This is not a post to discuss the cultural brilliance of Planet of the Apes, but I wanted to set the stage with my bonifides, because my reaction to the recent Roseanne dust-up is unusual for specifically this reason. I will not, in any way, defend Roseanne - she's had a long history of racist and hate-filled comments that betray a point of view. This can't get passed off as mere accident or happenstance no matter how one wants to spin it.
At the same time, I want to be honest about what happened and how what happened guided my train of thought, so:
I saw the headline breaking that Roseanne had been cancelled due to racist tweets. I had no details, so I went to google to get some and be informed, like a responsible human being. Google puts the first couple image search results at the top of the page, especially when you search for a name, like I did for Valerie Jarrett. One of them stuck out to me - because of the hair style she had and the strange angle of the photograph, my mind said, "Wow, she looks a lot like the Kim Hunter character from the original 1968 version of Planet of Apes in that one." Only that photo, mind you. I went back, after actually reading the tweet, and looked at literally hundreds of Valerie Jarrett photos and none of them seemed close. Just the one, with that particular angle.
Again, I'm not here to defend Roseanne or make excuses. You can't see her history and also give the benefit of the doubt that she just happened to be a Planet of the Apes fan and also just happened to see the one photo I found with that specific angle (a photo I'm not ever going to link to for all the reasons I'm speaking about below). She's made her bed, at this point.
The "coincidence" argument, though, intrigued me a bit, mostly because I understand how virulently and fundamentally white people are afraid of being racist or being perceived as racist or having someone notice how racist we really are. People make jokes about white fear of racism, but it's not really a joke. This is why we're so quick to tell you about that one black friend we have (who's probably just humoring us - at least most of the time).
I got to thinking about some other hypothetical person - me for example - who innocently made some comment about a specific African-American person looking like another specific person, who happened to be professionally made up as an ape. How would that be received? Then I realized, of course I'd never actually say something like that, even if the comparison occurred to me, because I understand the long history of racism and how persistently, even today, the comparison between black people and monkeys (or apes) is used to demean and dehumanize a people who've suffered such travesties for way, way too long. In other words, a human adult (especially in the US) with basic social awareness, should know full well the offensive, racist associations such a comparison would invite, regardless of intention.
I briefly thought that was a little bit unfair, until I reminded myself that it is literally the definition of injustice: things in the world that shouldn't be, but are. Not only that, but it's a pretty sorry, blatant example of white privilege. White people, like me, have the distinct privilege of being the only people on Earth who don't have to constantly be thinking about skin color. Talk about injustice! The color of white people's skin never matters, at least in a negative way - whatever minuscule negative example you can come up with is totally and entirely dwarfed by the vast positive benefits of racism we've enjoyed down through the years - which gives us the tremendous luxury of not always having to think about race. Obviously, it's a luxury that everyone SHOULD have, but, of course, they don't, which makes it an injustice.
It also brought to mind a really terrific essay I read a week or so ago. It was written more than a year ago by Sebastian Whitaker and it's simply titled "Dear White People: Your Dictionary Definition of Racism is Wrong." What he brings to the conversation is the notion that racism is not, in itself, an action or attitude, but a world-view that says some people are inherently better than others because of their skin color; racism is the embodiment of white supremacy.
Prejudice is our attitude towards people different from ourselves, where we generalize people for any number of reasons and make judgments about them because of those differences. Discrimination is when we act on those prejudices to somehow hamper or hinder those folks. In this sense, anyone can be prejudiced or discriminatory against any group - white, black, gay, straight, southern, German, ginger, overweight, nerdy, whatever. Those things are about attitudes and actions of individuals regardless of context.
Racism, though, is specifically about a particular world view that's been in existence for a very long time and continues to under-gird the society in which we live - even for those of us who wish it didn't exist. People of all skin colors have been shown to have unconscious biases in favor of white people and against those of darker skin. You can be prejudiced or discriminatory against white people, if you've got the inclination or power to do so, but you can't be racist against white people, because there's no system of non-white supremacy embedded in Earth's cultural history.
(Shoot, part of the purpose of that original Planet of the Apes movie was to specifically create a scenario where the humans were the oppressed species as a statement about racism in the world, with the hope that white people seeing white people as an oppressed minority might wake them up to the challenges of race in America. Whether that was wise or effective is certainly debateable, but they at least were aware enough, even in 1968, not to have any of the apes played by actual black people to avoid the overtly racist connotations that might invite.*)
There is some natural inclination towards prejudice that must be overcome in human evolution, but there was also an actual system of value ranking, based on skin color, that existed overtly for centuries. The 19th and 20th century debunked pseudoscience of phrenology was an attempt to judge the quality and character of a person based on the shape and density of their skull. It was entirely based in race and there are charts you can find where people did "research" to rank dozens of distinct "races" around the world on a hierarchy chart that always, always, always had white people at the top.
