Winter 2008 Featured Article The Culture of White Privilege Is to Remain Silent By Liz Walz
Several years ago, during a community meal in my home at the time, Darren, the fiancée of one of my housemates, suggested that our anti-war activism and organizing was racist. I couldn’t believe it: I’d recently been released from serving a year in jail because of the analysis that the United States was making war on brown-skinned people. I’d lived in a cellblock with black, white, and Asian women – helping create an ethos of sisterhood … how could I be racist? The very suggestion raised feelings of humiliation and anger in me, and I reacted defensively. I don’t remember the details of that conversation – but I’m sure I was invested in silencing this black man. Our relationship eventually fractured painfully after a series of charged emails. In the years since that dinner conversation, I have come to agree with his perspective. Layers of self-justification and ego have been peeled – sometimes ripped – away in my ongoing process of dealing with racism as a white person working in predominantly white peace and faith communities. Mentors in the Mennonite-rooted Damascus Road program articulate three stages of conversion that whites typically go through:
At one time, at about this point in the conversation, I would point out other forms of institutionalized violence which exist in addition to racism: sexism, homophobia, ageism, ableism, classism, and so on. A graduate of the Challenging White Supremacy workshop wondered aloud to me whether I was bringing up these issues to avoid my discomfort with talking about institutionalized power systems based on race. After all, she pointed out, in many circles white people frame the dialogues on class, gender and ability… Focusing on racism requires white people like me to sit firmly in the learner’s seat – rather than taking control of the conversation. This role reversal is uncomfortable – and part of my growing edge has been learning to live with discomfort as I increasingly recognize the situations in which I’m on the “wrong” side of injustice. In my formation as a Catholic Worker and as a Plowshares activist, I was encouraged and inspired to take personal responsibility for the ills in society and the misdeeds of my government. Socialized as a woman, I’ve spent no small amount of time and energy learning to claim my voice – especially when it differs from the charismatic male leader(s) whom I’ve put on a pedestal. These lessons have been hard won and I’ve made many mistakes along the way. There have been costs – alienating friends, family, and community members, and losing access to job and social opportunities as a consequence of voicing different and unpopular opinions about “American values.” Yet, I have emerged as a woman with a certain social and political analysis, the propensity to take initiative, and somewhat of a strong personality (ahem…). Confronting-racism work has challenged me at this deep level of identity, revealing assumptions I had about the power of white people (and the white peace movement) to have any relevance at all in the lives of brown and black-skinned people throughout the world, much less in my own (predominantly-black) neighborhood.
The Jena 6 In mid-October I was talking with a white friend about the visible absence of white activists at the Jena gathering this past September. She had learned about the Jena march but had not gone; she confessed disappointment at having “missed the boat.” During that conversation, we together made a commitment to be more responsive in the future – to move from analysis to action in regards to racism. Just days later, we learned of another march to be held in Jena on the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday in January 2008: white supremacists and the KKK have announced their intent to promote “the views of the majority.” My friend and I recognized this as an opportunity to stand as white allies in support of the Jena families and community and we started brainstorming organizing possibilities. We learned that the current phase and slogan of the Jena 6 campaign is, “We are all Jena.” That is, the experience of racism and legalized injustice in Jena are not social anomalies in this one small southern town. Racialized oppression and violence occur in every state, city, and town of these United States. The message we received from the Jena families is, “Don’t come to Jena – organize in your own back yard.” This information put an end to the visions in my head of contacting friends and allies across the nation with a call to travel to Jena. Instead, I am putting out this invitation to whites in the Fellowship of Reconciliation (FOR) community and other predominantly white peace and justice groups: Break the silence – find the organizers of color who are working on issues in your community and get behind them, following and supporting, not taking over.
