies were in place for the next hundred years, it’s possible that at the end of that time the university could have as many mediocre minority professors as it has mediocre white professors. That isnt meant as an insult to anyone, but is a simple observation that white privilege has meant that scores of second-rate white professors have slid through the system because their flaws were overlooked out of solidarity based on race, as well as on gender, class and ideology.

Some people resist the assertions that the United States is still a bitterly racist society and that the racism has real effects on real people. But white folks have long cut other white folks a break. I know, because I am one of them.

I am not a genius–as I like to say, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I have been teaching full-time for six years, and I’ve published a reasonable amount of scholarship. Some of it is the unexceptional stuff one churns out to get tenure, and some of it, I would argue, actually is worth reading. I work hard, and I like to think that I’m a fairly decent teacher. Every once in awhile, I leave my office at the end of the day feeling like I really accomplished something. When I cash my paycheck, I dont feel guilty.

But, all that said, I know I did not get where I am by merit alone. I benefited from, among other things, white privilege. That doesn’t mean that I dont deserve my job, or that if I weren’t white I would never have gotten the job. It means simply that all through my life, I have soaked up benefits for being white. I grew up in fertile farm country taken by force from non-white indigenous people. I was educated in a well-funded, virtually all-white public school system in which I learned that white people like me made this country great. There I also was taught a variety of skills, including how to take standardized tests written by and for white people.

All my life I have been hired for jobs by white people. I was accepted for graduate school by white people. And I was hired for a teaching position at the predominantly white University of Texas, which had a white president, in a college headed by a white dean and in a department with a white chairman that at the time had one non-white tenured professor.

There certainly is individual variation in experience. Some white people have had it easier than me, probably because they came from wealthy families that gave them even more privilege. Some white people have had it tougher than me because they came from poorer families. White women face discrimination I will never know. But, in the end, white people all have drawn on white privilege somewhere in their lives.

Like anyone, I have overcome certain hardships in my life. I have worked hard to get where I am, and I work hard to stay there. But to feel good about myself and my work, I do not have to believe that “merit,” as defined by white people in a white country, alone got me here. I can acknowledge that in addition to all that hard work, I got a significant boost from white privilege, which continues to protect me every day of my life from certain hardships.

At one time in my life, I would not have been able to say that, because I needed to believe that my success in life was due solely to my individual talent and effort. I saw myself as the heroic American, the rugged individualist. I was so deeply seduced by the cultures mythology that I couldn’t see the fear that was binding me to those myths. Like all white Americans, I was living with the fear that maybe I didnt really deserve my success, that maybe luck and privilege had more to do with it than brains and hard work. I was afraid I wasn’t heroic or rugged, that I wasnt special.

I let go of some of that fear when I realized that, indeed, I wasn’t special, but that I was still me. What I do well, I still can take pride in, even when I know that the rules under which I work in are stacked in my benefit. I believe that until we let go of the fiction that people have complete control over their fate–that we can will ourselves to be anything we choose–then we will live with that fear. Yes, we should all dream big and pursue our dreams and not let anyone or anything stop us. But we all are the product both of what we will ourselves to be and what the society in which we live lets us be. 

White privilege is not something I get to decide whether or not I want to keep. Every time I walk into a store at the same time as a black man and the security guard follows him and leaves me alone to shop, I am benefiting from white privilege. There is not space here to list all the ways in which white privilege plays out in our daily lives, but it is clear that I will carry this privilege with me until the day white supremacy is erased from this society.

Frankly, I don’t think I will live to see that day; I am realistic about the scope of the task. However, I continue to have hope, to believe in the creative power of human beings to engage the world honestly and act morally. A first step for white people, I think, is to not be afraid to admit that we have benefited from white privilege. It doesn’t mean we are frauds who have no claim to our success. It means we face a choice about what we do with our success.

via WHITE PRIVILEGE SHAPES THE U.S – CURLYGURL’s MySpace Blog | Cyndi–s Jewels.

Whose reality is it?

July 4, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

The other week I blogged about attending a Roosevelt School District Board Meeting.  I mentioned feelings of validation because the board president and district superintendent both sought me out after the meeting adjourned.  I had been so nervous to speak in that forum about the topic I wanted to address:  the growing reports of hiring and firing practices that favor one racial group over others.  This is a topic I feel strongly about, for obvious reasons… but even stronger than my fear of public speaking was my fear about how I would be perceived in addressing what was sure to be an overwhelmingly non-white audience about racial conflict.

I confided in a friend that I once made a very passionate commentary about stereotyping interracial relationships as being between black men seeking white women as status symbols.  I made these comments in a largely black forum where they weren’t well received.  The feedback I got included a response that basically accused me of thinking I was the Great White Hope.  That phrase, like AmeriKKKa and others I’ve heard since, didn’t have a historical or cultural significance to me at the time.  Ironically, “Fight of the Century” occurred on July 4, 1910… 86 years ago today.