Whitaker's essay resonates with me, because it parallels the field in which I'm actually trained: Christian theology. For many Christians, the notion of faith is contained in intellectual assent - a particular passage from the Book of Romans is interpreted to mean all we need to do is believe the correct ideas genuinely and truly and we're "Christians." This is so terribly lacking in context, it will be impossible to explain without making an incredibly long post even more painfully obtuse. Suffice it to say, Christian belief is entirely about action - do the words you say and the actions you take contribute to the world as God intends it to be or not? You can intellectually assent to all the "proper" Christian ideals, but if you're a jerk to the people around you, you're an agent of death.
If you take Whitaker's (absolutely correct) understanding of racism, you can make a parallel claim: it doesn't matter so much how often you profess to believe everyone is equal and the way black people are treated in the world is terrible, if you say or do things (even without mal-intent) that perpetuate the notion that some skin colors are better than others, you're participating in racism.
So while white people like to parse all the intricacies of when and how one might be legitimately called a racist, it's very much an action-based system. What Roseanne said was racist - with or without her track record and reputation. If I were to express the same comparison, regardless of my intentions, it would be equally racist. Does that make me a racist? Well, in that moment, it certainly does - maybe not even though any fault of my own, but because an injustice exists in the world and through my action (even a potentially innocent one), I've perpetuated and participated in that injustice.
White people are obsessed with not being a racist; we tend to care a lot less about actions or systems in which we participate that perpetuate racism. Well, we do care, but only in that we're afraid those actions will define us as racist. Non-white folks tend to be a lot more concerned about calling out the words, actions, and systems of racism precisely because those are the things which actively dehumanize and disadvantage non-white folk. It would probably help if white people stopped being so worried about being called racist and spent more time thinking deeply about our own words and actions, about the systems in which we participate and how they affect the world around us. Yeah, there may one day come a time when everyone equally has the privilege to ignore race, but that day is not today and thus maybe not the most relevant conversation topic.
The other, small part of this that probably should be said, is for non-white folks to recognize how easy it is for white people not to think about race. It may seem impossible that a white person could make a statement like Roseanne's with no racist intent, but it really is (again, it's hard for me to believe Roseanne herself is in this camp, but it's certainly not outside the realm of possibility someone else might be). We do it all the time. White people say stupid racist shit without ever have bad intentions because we have this incredible, unfair privilege. It is still racist and it's wrong and it deserves to be called out. Regardless of intention, it's still abhorrent.
As a society, we're generally pretty terrible at communicating the message that just because you did an abhorrent, offensive thing, you yourself are not a worthless individual that others find impossible to love. We tend to conflate those things together and it's a real detriment to genuine conversation and growth. Healing divides are not possible with demonization, which means we have to bend over backward to be nice to people we don't like and who stay stupid things. (I am still a Christian after all - and the loving your enemies thing is pretty core to that belief system, or at least it should be.) We live in an inherently racist world - and try as we might to change that or rise above it, we're still going to say some terrible, racist things from time to time - we have to be better at recognizing, repairing, and growing, rather than shaming, condemning, and isolating.
White people need to be more aware of the world in which they live and how it continues to be shaped and formed on a foundation of blatant racism that creeps into our thoughts, words, and actions regardless of our intent or espoused beliefs. That's unfair, sure, but it's also reality. Having a conversation without a racial component is an unjust privilege we can't continue to take advantage of if we really want to see some reconciliation in the world. Guess what, it's also not the only privilege we'll have to give up if we genuinely want to see change.
White people, whether we're willing to admit it or not (and I'm just as guilty as the next white guy), generally want to solve the world's problems by making everyone "like us," but normalizing our own position and perspective in the world is, in fact, part of the very racist problem we're intended to solve. You can't have a world where everyone is on top - the very notion plays into a destructive, racist, divisive world view that needs to die. I have great faith that it's possible to overcome, but it does not come without a cost and it does not come without intention.
*One could argue that no black people got those jobs because Hollywood was a pretty white place and black people didn't hardly get any decent jobs, especially in 1968, but they did specifically include a black astronaut as some sign they were aware of the racial elements at play.