Doing our own work Another guiding principle for whites working for racial justice is also the title of a training program: Doing Our Own Work. This refers to whites taking responsibility for our own education and growth in learning about racism. One temptation I struggled with in cultivating relationships of accountability was turning first to people of color to provide me with relevant information, advice, and emotional support in my struggles. Mentors quickly cautioned me against using people of color to ease my conscience. Asking people already burdened by racism to add “taking care of me” to their plate can be an expression of entitlement. Instead, I first seek out other white anti-racist allies for my regular conversation and brainstorming partners, people I am connected to through several fine education and training organizations, a few of which are listed in the adjacent sidebar. I do sometimes talk with a few friends of color about my journey – for example, soliciting feedback about this article. Darren and I were eventually able to begin a new relationship – a gift from him which I was not entitled to, but which I deeply value. Darren has given permission for me to approach him as a sounding board – while retaining the full right to say “no” to me. But for most of the people of color with whom I am in relationship, my primary aim is to simply be in relationship, to listen. I lean against the temptation to turn every conversation into a process about my anti-racism work. As trust deepens, I am intentional about when and why I approach the topic of racism. None of these relationships would have been possible with the quality I enjoy had I not taken steps to un-learn white assumptions and behaviors, making mistakes and being open to correction along the way. For me, making the commitment to break the silence around racism in predominantly white social change groups has meant practicing addressing racism in the places where my relationships are strongest – among friends and family. When engaging with anyone about situations which I now understand to be offensive or injurious, I have learned to support and respect the dignity of the person I’m interacting with while identifying damaging comments and behaviors. It is a shock for my friends and family members, like most white social change activists, to realize they are perpetuating racism and white supremacy. They don’t believe they intend to behave in racist ways – and I am learning to be both careful and direct when confronting them with the information that the impact of their actions perpetuates white supremacy. This is not easy feedback to offer and it is not easy feedback to receive. As a person socialized to be nice and “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all,” I’ve had to strengthen the muscle of interrupting racist dynamics when my preference would be to simply avoid the conflict. In these cases, Darren’s voice offers clarity which calls me to greater integrity: “On a philosophical level I would challenge your assertion that folk aren’t intentionally behaving in racist ways. I’ve found that there are varying degrees of willful ignorance and a good deal of folk behaving with a level of paternalism and cruelty which they would very much not tolerate if it were directed toward themselves… For instance, let me go to the ‘burbs and tell them the way they raise their children is the great problem of the world and so I and others need to go there and educate them since they are being raised so poorly ...as opposed to suburban whites coming to the city to ‘help’ – and see how fast they find it offensive and ridiculous.”
Whiteness and Silence I’m sharing this around the theme of silencing, because it is the silence of white people which allows racism to injure people of color day in and day out – in personal and systemic ways. I am trying to grow in my ability to sit in the discomfort of interrupting a conversation or meeting, to the risk of offending the speaker and receiving backlash – rather than maintaining silence. When white people stay silent – especially in all-white groups – we protect the egos of those who are ignorant of or who don’t care about their impact. I was afraid to hurt the feelings of those who were speaking; now I see that if I remain quiet, people of color are doubly injured: first by the comments and actions themselves, and second by the silence of those of us who could take the risk to name the dynamic. It is the fear of losing privilege that keeps me and other whites silent in the face of the violence of racism: in our homes and families, faith communities, schools, workplaces, in the media and legal systems … and in our own hearts. In this journey of recognizing the ways I carry whiteness and the impacts of white privilege and white superiority today, I have discovered greater compassion for the parts of myself I don’t like to acknowledge. This is the beginning of change. In this space of compassion, I have felt the false ego that white-socialization creates melt away into some identity that is more human. In some situations, I have been able to sit in curiosity and to actually hear those whose ideas and values that radically differ from my own. Along with this has come a capacity to sit in the fire of criticism without either falling apart or lashing back. All of this contributes to a humility from which I am more readily able to apologize – when I recognize the impact of my words or actions or silence has contributed to the injury or diminishment of another – and greater courage to intervene in racist dynamics, for example by writing this article. I still have a long way to go in breaking the silence and moving from understanding to action. This is my perception about most white peace activists as well. Simply feeling better about my listening skills or my understanding of the history of American racism is not the goal – these are intermediate steps along the way. There are ample opportunities for me to be active on behalf of racial justice, just as I am active in international peace work. My current efforts are to join allies in affecting the predominantly-white peace groups of which I am a part. A mentor cautioned me to be realistic about the pace of changing this deep and abiding social construct – for a small nonprofit to demonstrably own an anti-racist/anti-oppression identity, the transition optimistically takes eight years of ongoing work. For one single church or worship community, 20 years. Groups like the Christian Peacemaker Teams, Pax Christi, the Atlantic Life Community, and the War Resisters League have begun to engage an anti-racist lens. None are “there” yet in terms of organizational accountability, a shift in access to power, economic, and staff resources. How long will it take our predominantly-white peace communities to transform? And what is your next step in breaking the silence?
Liz Walz is a nonviolence trainer and practitioner, and is growing into facilitating anti-racism workshops. An FOR member since 2003, she recently cooked meals to support an FOR Grassroots Nonviolence Intergenerational and Multicultural gathering ©2008 Fellowship of Reconciliation
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