Blogging with friends as I read “Waking Up White” by Debby Irving, committed to read and think and write about our thoughts. For the complete list of posts from my own journey, see https://stephenmatlock.com/category/writing/wakingupwhite/
Quotes from the book appear using a different style from my reactions.
Using the topic of race as a relationship builder, not buster.
I still find it to be uncanny that as I read this book, pause, and then blog about it, that what I read in the book seems to be in parallel to what I’m currently experiencing or thinking. I’m thinking right now about how to talk about race that is normative and informative and descriptive without minimizing or disappearing it, denying it, or using it as a weapon to cut people down who don’t have the right words or attitudes.
This is me, right now, in this chapter. Below are the questions or topics and my answers.
Because I spent a lifetime not knowing how to talk about race, learning how was no small task.
Exactly. While my memory is imperfect and also works to shine my past so it matches my present thoughts about myself, I’m pretty sure that we almost never talked about race in my house. My parents were largely quiet about it, not in fear or anger. Just—not much that I remember. That our neighbors (the “old neighborhood” in Los Angeles County) had a maid and that she was Black was, to my knowledge, never commented upon. (I think about it now, and I think “In a purely middle-class neighborhood with fairly average incomes and families, there was a maid?” But it was just how one family expressed themselves and their life situation, and as far as I know, I didn’t pay it any attention as anything out of the ordinary. The Smiths had a maid. The Jones did not. And that was about it.)
Years later I discovered that my father had what we’d call an Administrative Assistant today who was also a Black woman, but as much as I can remember, he never ever talked about. It was no discomfort or signal. It just was how it was in the industry he was in where he served as a manager in the old school supervision of a widget maker and the staff needed to keep the provisions and payroll and design team running. His admin was Black, and we just never knew it because it was Work and this was Home. To this day I still could not accurately describe what it was his department did for aerospace and information management, but he worked at it for 30 years until he retired with a full pension.
But while we did not talk about race—again, to my knowledge—in any way that I would consider negative, we also did not talk about it in any way that was positive. It was simply not a topic. I seem to recall a bit of discussion when I watched the black-and-white Zenith TV and saw firehoses and dogs used to stop Black Americans “out there,” but it was not a discussion with any animus, and it was as a response to my own questions. I was an early reader, so I read the newspapers as one flat set of information—sportsnewsopinioncomicsbusinessads—and the headlines and articles and photos seemed to have a certain slant—but I could not tell you what it was. All I know is that even though I read every day’s paper, and watched news every day, I had absolutely no comprehension of race in America as a distinguishing mark of separation. It was normal to have only white neighbors, and only white schoolmates and white teachers. As little attention as I paid to my neighbors having a maid, I had the same lack of attention that she was a Black woman. It is not an honorable thing to remember, because of course everyone would have had to agree to the silence. Including me. But that is how it was.
Talking about race was, for most of my adult life, simply not done, and was deeply uncomfortable when it occurred. Sure, I had ideas—I was reading more, and writing more. But I was completely, utterly, comically misinformed. Words in my head did not mean that I was not completely misinformed. When there were occasions as an adult where I worked with Black co-workers or sat with (rare) Black parishioners in church—well, I am mortified at how awful and ignorant I was. I was unjust and stupid and confident, and I am sure I was hurtful to the people who had the misfortune to encounter me. I would give anything to go back in time and slap myself silly to stop this. But—I can repent, give my regrets to those I can no longer give direct apologies to, and hope to do better.
Learning how to talk about race is still dicey. I try not to do too much talking around my friends who are in the BBIPOC community because (a) I am ignorant and (b) I’m going to tell someone who’s existence is curtailed by their race what race is “about”? I don’t think so.
And I discover almost every day that talking about race with white people usually descends into emotions and defensiveness and pleas of “I’m not like those white people—I’m one of the good ones.” (Or, “talking about race perpetuates racism.”) Talking about race just somehow ignites our memories and senses of guilt. And let’s be honest—I’m part of that culture as well.
Even more intriguing was watching them stride back to their classmates to reveal their recipes and compare color swatches, talking about skin color like it was no big deal.
There’s a story here about a primary school class where the teacher is letting the students draw themselves. As they begin to color their skin, the teacher has them create their color palette using a set of paint bottles that, when squeezed and the paint mixed, can be used to create a custom paint tub that the children then use to paint themselves. It makes color of skin the same as color of hair—it is a recognizable thing, but not a designator of value. And one subtle change is that no one is just one color—there isn’t a “white” that all Europeans are, nor a “Black” that all those with African heritage are. (The topic of “being ‘Black'” is a whole ‘nother topic for discussion later and elsewhere.)
Having this visibility about blends and hues and tones reduced the binary thinking of race-categorizations. It’s not the complete cure for racial tensions, of course. But it can help reduce the anxiety of “seeing color.”
Attempting to say “I don’t see color” is a great defense but a terrible dishonesty. It is okay to see color. Your friend Martha is pale-ish beigey pink. Your friend Angela is warm brown and tan. That is just what they look like, as much as Martha has a mix of ochre and straw in her hair while Angela has highlights of gold in her umber hair. Color as a range rather than as an isolator.
But that’s not what having a comfortable discussion about race means. It’s more than that.
In contrast to my youth where “flesh”-colored pencils and Band-Aids adhered to one skin color recipe, this variety of skin tones and hues made sense from both a visual and an intellectual perspective.
