Apparently there's been some beef brewing between Spike Lee and Tyler Perry. I hadn't really been following the story so I don't know when it began, but I found this recent post containing one person's summary of the situation. This is another good entry, with short clips of both directors' viewpoints. Both these links are short, interesting reads.
I love watching movies and I really enjoy analyzing them in my head or with another person. Spike Lee is one of my favorite directors, for movies such as 25th Hour, Summer of Sam, Inside Man, When the Levees Broke, and Bamboozled. I am trying to work my way through his catalog and I've also seen Do the Right Thing, Girl 6, She Hate Me, and Malcolm X. I have several more to get to and I look forward to seeing them.
I've only seen one Tyler Perry movie, and it was by accident: Daddy's Little Girls was playing on TBS one night and I got sucked in at the beginning. Before that, I had only known him as some playwright who had started making movies with his name at the beginning of every title, like Blake Edwards. In fact, I thought he was a woman for a while due to the title Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman. Anyway, I vaguely knew that his movies had a reputation of being silly and vapid, like all those Nutty Professor spin-offs. But Daddy's Little Girls surprised me with its relatively feasible storyline, occasional weighty moments, and general lack of the ridiculousness I had heard of in association with Tyler Perry. It was a cute romantic movie which also dealt with some class issues and defied some stereotypes. For example, the main character is a loving, devoted father who shares custody of his three daughters with a negligent, vindictive ex (a reversal of the usual male-female roles). However, it does reinforce other stereotypes, such as when the dad reaches his wit's end and deals with his ex's drug-dealing, abusive new boyfriend by giving him a public beatdown (to the tune of Sam Cooke's poignant "A Change is Gonna Come"). That beatdown scene, by the way, is heartbreaking and triumphant in the context of this movie, but it still doesn't do much for the male violence problem.
I haven't seen any other Tyler Perry movies, but it is generally accepted that the man is business-savvy and Not An Obvious Douchebag. Some might argue that Perry just cranks out mediocre entertainment to make money off a complacent black audience, and that he exploits black stereotypes for cheap laughs. That is in fact Spike Lee's argument (he calls it "coonery buffoonery"). But Lee has just as much a niche as Perry does; Lee makes jarring, complex, uncomfortable movies that examine (among other things) what it's like for dozens of different racial and ethnic communities to live in the packed sardine can called New York City. But not everyone lives in NYC, and not everyone shares his experience of cultural and racial reality. When Lee criticizes Perry's work, it seems a little bit too much like he's saying, "THIS is the black experience you should be portraying. The one you've chosen to portray isn't valid."
Even on Perry's sitcoms, I find some interesting storyline twists that make me think. There was an episode of House of Payne where the suburban married mother of three ended up relapsing into drug addiction and leaving her family behind. Is that a tired African American media cliche, or is it a realistic portrayal of the kinds of situations that Americans struggle with today? For every person who cringes at what they see as negative portrayals of minorities, there's gotta be someone (like me) who finds it surprising and refreshing that a sitcom is willing to even go there. Actually, here's a quote from Wikipedia about the show, confirming my impression of its tone: "While primarily a comedy sitcom, House of Payne is known for featuring dark themes and subject matter, such as substance abuse and addiction..." This has got to be a good thing.
But I also love Lee's cerebral approach to the issues that face Americans today, and I would never want him to start making goofy, crowd-pleasing movies (although I think he has been trying to increase his mass appeal with later movies). And I haven't seen any Madea movies but maybe they are insufferably trite and stereotypical (research to follow). And while Lee's criticism of Perry may or may not be warranted, he is definitely correct about some aspects of Hollywood such as the Magical Negro and tokenism.
It's an interesting debate. I think they both have important, valid points. What do you guys think about Spike Lee? What do you think about Tyler Perry? Is Lee too inaccessible, judgmental, and unsupportive? Is Perry a sellout who is sabotaging black cinema? Any movie recommendations?
