Recently I was invited into a conversation about something I’m interested in, even though I was not originally included. The topic was race (I know—quelle surprise) and the people included were white or Black. In one sense, everyone was on the same side, so to speak—everyone believed that Black people have gotten a raw deal from life, and that white people needed to do some work to make that change.
But then there was the most interesting digression of whether one of the white interlocutors was fairly understanding what the Black people were saying. What had happened was a statement was made about white people and their lack of understanding, and the white person responded with “proof” of their sincerity and knowledge, that they were really an ally and did not deserve to be doubted. The conversation felt a bit heated, and I can understand how that happens. I know that tempers can flare when we talk about sensitive issues, and no one is going to be less surprised about the sensitivity of discussions about race than those involved in such a discussion when the conversation is among white people and Black people, especially the Black people involved.
In my experience, there seems always to be that moment when the white participant says something that is simply too much to handle in the conversation without comment. Sometimes it’s trivial (to the white people) such as “My family never were enslavers.” Sometimes it is “meatier” and more direct, such as “I’m really on your side, but I think you’re mistaken about something in your own lived experience. Here, let me correct you from your misapprehension.”
In this case, it was a matter of a white person making an insensitive comment about race and race relations and then being called on it.
And unfortunately, as is so often the case, the white person reacted with personal affront. I’ve always been on your side. It’s those people who are the real problem. I’ve been studying/reading/talking for years now about this and you should assume my good intentions.
I’m paraphrasing, of course, and deliberately so, as I do not want to expose anyone to public attention. It was a private-ish conversation anyway, and who was involved is of little concern to anyone. They are on the journey, and I fully encourage them to keep on moving forward into freedom and understanding. And these conversations between white people and Black people happen all the time—only the words used and the subject of discussion change, but the same meaning and white response is there, almost every time.
It got me to thinking about how often we white people say and do things with all the good heart in the world but our words and actions land like bricks made with shards of glass. Despite the best of intentions and the gentlest actions, we end up causing damage because, hey, there is no graceful way to slice open the feelings and dignity of another and not expect them to respond with holy fury.
That’s when I got invited in to help “translate” the conversations. I broke it down into two parts: one for the originator of the issue (the white person) to gently suggest that they had gone way past the point of communication and were into the lecturing part of a conversation (which never, ever works for connection), and one to suggest in general that white people should be very careful to ever presume that we know what Living While Black is like.
Now, some of my friends are going to be all up in my mentions about that last part. What do you mean, you white people can’t know about how we live? Are we not human? Do we not have the same feelings of fear when threatened, of suspicion when betrayed, of comfort when we are loved? As the good man Wm. Shakespeare said, ‘If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?’ (MoV III.i.49–61)
And yes, in that you are right, my friends. Of course, there is zero difference in any way between our common humanity. We hope, we feel, we love. We suffer, we pray, we call out. When we are lonely, we long for friendship and community. When we are hurt, we long for empathy and healing. When we are separated from all we know and love we desire restoration. We all want the same, common things: the general comforts of life such as food and shelter, health and clothing, care for our parents, and success for our children. We want to do something interesting and fulfilling with our lives, and we want to know that we have meaning, that our lives matter.
What I’m speaking about, however, is something different, something closer to reading a Wiki article about Germany as being something very, very different to living in Germany as a German-speaking German and living one’s entire experience as a German in all the contexts that it means to be German. Someone looking from outside is simply not going to “get” everything—so much context will be lost, whether it is the memes and jokes that come from the peculiarities of the German language or German life that simply can’t be translated or explained well, or the general understanding of one’s place in life as German, or living in a country with an extraordinary history of both creativity and destruction, of the birthplace of the Christian Reformation and the birthplace of the Holocaust. How on earth can all that be translated to someone living in another land speaking another language with an entirely different set of experiences and expectations?
We can do our best to “explain,” but in so many ways it boils down to—you just have to be German to understand. I can explain some of it, but it’s hard and exhausting—especially when you keep correcting my lived experiences with what you read on a Wiki or a book or heard in a podcast or picked up from another non-German expert who Knows What They Are Talking About.
And so for those of us who are outside the Germanosphere looking in, we can learn and make connections, but when we attempt to tell Germans what it is like to be them, the response (if they’re polite) will be along the lines of “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
So.
Does this mean that we in the Albasphere can never understand what being Black is all about?