This was a critical piece from my childhood that I picked up without noticing. We did have the flesh-colored crayons. They didn’t really match skin, but it was what was in the box, so it was “official.” Skin was a mix of tan and pink and orange and white. Official I never, ever filled in someone’s skin color with any other crayon. I didn’t see color because I was trained to see only one color. Never put much thought into Band-Aids being kinda pinky-tan. Just what it was. Never thought for a moment that other people might not see themselves in consumer products.
We want to hone our skills at speaking up when a typical racist comment comes up.
Ms. Irving is talking about a seminar she attended to help facilitate talking about race in ordinary tones as if it’s a topic for honest discussion without red flags and bad feelings. The desire is to learn how to talk about race by practicing such talk where we can be observed and given tips on how to do it better.
I so feel this. Often I think I’m just making it up as I go along. I try to watch what others do, listen to what others say, and use that to help shape my own responses. But that there might be training sessions—that’s something I want for myself!
“I played the role of the brother,” a man said, “and my sister totally disarmed me when she said it was changing the way she felt about me. I mean, how can you argue with that? It felt like I actually was the brother and I didn’t want to lose my sister’s respect.”
This just floored me in its simplicity. The discussion started from the real-life scenario of a brother making fun of his sister’s boyfriend and his “foreign” name. The feelings from Ms. Irving were anger and confrontation and shutting down the discussion. But others participating in the same exercise were using other methods. One was to use the personal relationship as a bridge: “When you say that about me and my friends, you make me less willing to be emotionally close with you. You are risking your intimacy, and that is on you.”
I wish I’d had this training!
These conversations aren’t aggressive.
Another key point is that while there are times where aggressive behaviors are needed to shut down a hostile confrontation, there are also times when communication is possible—if it’s handled well. It doesn’t require shouting or shaming. Often it is simply finding a bridge that can connect you with the interlocutor. The techniques vary, of course, depending upon the circumstance. Appealing to the sense of familial ties doesn’t bridge a hostile conversation with an opponent shouting at you. But it is a set of tools and responses that provide ways to connect and build.
Far from my old understanding—that conversations serve as a stage on which to prove one’s self-worth through witty banter, biographical data, or the recall of facts—authentic dialogues about race (or any other complex idea, for that matter) make mutual learning, not winning or losing, the goal.
This is the goal: to acknowledge the realities of race, and then to talk about it as we do any important, serious, and existing thing. It is not a magic thing or a taboo thing or even an explosive thing. It is just a topic that can be discussed.
Now that race is in the front of my mind, I find it extraordinary how frequently comments are made—either in jest, in judgment, or out of curiosity—that provide an opening for an everyday conversation about race.
This was insightful. Rather than taking the bait to interject anger and snark and reprisals—race talk can be an occasion for communication. Even when someone says something grossly ignorant such as “how do you keep your hair clean?” (I mean, with Google and YouTube, you can just look it up—it’s what I do when I have questions about behind-the-scenes actions that I have no insight into.) I can’t speak for my friends in the BBIPOC community about how they respond, and often communication is just difficult when it’s with white people who haven’t done any of the work asking people in the BBIPOC community for answers—still, it’s possible for me to use every connection as a way to encourage further understanding. And indeed, I’ll offer to give a white questioner help in search for their answers by pointing them to resources that can provide those answers, for free. Still, the attitude of the communication is important. Rather than set up for a fight, prepare for a lesson.
It’s taken me hours of practice to learn not to fall into old patterns.
I would so love this in actual factual practice. Would love to have such a thing, with live “on-hands” work and analysis to help me inquire into my habits and responses and to find better ones.
Increasingly I am able to go into these conversations free of the need to make a particular point or make myself look good.
This struck me as an “I want!” statement. The idea of having a conversation not to make a point, but to encourage connection? Sign me up!
Slowly but surely I’ve developed the kind of questioning and listening skills that make me not only a better racial justice advocate but a better parent, wife, teacher, friend, and colleague.
I want this for myself. To be trust-able. To be fair. To be accepting and honest. To listen far more than I talk. Sometimes I can see the goal. I believe I’ll make it—not all the way there, but further along than I’ve already come.
Conversations about race are allowing me to build bridges not only to other people but to forgotten parts of myself as I trade out bravado, security, and status for vulnerability, faith, and connection.
This is such a human goal—and by that, I mean the goal of become fully who we are. We stop with hate and fear and anger and destruction because we’re afraid to move further. What if we lose? What if we fail? What if we make a mistake? Our old ways are comfortable and assuring, even though we feel the devastation we create when we fall back to those ways.
I want to do better and move forward.
Questions
Make a list of five ways to shut a conversation down.
- You’re wrong and ignorant
- You say that because you’re a racist
- Have you read or researched that topic?
- Why should anyone listen to you?
- You just feed on hate
Make a list of five ways to keep a conversation going.
- That sounds important to you
- When you say that, what do you expect to happen?
- Can you see how you might be misunderstood?
- That seems like it might disconnect you from people
- When you say that, you forget how much you don’t like to be excluded
For context on this series, see my kick-off post here:
If I love You, I Have to Make You Conscious of the Things You Don’t See
Here are others also blogging along with this topic:
Di Brown ‘Nixie’ at https://dianabrown.net/blog-challenge-waking-up-white/
This chapter (from 26-45): https://dianabrown.net/waking-up-white-the-final-chapters/
Dawn Claflin at https://dawnclaflin.wordpress.com/