(I need to watch some more Tyler Perry. As for Spike Lee, my favorite movie of his is Bamboozled, which I have watched several times, most recently last night. My boyfriend and I had a thoughtful discussion afterward on the Spike vs. Tyler topic, African American portrayals in the media, and how hard (impossible?) it is to truly comprehend and appreciate the issue without living inside it on a daily basis.)
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
My Black Neighbor
I have an embarrassing history of being a poseur. I'm one of those people who pretends to hear the joke and laughs, or pretends to understand it and laughs. I have acted like I knew what drug paraphernalia was to avoid looking lame (backfire: I was wrong!), and I used to fib about having met Lenny Kravitz once at a concert (my friends did, but I had lost them in the crowd earlier).
Sometimes I think my tendency to be a "poseur" relates to Atkinson, Morten, and Sue's 1989 model of racial and cultural identity development (R/CID). There are five stages: conformity, dissonance, resistance and immersion, introspection, and integrative awareness. Likewise, I think that we of the majority go through similar stages when developing our own awareness of diversity, as well as our own racial identity.
(I am half-minority, but so often I find myself relating to the experiences of Caucasians more than the experiences of Asian-Americans. I have experienced racism and insensitivity for being Asian, but overall I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks into Caucasian acculturation.)
Anyway, so I conformed to the majority identity for most of my life, and then dissonance started slipping in. I remember that my dad spoke with hostility about rap and hip hop, glaring or ranting if a rap video happened to be on MTV when he walked through the living room. Would you believe that I didn't feel okay about liking a hip hop song until well into college? It's true. I felt weird about it, like I wasn't supposed to be listening, like it wasn't made for my ears, like it would make me seem...lesser.
Somewhere along the line, I lightened up and started attributing value to music and other art forms that are sometimes diminished by Caucasians. Here's an example: I love most of Spike Lee's movies. If I understand correctly, his reputation among many Caucasians is that he's a race-card blowhard, kind of like the film director equivalent of Al Sharpton. I am fascinated by his treatment of race, enjoy his style of cinematography, and count Bamboozled among my Top Five.
But sometimes I feel like maybe I am kind of stuck in the resistance and immersion stage of cultural awareness. I took African-American history in college...to learn more, or to earn credibility? I have seen The Roots and Outkast and Lauryn Hill live...have I played up my attendance at those shows more than my attendance at Grandaddy and Twilight Singers shows? Am I a poseur?
Which brings me to the story about my black neighbor, and my previous post about white privilege. I have a neighbor who lives in the next building over. He's African-American. (I use the two terms interchangeably, but choose "black" when succinctness adds impact. I probably need to blog about this, too.) He has a car and a motorcycle, and he likes to clean them while blaring his music loud from the stereo. Invoking my new knowledge of white privilege, and realizing that my neighbor probably catches race-related flak on a daily basis for any number of traits that may or may not be tied to his race/culture, I almost always let him blare away. Most of the time it stops after a few songs anyway, and occasionally I like the music. But, honestly, it's usually distracting or disruptive to me and once it was late enough at night that I felt justified in asking him to please turn it down. He did.
So here's the question that haunts me every time this happens: Am I being less racist or actually more racist for these micro-decisions? In my attempt to counter my own white privilege, am I actually defining this guy by his race instead of recognizing his full personhood, including the possibility that he blares loud music from his car because he's inconsiderate, and not because he's African-American and that's something that African-Americans stereotypically like to do and the oppression of such is racially vindictive?
It's funny, because there are so many reasons for people to be offended by these questions right now. But they are the questions that go through my head about once a week, when he plays his music. What would you do? One cannot deny that I am trying to pay the utmost sensitivity to his experience as a black man, by trying to choose the most racially considerate reaction. After all, a white woman telling a black man to step in line has all sorts of ugly implications. But one could also argue that my obliviousness to his skin color might be the ideal expression of acceptance in a situation as mundane as parking lot turf wars. I don't want to define anyone by their race! But I don't want to be clueless about how their race impacts their everyday experiences, either. How many other people "correct" him on a daily basis? How many other times are his actions rejected by others, and how many times is his race, and not his own character, faulted for it? How likely is it that he blares his music in the first place because he feels the need to do something marginally subversive without immediately being put in his place? Does he even think about these factors? (Probably not, since most people are less neurotic than me.)