If by “understand” we mean “live not only as a Black person, but a Black person with no memory of being a white person and no chance to go back to what we were, but instead live out our full lives as Black in a white-dominant society,” then probably not. At best we’re going to have to use analogies and cognates and attempt the very difficult problem of understanding another person whose very place in our world is always conditional, always threatened, always nearly criminal. If you can look at a police officer in America and not instantly feel fear that you could be tortured, maimed, or killed with impunity, then you do not know what being Black in America is like. Not a single Black person I’ve encountered, whether in real life or through social media or through literature or film or art or song, has ever said that they feel perfectly safe and have no sense that they are not welcome in their bodies and presence in white spaces.
But if by “understand” we mean “understand the humanness of being alive in a body and mind that, like every human, wants to live and dream and hope, that wants to have emotional connection, safety and security, prosperity and a lot of lucky breaks”—well, then, yes, we can. Maybe not perfectly. But I think we can get closer and closer to this kind of understanding if we really work hard to understand.
And that will take a few things.
While I think it is a very good idea to read up on this as white people, and that means consuming not only the literature and art written about Black people but also consuming the literature and art created by Black people—it is going to mean that we go to Black resources to understand Black lives.
It is going to mean that we put ourselves in situations where we are the unlearned, uneducated, unknowledgeable, naïve ones who will make many mistakes as we try to form a mental construct that is sometimes alien to us. We are going to make mistakes of assumption and ignorance. We are going to use our development as white people to presume expertise when we do not possess even minimal knowledge. (If you don’t think that this trait of confident ignorance marks whiteness so strongly that it can shout out who we are without a picture of our face or the sound of our voice, then you simply do not understand how much being white is about not only dominance but also the behaviors that come from the confidence of dominance.)
Trying to understand is going to take a lot of listening. And I’ll be blunt here, as blunt as I can: it is going to take a lot of shut-up-and-stop-talking. It is going to involve active listening. It is going to involve taking literal notes about stuff that we hear and learn.
It is going to take the very hard decision that we must make at some point where we know that what we’ve been taught and how we’ve been formed as white people is wrong, and that it is now time to do something about that.
I don’t know what that time will look like for you. I will just say—if you are on this journey, whether this is your first day of thinking “maybe I don’t really understand being Black in America” or you have been attending seminars and conferences specifically designed to address white misunderstandings, you will have this moment when you realize that leaving behind your ignorance and confidence is more than just adding new information to your head. It will require you to see everything you thought as useful to you in whiteness is really trash when it comes to embracing your own humanity and embracing the humanity and dignity of others.
There are no points along the path where it’s safe to stop except for a brief rest. You and I must go all the way into the humanness of ourselves and of those in the BIPOC community.
It is very likely that you won’t be able to bring much with you.Oh, if you’re interested—here’s the original letter, slightly edited. My aim is to be polite, fair, but as close to honest as I know how to be.
Hey there—
I wanted to jump in here and interrupt you for a moment. I think you might have gone past the listening point here and now you’re speaking past the people you want to be connecting with.
Of course you’re allowed/supposed to listen and learn! No one’s arguing with that. It is always good to listen to the voices of others, especially when you do not have understanding. How else can you learn unless someone teaches you?
But what I’d suggest is that when you enter a conversation with Black voices you remember that your voice is always an interruption.
White people aren’t experts on Black lives in any degree or kind. Books can help us white people understand a little more of the context but living within the Black experience is always going to be closed off in its intimacy and its shared language including looks and memes and common understanding.
And that is okay—it should be that way!—and it is okay for us as white people to nod and say “Oh, I’m sorry I interrupted.”
I’m suggesting here that you step back and listen. I’m suggesting that you wait a while longer before you continue the conversation.
You don’t have to, of course. But I’ll suggest that you are losing something that you think you want, which is connection. The people in this conversation are telling you this, and you’re doggedly insisting on making sure that you’re right and that they admit that you’re right, and that insistence is pushing you further and further away. We all can agree that you know a lot of things about being Black, but I’d caution you before you think that you know what it is like, or that you can advise and correct the very people who must always live as Black.
Anyway, peace. This is a long hard journey for us white people to figure out. Reading is good, and listening is good. And above all, learning and empathy are ways to build intimacy and trust.
Good luck, and may you have peace on your journey into understanding.