Race in Real Time

A few days ago, I was talking with a friend about a sticky state of affairs that bubbled up in my office a few weeks back.  Like most situations that arise in an office occupied by humans, this one was probably more than a bit overblown; it was also marked by a clash of egos, and viewpoints that were just far enough apart to ensure a heightened level of rancor.  Relevant musical aside: In “Lush Life”, the classic jazz ballad penned by Billy Strayhorn, the protagonist remarks that the object of his affection wears a “poignant smile” that is, perhaps, “tinged with a sadness”, a sadness that (may) mark her true feelings for him. I love that line, if for no other reason that it stands out as a most elegant speculation; the lovelorn protagonist thinks it’s there, and the possibility of its presence alters the essence of their interaction. That “tinge” – it changes everything.

Back to my office.

The conflict was tinged with a racial dynamic that was evident to everyone caught up in the discord – everyone, it seems, except the lone white male in the middle of the melee’.  As I tried to explain the contours of the conflict to my friend, and illuminate the sundry issues that I thought needed to be hashed out, I lingered on the racial dimension of the conflict, in an attempt to explain how its presence served to further complicate an already complicated situation. In response, my friend offered an old, familiar chestnut that wrecked the edifice I was trying to construct: “Well, if it were me, I would look past all the race stuff you’re talking about…”

Yes, of course you would. Thanks.

I left our meeting feeling crummier than usual in the wake of this “advice”, and immediately began wondering why.  Was it the willful ignorance that my friend thought he could simply impose over all things/issues that even remotely carried within them a racial component? Was it the “I don’t see race” canard that irked me more than usual? It took me a few days, but I think I finally figured out why this little “post-racial” nugget stuck in my craw more than usual.   It occurred to me that my friend has little to no substantive experience interacting with people of color in a sustained way. His anchoring institutions (church, schools, neighborhood, civic organizations – the places that comprise the totality of his social universe) are overwhelmingly white.  I may be wrong about this (although I doubt it) but I don’t see him entering into any type of sustained interaction in which he would find himself in the racial minority. So, when I and other colored folks present him with scenarios that cry out for racial analysis, he substitutes the platonic ideal of himself in the situation – the guy he would be if he ever found himself in a long-term relationship with a gaggle of colored people struggling with the vagaries of race.

To be sure, we all place this platonic version of ourselves in situations that will more than likely never actually happen to us. Why yes, if I ever landed in the middle of a war, I would bring honor upon myself and upon my grateful nation, thank you very much. And yes, if I found myself in the middle of a terrorist plot to rob the Nakatomi Towers in Los Angeles during Christmas, I would singlehandedly thwart the plot, even with shards of glass stuck in my feet. Come to think of it, if I ever held high office, I would always be thoughtful and passionate – and the accolades my colleagues would heap upon me would be most deserved.  The point here is that we all do this. And even when we know what we’re doing, and own up to our unique set of shortcomings, we hedge our bets in this little game, reluctant to concede the possibility that our humanity might intervene: “I’d like to think that I would…”

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the problem.  My friend told me that he would “look past all the race stuff.” Yup – that’s just what his best self would do if given the chance.  His platonic doppelganger would never seek to engage in the hard, slow work related to racial understanding; for him, the best position is to remain “above the fray” when it comes to white supremacy and its many-headed minions. (Incidentally, I think this is why the dubious concept of “post-racial” is so popular with a contingent of white folks in the country right now.)

But here’s the kicker about this little game: while my friend gets to imagine he would behave like Atticus Finch in all matters racial at every point, he’s also comparing this idealized version of himself with the real me. My friend – who in his mind would be a superb ally to the Negro – floats above it all, while I confront the concentric entities of race, blackness and white supremacy with my humanity painfully intact. It’s an unfair comparison, and everything I do will more than likely fall short in Atticus’ eyes.

Well, at least now I know what I’m up against.