I think of the way the black girls were treated as second-rate in high school. Guys rarely tried to talk to them romantically, and if they did it was discussed by others with an undertone of comedy. I never felt this way personally, but didn’t realize until college that in this area my ‘silence was compliance.’ I was participating in denying dignity to the black women around me. This attitude from my white friends didn’t end in high school either.
This past year, I was at a bar in Narragansett, RI, where I had quickly befriended one of the guys my friend had brought with him, and at one point expressed my interest in a girl who had just entered the bar. He asked me to point her out, so I did, also noting that she was black. He responded, ‘Yeah bro, she’s cute, but you could have one of the white girls here!’ I questioned his statement and he realized it didn’t fly with me. We eventually moved on and continued the night, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. He truly didn’t think anything of it when he said it. And he assumed I would agree with him. To him, the preference for white women was undisputed, so he suggested it unapologetically. It was especially hard for me because outside of that statement, there was nothing to suggest he was racist. He had treated me with nothing but love and admiration and accepted me into his crew. It was simply ignorance, which had probably been reinforced countless times, and that was difficult to wrestle with.
These stories of implicit bias on display matter because these attitudes directly contribute and maintain systemic racism within our society. The differences in our understandings of our relationship with the police speak exactly to why there is so much controversy right now. The messages sent to the black males when they speak properly, or black girls about their inferiority (spoken or unspoken), help to build an inaccurate picture of what a black person is supposed to be. These attitudes are what foster the ignorance and apathy that is so rightly being called out right now. Their existence in any form ensures the survival of this corrupt system.
I think of times where my own ignorance let me buy into the insensitivity shown towards the black struggle, often just to induce laughs. Most notably, during a visit to a Louisiana plantation during my sophomore year of high school, I shamefully recall posing for a picture with a noose around my neck. I remember walking around downtown New Orleans later that evening with it around my friend’s neck, me jokingly walking him like a dog. Two black guys on the street, a bit older than us, said to me, ‘That’s not funny, bro.’ I immediately filled with guilt upon recognizing my stupidity, and struggle even today to understand what made me think either was permissible at the time. Sharing that story relieves some of that guilt, yes, but I think it speaks perfectly to how being wrapped up in white teen culture led me to buy into, and even spearhead, the insensitivity that is often exhibited towards issues of the black struggle that have been incorrectly categorized as ‘in the past.’ If you don’t agree, why did none of my white friends call me out for it? We were young at the time, but I’d ask why didn’t we know any better? To us, we assumed the pain of that type of racism was dead, but we all just witnessed a modern-day lynching on camera.
Then there are the instances that most white people have experienced, and probably never knew how damaging their words were. As every token black friend can recall, there are the times a white friend chooses to dub you ‘the whitest black kid I know.’ It is based on the way I speak or dress or the things I’m into, but it is only a comment on me not fitting the image they have of a black person. But when I exhibit resistance to accept such a title, the white person exclaims it as a compliment — as if the inherent superiority of whiteness should leave me honored to be counted among their ranks. And more impactfully, it suggests that my blackness is something that can be taken from me. That my identity as a black man fades because I am into John Mayer or I’ve visited the Hamptons.
And further, it implies that identity is not something I am proud of, disconnecting from my choice to keep white company. It ignores that the acculturation and assimilation that occurs with growing up with all white friends was not voluntary. It suggests that my blackness is a burden, when in fact, minimizing my blackness was most often my burden. Or when I am criticized by my white friends for code-switching when I am with my black friends, just because they don’t understand the slang and how it connects black people to a common culture. The biases are evident, you just need to pay attention. Believe me, because I wasn’t spared from buying into them myself. It wasn’t until I got to college that I began to realize how much of my subconscious effort had gone into being as un-stereotypically black as possible. Whether in the choices concerning the way I dress, speak, or even dance, I noticed, without realizing it, I habitually quelled aspects of my black identity and based on that ability, consistently inflated my self-worth as superior to my fellow black brothers. I had unknowingly bought into advancing the very biases set out against me.
