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This week is International Blog Against Racism Week.
I don't know that I have any wisdom to add to the conversation. So instead of trying to be wise, I choose instead to share experiences. Because it is something I have to offer. To me this is a lesson to review, something to reflect on, and think about.
Back in 1989, I worked at the Wendy's in the student center of my college campus. It wasn't a great job, but it did have some benefits. Like, if I worked closing shift, I could typically get a nice bit of free food from the food that would have just gone in the trash at the end of the night. (This used to be awesome for Thursday night gaming night, when I would show up late, but had a sack of free food to share with the gang.) During my tenure at that restaurant, near the end of the semester, I had what was probably one of the most uncomfortable encounters of my life. I ran the grill, so for the most of my shift, I never left my post. On one particular night near the end of the semester (so I'd only been working on this job for maybe two months) we were near closing time, maybe 10-15 minutes before it was time to pull the grate, and clean up. In came a group of African-American students, taking their time, and looking over the menu.
While they stood their, evaluating their options, the General Manager of the store, a man whose name I don't remember, and whose face I pretty much have forgotten except that he was a red head, sidled on up to me. He leaned over, and not exactly whispering said: "Look at those Porch Monkeys, always coming in at the end of the night, making a mess, and they can't even make up their minds." I was caught off guard. Not only had I never heard that particular racial slur before in my life (though the intent was unmistakable by the tone of voice) I couldn't process the situation at all. I mean, why had this guy come up to me, to share his little bit of racism? Was it the fact that I have white skin that made him feel I shared this belief? Did I give off some kind of signal that said: It's cool to be racist near me, I don't mind? Fact is, I don't know why he felt okay talking like that around me. What I do know was that I froze. I stood dumbfounded and flipped burgers.
After this incident, I kept away from him. I made sure to keep busy, and if he came near, I suddenly had to do another task, or use the bathroom. Anything to keep him from "sharing" more of his opinions. I no longer engaged him in idle chit-chat. It was an attempt at a "cold shoulder" though I doubt he had any idea. I think the concept of a cold shoulder is rather weak if you don't even have the guts to let the person know that you're giving them a cold shoulder. Or why.
A small part of my silence was out of fear. This was the boss. The big boss. He decided the schedule, he could choose to fire me. I liked most of the people I worked with, and I liked having a job. But more than fear, I think it was cowardice. It's easier to just keep quiet. Assume that society will take care of guys like that. That they'll screw up and say something where someone who could do something about it heard him. Except that someone did hear. I did. I could have been that someone. Even if I hadn't wanted to do something directly, like talk back, or quit, I could have made a complaint against him. That I didn't understand how corporations work wasn't an excuse. That I didn't know I could have filed a complaint with the corporate HR, or even how to do something like that, or even if it would be anonymous or not, is not an excuse.
At the time, I think I used this as a way to tell myself: See, I'm not a racist--I don't talk like that. Yeah, if only things were that simple, right?
Sometimes it takes the distance of time to allow you to look back at your younger self, and say: "Don't you get it?"
The fact is, being silent was being complicit. What I took to be "the cold shoulder" was in effect tacit acceptance of that behavior. Sure, *I* wasn't going around saying that kind of bile. But I wasn't doing anything to stop it. I was making the assumption that he would get his comeuppance from society, when "the right person heard him." But that's the lazy approach to life; let the other people say something--those with a vested interest. That puts the burden on the people who are in effect victims. But if society is supposed to be what corrects this behavior, it can only do so when the members of society take that action.
You know the old poem, when they came for the Jews?
Yeah, this is exactly what that is talking about. When I failed to speak up, I was letting this happen. I was giving the hate room to breathe, to exist, to continue. Do I suspect that, had I simply spoken up, said the simple words: "Don't talk like that around me." would this man have changed? No. But it would have changed the dynamic. And perhaps it would have cost me that job. Maybe not. Maybe he would have just blown me off. Or tried to make my life hell until I quit. Or maybe, just maybe, it would have sent the message that society, the society that exists in my presence, doesn't tolerate that kind of talk.
I wish I could say that I take away from this reflection, the strength, the will, the wit to take on every instance I encounter. I wish I could say that I have taken on every instance since then. I can't. Some times--only some, probably far too few--I have acted, clearly, and decisively. Then there is the final realization, something that I only begin to understand now. The simple fact that I can allow myself to pick and choose such battles easily is an outgrowth of good ole privilege. I am not forced to always acknowledge, see, or encounter the issue, because I'm in the most privileged class: white male. A younger self would have been unwilling to accept that responsibility, that reality. You see I am responsible. Responsible for my actions yes, but also for my lack of actions. I'm also responsible, because there isn't someone else to take me to task for that lack of action. That's not someone else's job. That's mine.
