It’s been a problem right from the start.
Before white men arrived on the shores of what they thought was India, the American continents had thriving, sophisticated, complex civilizations. They had all the things that Europe had, albeit their own versions of those things. They had agriculture, industry and commerce; they had art, literature, music, and dance; they had sports; they had religions; they had class structures. They even had war.
But in an instance of irony of nearly cosmic scale, the white men who came to exploit and then to conquer, who brought deadly weapons and deadlier diseases, who raped and murdered, saw only savages.
White men have, of course, never sought to assimilate with their inferiors.
Since then, white men have always insisted that the burden of assimilation is on the people we have tried to save from the curse of non-whiteness. We have been successful at this rather bizarre insistence on our self-assigned superiority for hundreds of years across all the continents of the planet except Antarctica, which has escaped only because it had the good fortune not to be previously occupied by humans, though the penguins have not escaped unscathed.
This, of course, is because white men invented race, but exempted ourselves from the consequences which we assigned to it. We even went so far as to remove the mention of our own whiteness as a qualifier of our accomplishments. We were not so much a race ourselves as a default identity, referred to primarily when necessary to justify our behavior towards other races.
The result was that we lost the ability to see ourselves as the other.
In fact, it may be that fundamental to everything else white men fear we will lose in a more diverse and equal world is the loss of the ability to ignore our own racial otherness and to never need to assimilate. If white men should no longer be the center of the racial universe, but just one of the many races we have, ourselves, created, then we will have to accept the equal humanity of all people. And we will have to learn to live among them, rather than assuming that they must always live among us.
The first step may be simply to acknowledge that there are more of them. There always have been.
In the past, we have been able to imagine that it didn’t matter, but as technology and information have shrunk the world, we can no longer pretend. White men are a minority in the world, and we must acknowledge that and surrender our unearned privilege and our imagined superiority.
What we really fear, of course, is that we will reap what we have sown. If we become the other, then we will be treated according to the rules we have made for how the “other” is to be treated. This signifies two unspoken assumptions: first, that the others are just like us, not different at all; and then, that they may be just as angry with us as we imagine we would be had the shoe been on the other foot all that time, and they will be looking for revenge.
Also, there is the sense that equality is ours to grant. We hear that every time a white man complains that the other wants “special privileges,” and that’s not fair. Why, goes the question, should we give them affirmative action, why should we give them equal pay, why should we give them the same access to the voting booth, that we have? Why should we, white men, give the gift of being equally human to the others?
And then we ask, “why can’t we just start, fresh, OK?” We promise to be “color blind” from now on. Everyone’s the same. That way, we don’t have to give you anything. We’ll all start equal, starting today. Of course, we’ll still have nearly all the wealth, nearly all the power, and all the existing social and cultural norms; but, hey, all the others have to do is work hard, and not cause any trouble, and they can earn their own stuff.
Except the norms, of course. We’ll hold onto those, because, well, tradition and values and the American way, and God, you know.
What we don’t want to admit is that the problem isn’t what we have to give, it’s what we have to give up.
That’s what assimilation is, after all. It’s giving up things, so that we can live harmoniously and peaceably with others who are, in fact, different from us. We have to share our toys. We have to stop whining about fairness when someone else gets something we wanted.
We have to stop trying to control the conversation, and just listen for a while.
And we have to stop expecting the others to accommodate to our superiority and our privilege, to protect us from the consequences of our history.
It’s going to be difficult. It will, especially if we continue to resist it, be painful at times. We will not do it well; not at first, anyway. We have no experience in it. It’s foreign to us. There’ll be a learning curve. But if we work hard and try to stay out of trouble . . . well . . . you know.
One day at a time. That’s what addicts are told when they’re trying to quit. Superiority, privilege, and the invisibility of our own racial culpability are our addictions. They are what we need to quit.
And so, let us begin, we white men. One day at a time. Every day, we need to give up a little more of our dependency on being white. Acknowledge the problem, take responsibility for it, and actively seek solutions.
It’s been said recently that it’s not enough to strive to be non-racist. We must become anti-racist. We white men cannot simply take back race as though we’d never invented it, never practiced it, have not had our whole lives shaped by the reality of it. We have to tear it down, brick, by brick. We built it. We own it. And it will, ultimately be we who will have to give it up. We will have to take an active part in the demolition. The only other choice is to have it torn down around us, and that will almost certainly mean the realization of our worst fears.
The world is no longer Euro-centrically male and white, and we will have to assimilate.