But I digress.  Needless to say, it took a lot for me to stand up in a room full of people whose race is subject to discrimination. So on the one hand, I felt very validated to have these two men who hold positions of authority in my community seek me out.  But some of the content of those conversations was unsettling.  One of the men, Hispanic, adamantly expressed his belief that there is not a racial divide… and that those who had spoken in the public comment portion of the meeting (mostly black), were not concerned about the children the school district serves, but their own personal benefit.  The other man, White, lamented that he just doesn’t see it… there at the district office, everyone gets along.

My kids don’t attend school in RSD anymore, and I didn’t feel knowledgeable enough to make blanket statements about whether or to what degree racial conflict exists in our community or the proportion at which black vs. hispanics are being hired and fired and phased out of jobs.  I said as such, but added the disclaimer that I know people in the district who I respect, that feel very strongly that there is a problem, and a big one at that.  But at the time and ever since, I have pondered those conversations and wondered… were we all sitting in the same room?  Did either of you HEAR what I heard? 

I went back to the board meeting archives and watched/listened to some other discussion, and searched online for more articles about the district.  The concerns I heard in that meeting were expressed in other meetings and in media.  When you have THIS many employees and THIS many members of the community you serve, standing up in a public forum and talking about this topic that is largely taboo, how can you possible be unsure whether or not there is a problem?  If you don’t see it from your corner office, does that mean a hostile work environment doesn’t exist?  If you are not at the receiving end of discrimination, is it always obvious to you?  I’m not talking about obvious acts of racism; we can all see that.  But the more subtle ones*.  These thoughts turned to white privilege, especially after my friend thanked me for facing my fears and addressing the board on the topic.  She said something about me putting a new face on it. 

I was far less eloquent than many other speakers whose concerns these men seemed willing to dismiss as non existent.  Since I am not employed by the district, nor do I have children enrolled in the district… is the weight of my perception or the value of my opinion greater than those of the non-white employees voicing criticism, or the black mother whose daughter is facing expulsion for defending herself in a fight, where the (non black) perpetrators are reported to have received no repercussions?  And if so, is it because I am a potential ‘customer’ to be wooed back, or is it because I am white?  Robert Jenson, who authored a compelling article on white privilege (that I’ll post separately, it changed the way I think about race), says it more eloquently than I can.

…I speak with the assumption that people not only will listen, but will take me seriously. I speak with the assumption that my motives will not be challenged; I can rely on the perception of me as a neutral authority, someone whose observations can be trusted.

I’m a little afraid my friend may be right about me having put a new face on it… although not just, as she said, because I am someone whose children left the district and wants to come back… but also because they were more willing to listen to concerns and opinions expressed by someone who looks like me.

*when I’m at my neighborhood Target… the cashiers almost always ask me if I’d like to apply for a Target card.  I can’t recall ever hearing the clerk ask the non white person in line before me if they’d like to apply for a Target card.  Now if it’s hard to believe that I’m hardly ever in line at my local Target with any other white folks,  I live in a community where only about 4f the population is white. Is it their race?  Is it their accent?  Their dress?

Viewpoint: Amerikkka

July 4, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

I know that for most of us (and by us, I mean, those of us who were born in the post Civil Rights Era and/or who got the whitewashed version of American History that I received ), this term may be shocking and disconcerting. It’s not a phrase that I’d seen in writing before the other day, but I figured I knew what it meant from the context…

political spelling
The spelling of “America” with “KKK” equates both the show and the status quo of society in the United States with the Ku Klux Klan, a white-supremacist organization

Knowing what and who I know, I also figured there was some history behind it. Took me a damn long time to find anything that wasn’t a tribute to Ice Cube’s AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted album.

“K” replacing “C” 

 Replacing the letter “c” with “k” in the first letter of a word came into use by the Ku Klux Klan during its early years in the mid to late 1800’s. The concept is continued today within the ranks of the Klan. They call themselves “konservative KKK” or “klonservatives”.

It was common among 1960s and early 1970s United States leftists to write Amerika rather than “America” in referring to the United States. [1], [2], [3], [4], [5] and is still used in political statements today [6],[7] It is likely that this was originally an allusion to the German spelling of America, and intended to be suggestive of Nazism, a hypothesis that the Oxford English Dictionary supports. It may additionally have been an allusion to the title of Franz Kafka’s 1927 novel Amerika.

In the 1987 TV miniseries Amerika, it denoted a Soviet-conquered United States of America.

In broader usage, the replacement of the letter “C” with “K” denotes general political skepticism about the topic at hand and is intended to discredit or debase the term in which the replacement occurs. [8] Detractors sometimes spell former president Bill Clinton’s name as “Klinton” or “Klintoon”.