(One note, the Manager no longer works at that particular Wendy's. I don't know what happened to him, but when I returned after the summer, he was gone.)
While they stood their, evaluating their options, the General Manager of the store, a man whose name I don't remember, and whose face I pretty much have forgotten except that he was a red head, sidled on up to me. He leaned over, and not exactly whispering said: "Look at those Porch Monkeys, always coming in at the end of the night, making a mess, and they can't even make up their minds." I was caught off guard. Not only had I never heard that particular racial slur before in my life (though the intent was unmistakable by the tone of voice) I couldn't process the situation at all. I mean, why had this guy come up to me, to share his little bit of racism? Was it the fact that I have white skin that made him feel I shared this belief? Did I give off some kind of signal that said: It's cool to be racist near me, I don't mind? Fact is, I don't know why he felt okay talking like that around me. What I do know was that I froze. I stood dumbfounded and flipped burgers.
After this incident, I kept away from him. I made sure to keep busy, and if he came near, I suddenly had to do another task, or use the bathroom. Anything to keep him from "sharing" more of his opinions. I no longer engaged him in idle chit-chat. It was an attempt at a "cold shoulder" though I doubt he had any idea. I think the concept of a cold shoulder is rather weak if you don't even have the guts to let the person know that you're giving them a cold shoulder. Or why.
A small part of my silence was out of fear. This was the boss. The big boss. He decided the schedule, he could choose to fire me. I liked most of the people I worked with, and I liked having a job. But more than fear, I think it was cowardice. It's easier to just keep quiet. Assume that society will take care of guys like that. That they'll screw up and say something where someone who could do something about it heard him. Except that someone did hear. I did. I could have been that someone. Even if I hadn't wanted to do something directly, like talk back, or quit, I could have made a complaint against him. That I didn't understand how corporations work wasn't an excuse. That I didn't know I could have filed a complaint with the corporate HR, or even how to do something like that, or even if it would be anonymous or not, is not an excuse.
At the time, I think I used this as a way to tell myself: See, I'm not a racist--I don't talk like that. Yeah, if only things were that simple, right?
Sometimes it takes the distance of time to allow you to look back at your younger self, and say: "Don't you get it?"
The fact is, being silent was being complicit. What I took to be "the cold shoulder" was in effect tacit acceptance of that behavior. Sure, *I* wasn't going around saying that kind of bile. But I wasn't doing anything to stop it. I was making the assumption that he would get his comeuppance from society, when "the right person heard him." But that's the lazy approach to life; let the other people say something--those with a vested interest. That puts the burden on the people who are in effect victims. But if society is supposed to be what corrects this behavior, it can only do so when the members of society take that action.
You know the old poem, when they came for the Jews?
Yeah, this is exactly what that is talking about. When I failed to speak up, I was letting this happen. I was giving the hate room to breathe, to exist, to continue. Do I suspect that, had I simply spoken up, said the simple words: "Don't talk like that around me." would this man have changed? No. But it would have changed the dynamic. And perhaps it would have cost me that job. Maybe not. Maybe he would have just blown me off. Or tried to make my life hell until I quit. Or maybe, just maybe, it would have sent the message that society, the society that exists in my presence, doesn't tolerate that kind of talk.
I wish I could say that I take away from this reflection, the strength, the will, the wit to take on every instance I encounter. I wish I could say that I have taken on every instance since then. I can't. Some times--only some, probably far too few--I have acted, clearly, and decisively. Then there is the final realization, something that I only begin to understand now. The simple fact that I can allow myself to pick and choose such battles easily is an outgrowth of good ole privilege. I am not forced to always acknowledge, see, or encounter the issue, because I'm in the most privileged class: white male. A younger self would have been unwilling to accept that responsibility, that reality. You see I am responsible. Responsible for my actions yes, but also for my lack of actions. I'm also responsible, because there isn't someone else to take me to task for that lack of action. That's not someone else's job. That's mine.
(One note, the Manager no longer works at that particular Wendy's. I don't know what happened to him, but when I returned after the summer, he was gone.)
I've been dithering about posting this for the last half hour or so. I think I'm still rather embarrassed about the incident. But as I said, I don't have wisdom to share, only experiences.