Yes, perhaps Charlton Heston should've switched parts with Jeff Burton if they really wanted to make a statement, but they needed to get the movie funded and Hollywood, along with the rest of society, then and now, is racist, and no one would fund this crazy sci-fi experiment if a black guy was in the lead role. MORE INJUSTICE!!
The first was the leaked quote from Houston Texans owner, Bob McNair, during the NFL protest conversations. McNair said he didn't want "the inmates running the prison." Now, he says he was referring to the NFL office employees dictating policy and procedure to the owners - and, in light of all the detailed reporting by ESPN and others on those meetings, this was a huge bone of contention for the owners and I rightly believe him - however, in a room full of concerned black men, specifically protesting unfair treatment of the black community by police, the phrase itself carried incredible consequence.
The reality of the situation is that African-Americans, and black males in particular, are more likely to get arrested and convicted for actions than white people who do the same things. The sentences are longer and they're less likely to get parole. Skewed numbers exist for interactions with police as well. We've seen scientific proof that there's a cultural and societal bias against dark skin - even by those with dark skin. It's a race problem, but it's beyond even the differences between different groups of people. It's an all of us issue (and one that I've written about here as best I can).
For today, though, the point is that words matter. I can understand what McNair is trying to communicate. I've used that phrase a time or two as a synonym for getting the cart before the horse - to indicate that motivation and control are coming from the wrong places. I tend to say inmates running the asylum, but, honestly, that's just as insensitive. The reason, though, why I or Bob McNair or any other privileged white guy can see that phrase as innocuous is because it's not real for us. I know very few people who've been to prison and the possibility that I, myself, might end up on the wrong side of the law is just so incredibly improbable that it doesn't feel real.
That's just not true, for even the most well-bahved, law abiding man of color in the US. The numbers vary from 1 in 3 to 1 in 5, for the most part, but the odds of a black man in the US spending time in jail is astronomically high - and the stories of unfair or incorrect imprisonment are too common to be taken lightly.
My privilege allows me to use words as analogy that have real meaning to others who don't enjoy my privilege.
I was hoping McNair would use his incident to make a similar statement. Privilege is one of the most difficult concepts to talk about for those of us who have it. It's the most difficult thing to get across to people; it's at the root of the argument around the notion of "all lives matter." Honestly, the conversation around privilege is probably the one our nation needs before we can ever get to a place where real discussion of race can happen.
It bleeds over into the words we use. For people at the top of the social heap, words are just words. They have meaning, but usually just in a representative way. I can say inmates and prison without ever really putting a face, experience, or reality to those ideas. That's just not true for everyone and we've got an obligation to be aware and sensitive to those realities.
Bob McNair probably got a little bit too raked over the coals in learning this lesson, but I do hope he's genuinely learned one and understands his players better than he did before.
The other incident, though, is one that didn't get the same kind of press. A few weeks ago, the University of Tennessee was looking to hire a football coach - Greg Schiano was floated as a possibility (in fact, basically as the choice) - he ended up not getting the job because a lot of alums and fans protested his involvement with Penn State and the terrible child abuse and inaction (if not coverup) that happened there over a period of years.
We can argue about Schiano's real involvement in the process, but it came up in a deposition that a coach had heard from another coach that Schiano had reported child rape during his tenure on the football coaching staff at Penn State and did nothing when nothing was done. He's denied those allegations and there's an argument to be made about the real power a person in his position would've had to change anything - and also an argument to be made about whether that should matter in an instance where a child was being abused.
That's a conversation for another day. My concern was the repeated use of a phrase, "lynch mob," to describe the Tennessee fans who most vociferously opposed Schiano's hire. There were some words of caution, but largely those words went unnoticed.
I get it, from one perspective, if the testimony is true, the guy did barely anything when he knew a child was being harmed, but there's a long way from third-hand allegations to proof or even criminal action. People have the right to make whatever judgments they want, but this one was quick and without a lot of support. That's where the lynch mob analogy makes historical sense - lynch mobs killed black people, without trial, often for very petty reasons or none at all.
Again, though, only white people can use a phrase like that without context. Privilege allows us to say criticism of Schiano looks like the lawless murder of black men. Of course it's not meant literally, but aren't the differences between the two enough to avoid that phrase? For most of my life, I probably would've said (as many have), "Get over it, you're being too sensitive." It's a position privilege allows us to take.
When language is disconnected from our real experience, we fail to recognize it's power. It's not just a racial thing - how often does the word "rape" get used to describe destruction? We might save the word "holocaust" for something truly awful, but is it really as awful, appropriately awful for what we're describing?
