Dear Friend,
“What does it mean to want a thing to change, but then feel bullied by that change?”
Big Little Lies
There’s a stumbling block to conversations about race, which I mentioned in my first reflections on 9/9. This is that our perceptions of life and reality are deeply personal, and so even issues that are much bigger than we are, are first viewed through our own eyes and the lens of our experience. Often, this means it becomes difficult for the average white American to fully understand or believe a concept like “white privilege,” because to the majority of lived experiences, that concept is not immediately relatable. It suggests, to the individual, that a life lived through struggle is somehow an advantage.
Rankine offers a more helpful way of understanding this, that other anti-racist teachers have as well, which is to view this structurally. This is not to say that personal racism doesn’t exist or shouldn’t be addressed, but as a starting point to understanding the roles we play individually each day, it’s helpful to understand the larger issues that have been holding non-white people back for hundreds of years, how they persist, and what that means for the individuals in our lives whom, at first glance, it might seem we have shared nearly identical journeys.
In this way, her discussion on the history of structural racism through economic policies was most helpful, as was the chart on median net worth by race in the United States. How is it that two people who grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same public schools, and pursued similar paths in adult life–be it college, a trade, or a profession–could be so differently placed economically? Considering things like inherited wealth and the many ways it manifests, including gifts of property, graduating without student loans, and access to healthcare and healthy foods, for example, are all small and sometimes invisible differences in the lives of those growing up in superficially identical ways.
Ethical Loneliness
The anecdotes in this section about Rankine’s personal interactions with others differ slightly from the first section, in that the majority of them are between herself and a friend, rather than a stranger. A repeating theme in these conversations is a sense of loneliness, even what Rankine, referencing Jill Stauffer, calls “ethical loneliness.” This is essentially the isolation a person feels due to being a member of a persecuted or oppressed class. It goes beyond personal loneliness, which we all experience, and can cause someone to feel isolated even when in conversation with their very best friends, the way Rankine describes feeling at least twice during intimate conversations or experiences with two of her closest friends. As a gay man, this is an experience I’ve had countless times myself with my straight friends, even ones who are more than supportive allies. There’s an uncomfortable, and unfair, power difference when you’re a member of a minority class, one that never really goes away.
These conversations are difficult for me to read about because they so closely reflect my experience with my friends, but also because I know they must reflect the experience of others in their time spent with me. I don’t think it’s productive to feel guilty or embarrassed about this relationship, but I can see why it would be important to acknowledge the power differences and various outsider statuses within our friendship groups if we are going to see one another fully and authentically, and if we are going to come as close as possible to full empathy with another person.
Public vs Private
Two weeks ago, I struggled with some of Rankine’s assertions. One in particular was actually a claim that a colleague of hers had made, that none in her circle spoke about race. I think I worked my way through that resistance while reflecting on that part of the reading, but I welcomed a similar discussion this week in a section of the book titled, “josé martí.” Here, Rankine addresses these public versus private discussions about racism. In a stunning set of conversations with a Latinx artist, Rankine admits she wonders “if this woman is as appalled by [her] ignorance as [she] sometimes feels in the company of whites” (239). This is the kind of moment teachers live for–when the teacher becomes the student. It’s the kind of shock and self-reflection that simultaneously reveals even experts on a subject are still learning and that the methods we suggest others employ apply to us, too.
Later, Rankine reveals that she worries she’s becoming a burden to her new friend by bringing up so much about racism and colorism in Latinx communities and adds: “I hear both exasperation and patience in my new friend’s voice as I say all this. She reminds me no one said much of anything when the president called Mexicans rapists. I beg to differ as to private conversations, but in the public writing I do, I can’t argue” (247). This is exactly the struggle I was having with myself two weeks ago, when I realized that my private experiences don’t necessarily mirror the larger ones happening in public. It’s a moment in the book that is both powerful and important, I think, because it illustrates that even Rankine, an expert on the subject, has much to learn and, as another simply human person, sometimes has trouble staying open.
These conversations lead to her friend’s concept, “reciprocation of understanding.” She compares this quest for open dialogue to the philosophical concept of “entangled empathy,” where one doesn’t just remain open to understanding but literally recognizes themselves in any complicated set of relations. The essential difference seems to be, what is your experience versus what is my place in this?
Understanding is not change, and certain resistance arises when we’re commanded to understand. So, where is the road? Perhaps, as Rankine suggests, it’s in these open conversations, where expectation and judgement are left at the door.
Meditation
“I have tried to learn my anger’s usefulness to me, as well as its limitations.” -Claudia Rankine
Love,
~Adam
Contemplative Reading Project 
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