Commentary, COVID-19, Liberal, Politics, Progressive
WAITING FOR THE PUNCHLINE – AND WANTING TO PUNCH SOMEONE
In Politics on March 29, 2020 at 11:01 amWe have relied, for the past several years, on the network and cable comedy shows to help keep us sane in these difficult times. Often, it seems as though John Oliver, Trevor Noah, Stephen Colbert, and the other late-night hosts have been a more reliable source of the truth about what’s happening in this country and the world than the main stream media.
And yet.
And yet.
Now that all the shows have been put online without audiences, I have been unable to bring myself to watch them. I see the Daily Show videos, the Colbert monologues, and I can’t bring myself to watch them.
I can no longer allow myself the luxury of relying on comedy to get me through this. It is too great a privilege.
I am a 72-year-old white male, retired, living at home with my wife, who is also retired. I can afford to sit at home and laugh through my anger and fear. I’m not being deprived of a wage that was already less than a living wage. I don’t have to figure out what to do about my children. I have books and television and radio and my cell phone and my computer. I can be isolated and not alone. I don’t have to go to work every day and risk my life. I don’t have to strip off my clothes before entering my house, then deny myself and my family even the simplest intimacies.
I am fortunate and I am privileged.
I even have reason to believe that even if I got sick I could afford testing and treatment.
My wife and I are social-distancing, self-isolating. We go out only to pick up a few things at the grocery store, where she goes in because she is younger than I and all the advisories say that I am more at risk if one of us gets infected. She is also required by family obligations to go out more than I. Of course, we must assume that if one of us were to become infected it is most likely that we both would.
Still, we follow the protocols. We clean everything that comes into the house. We leave groceries on the porch until we can sanitize the packages as best we can. We wipe down the mail. When we go for a walk outside with a friend, we stay 6 feet apart. We wash our hands frequently. We have reviewed all the guidelines. We live in a rural community where the virus has not yet been shown to be present, but assume it is only a matter of time.
We do this not simply because the government or the CDC or WHO or anyone else has required it, but because we want to be as safe as possible and we want others to be safe as well.
We worry about our sisters and brothers, our children and grandchildren, our friends and neighbors, many of whom may be more at risk than we are.
We live in ignorance of the facts. Like everyone else, we cannot really know the extent or location of the virus because testing is not being done as broadly or efficiently as it should. Was that dry cough a reaction to my blood pressure medicine or was I sick? Is there always a fever, or could I have been carrying the virus asymptomatically? Were our grandchildren infected before the schools were closed; before their soccer practice or games were suspended?
Will the measures now, finally, being taken mean that this crisis will be behind us by summer or still with us at Christmas?
How long? How much?
And that is why I cannot look right now at the comedy.
I’m too angry.
I can no longer laugh at Donald Trump. I can no longer see his daily displays of ignorance, pettiness, self-aggrandizement, lack of empathy or compassion, attacks on anyone and everyone who dares to suggest he might be wrong, might do better, might have some genuine responsibility to something other than himself, and not feel frightened for the future of our country, our democracy, our way of life.
I am way past the time to allow myself to believe that black humor, trench humor, can help us. These are dangerous times; not just because of the coronavirus, but because we are witnessing the willingness of the people in power openly and wantonly to destroy the Constitution in order to enrich themselves with both money and political power.
While we sit in our houses or suffer through our lives in the shadow of COVID-19, Our government is conspiring to stack the federal courts with unqualified, ideologically driven judges. They are arranging to give away hundreds of billions of taxpayer money to multi-billion-dollar corporations. They are stealing land and stealing the vote from the First Nations. They are carrying out petty vendettas. And they are dragging their feet on addressing the COVID-19 crisis because of unrelated, unimportant, fringe beliefs and issues. They are spinning lies and conspiracy theories and distortions rather than dealing directly with the very real issues of life and death.
And I want to go into the streets. I want all of us, by the millions to be in the streets. And we can’t be. The coronavirus has not just made us into hermits, it has robbed us of our most important power as citizens.
I expect I will get my sense of humor back. I do see some hopeful signs, good things swirling around in the chaos with everything else. I am, however, afraid that November may be too late for far too many of us. What will be left by then? And will we be able to come back from this?
We must stay engaged. We must stay afraid. We must stay angry. We must stay safe. When the doctors and the health experts tell us it is safe enough, we must go into the streets. And when the Fall does come around, we must take our fear and our anger to the voting booth in numbers that will make it loud and clear that we are not fooling around any longer.
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