I was substitute teaching in an 8th grade class the other day. In an overheard conversation where one African-American kid was talking to the student sitting next to him. He said, "Sometimes, when I get angry, I feel it deep down, like I'm all white inside." Maybe I'm giving him too much credit, but if it bothers you that white is associated with hatred or darkness, perhaps ask yourself why you're only thinking about it now.
(The answer is privilege.)
Words matter - and some words matter more to some people. It might not seem fair, but it's real. It's the price of privilege and it's not much of a price to pay.
But it touched something deeper inside of me - real grieving - something beyond just sympathy or sorrow or regret. It hurt. Deep down. It's why I wanted my daughter to be a part of our local rally for peace on Thursday. We couldn't stay the whole time and I doubt she'll even remember what happened, but she saw and heard perhaps the most racially diverse religious gathering in the history of this town. She was there and that's important to me.
Now I'm scared this will sound callous, but, amazingly, the events of the last two weeks have given me some measure of hope. Obviously a lot of people have lost lives - far too many - but the reality is that terrible violence has been done to black people in this country since even before it was a country. We can lament over the loss of life - any life; and we can lament over the slow pace of progress. No but - we can and should lament. Things look really bad.
I have some hope, though, because from my perspective, this time is different. TIME magazine reports that 61% of white people think racial equality is a real issue - a sadly low number, but the highest it's ever been. Further, white people, especially young white people, have been the majority of those engaged in protest following the most recent spate of events. So long as white people remain the majority in this country and control the levers of power and influence, white people need to be on board with solving racial inequality. It's been the indifference of me and people like me over the past 400 years that have left us at this point.
Maybe the perspective of black Americans in black neighborhoods is far from optimistic, but from my perspective, I've never seen so many white people engaged, willing to listen, and seeking to understand. I haven't felt my speaking up about my experiences, witnessing racially disparate treatment by police against black people, as being rejected or unwelcome. That's a first.
I've felt slightly emboldened, but mostly challenged by Rembert Browne in this piece from the New York Times - he calls on white people to speak up to other white people - to come out as sympathetic towards the plight of African-Americans. As much as I hate to admit it, he nails white culture pretty well (and, having gone to Dartmouth, the guy is in a pretty good position to really understand white culture from the outside). The strange thing, though, is that it doesn't feel difficult or unwelcome anymore. Yes, there were a few of the typical retorts, trying to explain away these police killings by impugning the victim, but those faded pretty quickly (at least more quickly than they have in the past). Shoot, freaking Newt Gingrich came out with a strong statement:
It took me a long time, and a number of people talking to me through the years to get a sense of this. If you are a normal, white American, the truth is you don’t understand being black in America and you instinctively under-estimate the level of discrimination and the level of additional risk.
Newt Gingrich! There's some hope when an issue like this has moved from a partisan issue, to one infecting the "other" side in profound ways, it has to be seen as progress. The progress is embarrassingly slow. It's unacceptable that we've gotten to this point, but gotten to this point we have, and wringing our hands over it will not solve anything.
We have to avoid saying, "yeah, us; we care now," as that's beyond patronizing; it's insulting. I can't be the white guy saying, "hold on, we'll get there." That might be the only thing we can say, but it's as helpful as saying "All Lives Matter" at this point. Frankly, I'm not sure we have the right to claim any life matters until we can show that literally any life matters.
I'm particularly broken by the claim, oft repeated this week, that we've left too many problems for the police to solve. I hear the same complaint from school teachers, literally almost every day. The problems of our society are our problems, even if we've segregated ourselves in communities where we're insulated and isolated from those issues we rue. It's not somebody else's problem and it's not somebody else's fault. I can clearly say no one's done as much as they can to make the world a better place - save for those who've literally given their lives on the altar of our societal shortcomings.
Yes, do something rather than nothing, but do more than some thing, commit. Be a difference in your community - and that might just mean getting out of your community and into one you wish were better, not telling "them" how to be, but becoming "us" in the midst of the mess. We won't overcome our fear and obsession with safety until we have a world that's fear-free and safe for all. We can't look at a gash on our arm and say, "that's my arm's problem." My arm's problem is my problem; black America's problem is America's problem. I think more white people are starting to see this. I think that's a droplet of good news in a flood of bad, but it's enough for me to keep going and I pray its enough for others, for those really hurting in the midst of this outrageous reality, to keep going too.