A similar usage in Spanish (and in Italian too) is to write okupa rather than “ocupa” (meaning a building or area occupied by squatters [9]), which is particularly remarkable because the letter “k” is not found in native Spanish words. It probably stems from the Basque language, Euskera, which does often use the letter “k”, and is spoken in a region which abounds in political radicalism. This is particularly associated with Spanish anarchist movements.

The most common usage of the letters “kkk” in alternative political spelling is the spelling of “America” as Amerikkka. A reference to the Ku Klux Klan, this is often done to indicate the belief that the United States or American society is fundamentally racist, oppressive and corrupt. The earliest known usage of “Amerikkka” recorded in the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) is in 1970, in a journal called Black World. Presumably, this was an extrapolation from the then already widespread “Amerika”.

The spelling “Amerikkka” came into greater use after the 1990 release of the Gangsta rap album AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted by Ice Cube.

The San Francisco Bay View regularly spells America as “Amerikkka”. [10], [11], [12]

The letters “KKK” have been inserted into many other words, to indicate similar perceived racism, oppression or corruption.

My viewpoint… This spelling, Amerikkka, speaks to a feeling that is not new or unusual in minority groups, and it’s origins stem not just from the racist history of our culture, but was coined and used by some of the very movers and shakers of the Civil Rights Movement that fought segregation and frankly, made Ameri*c*a a place where it’s possible for a family like mine to exist. It differentiates an system of oppression, a culture steeped in institutionalized racism (Amerikkka) from a land and a dream and an ideal (America). 

That might be splitting hairs… like the fine line that makes the difference ’nigger’ and ‘nigga’, the use of which (nigga) is a whole ‘nother debate where I find myself standing on both sides.  The term AmeriKKKa creates that same knot in my stomach… not because it offends me, but because I have to face the cold hard fact that we’re not done yet.  We don’t all live in America YET… there are some places in this country where blacks, hispanics, non christians, and homosexuals still live in AmeriKKKa.

It’s easy to point to my black partner and my black and hispanic friends and my ’non white’ community and feel complacent about the fact that the world has changed.  YES, we’ve come a long way.  But, in the words of an American Poet…

But I have promises to keep,

 And miles to go before I sleep,

 And miles to go before I sleep.

 
         — Robert Frost

contemplating perspective and reality….

July 3, 2006 curlykidz Leave a comment

I’ve got (at least online) one of the most diverse group of girlfriends one could ask for… I’m blessed with a circle that includes women who run from conservative to liberal, activist to apathetic, and agnostic to zen. There are strong ties that bind me with many of those who make my blog an interactive community, rather than an individual chronicle.  One of the strongest ties is not our poltical affilliation, religious creed, ethnicity, or familial status… but our passion.

I reposted a blog Sunday that struck a different chord in at least some of you, than it did in me. 

And that’s OK, cuz y’all are entitled to your own feelings. I realize that you each live in your unique communities with your unique families and have your own unique experiences. 

But (you knew there was a but coming, didn’t you?) it didn’t take long to see that I might come home from work Monday to find a real strong debate going.  Some of you know from the days of pg.org, that I’m not one to back down from a debate.  But, those were the boards and this… this is ‘my space’. I don’t want to be in the position of trying to mediate a heated discussion between this many strong willed women, many of whom have become closer to me than sisters and provided more in the way of family than mine ever has.  Inevitably, when it comes to group discussions on hot topics like race, religion, politics, etc… I wind up with at least one person I love concerned she has offended someone else I love and thereby offended me.  I contemplated deleting the post, but decided against that because this blog is, first and foremost, my journal. This where I archive not just stories about my kids, but also my observations about the world… sometimes the world at large… but more often, the community I live in… which, much to my dismay, is not a community I am fortunate to share with most of you. Granted, a great deal of the dialogue is directed towards the reader… but it’s not *for* the reader so much as it is for me.  If something I write provokes a laugh out of you or makes you look at something differently than you did before… then it was for *you too*. 

I got the impression that some may interpret that post as being meant to be for my friends.  I’d like to make something very clear for anyone who doesn’t know me well enough or hasn’t known me long enough to know.  I frequently re-post articles and commentary that probably doesn’t have any meaning or significance to anyone other than me half the time.  I generally leave those posts public, because… well, because they’re not private.  But what I post here, I post here primarily for ME, because it has some relevance to ME. 

That’s why I chose to disable comments on that post.  Not because anyone who disagrees has offended me or that your opposing arguement might not have a good solid point … and certainly not because I don’t care what you think.  Simply put, whether you agree or disagree, or have no opinion whatsoever… that blog was not intended to spark any kind of debate.  It indirectly related to some thoughts, feelings, and observations that I have about very real events taking place in the community where I am raising my children, and right now I’d rather focus on sorting out my thoughts than the potential fall out of a full scale debate.

Love,

Cyndi 

contemplating perspective and reality…. – CURLYKIDZ’s MySpace Blog

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