Why am I blogging about my neighbor's racial identity when I've never exchanged a word with him other than, "Could you please turn it down a little?" We do exchange waves sometimes, at least. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with him about what his side of these incidents is like. Again, would that be thoughtful or horribly offensive?
In the end, I'm okay with this confusion and ambiguity. In fact, I think it's the point of the whole exercise. Race and culture are tough topics to tackle, and this is an example of how hard it can be. It would be nice to have the luxury of simple, clear answers, but that is (yet again) a privilege that everyone doesn't have, and one that I am willing to give up. I will continue to feel like a poseur, to be uncertain whether I'm getting it all right or all wrong, to inadvertently say offensive things and have to eat crow about it afterward. I think that confronting my own ignorance is probably supposed to be a painful, awkward process. Hopefully all the awkwardness of this entry means that I'm doing something right.
Sometimes I think my tendency to be a "poseur" relates to Atkinson, Morten, and Sue's 1989 model of racial and cultural identity development (R/CID). There are five stages: conformity, dissonance, resistance and immersion, introspection, and integrative awareness. Likewise, I think that we of the majority go through similar stages when developing our own awareness of diversity, as well as our own racial identity.
(I am half-minority, but so often I find myself relating to the experiences of Caucasians more than the experiences of Asian-Americans. I have experienced racism and insensitivity for being Asian, but overall I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks into Caucasian acculturation.)
Anyway, so I conformed to the majority identity for most of my life, and then dissonance started slipping in. I remember that my dad spoke with hostility about rap and hip hop, glaring or ranting if a rap video happened to be on MTV when he walked through the living room. Would you believe that I didn't feel okay about liking a hip hop song until well into college? It's true. I felt weird about it, like I wasn't supposed to be listening, like it wasn't made for my ears, like it would make me seem...lesser.
Somewhere along the line, I lightened up and started attributing value to music and other art forms that are sometimes diminished by Caucasians. Here's an example: I love most of Spike Lee's movies. If I understand correctly, his reputation among many Caucasians is that he's a race-card blowhard, kind of like the film director equivalent of Al Sharpton. I am fascinated by his treatment of race, enjoy his style of cinematography, and count Bamboozled among my Top Five.
But sometimes I feel like maybe I am kind of stuck in the resistance and immersion stage of cultural awareness. I took African-American history in college...to learn more, or to earn credibility? I have seen The Roots and Outkast and Lauryn Hill live...have I played up my attendance at those shows more than my attendance at Grandaddy and Twilight Singers shows? Am I a poseur?
Which brings me to the story about my black neighbor, and my previous post about white privilege. I have a neighbor who lives in the next building over. He's African-American. (I use the two terms interchangeably, but choose "black" when succinctness adds impact. I probably need to blog about this, too.) He has a car and a motorcycle, and he likes to clean them while blaring his music loud from the stereo. Invoking my new knowledge of white privilege, and realizing that my neighbor probably catches race-related flak on a daily basis for any number of traits that may or may not be tied to his race/culture, I almost always let him blare away. Most of the time it stops after a few songs anyway, and occasionally I like the music. But, honestly, it's usually distracting or disruptive to me and once it was late enough at night that I felt justified in asking him to please turn it down. He did.
So here's the question that haunts me every time this happens: Am I being less racist or actually more racist for these micro-decisions? In my attempt to counter my own white privilege, am I actually defining this guy by his race instead of recognizing his full personhood, including the possibility that he blares loud music from his car because he's inconsiderate, and not because he's African-American and that's something that African-Americans stereotypically like to do and the oppression of such is racially vindictive?
It's funny, because there are so many reasons for people to be offended by these questions right now. But they are the questions that go through my head about once a week, when he plays his music. What would you do? One cannot deny that I am trying to pay the utmost sensitivity to his experience as a black man, by trying to choose the most racially considerate reaction. After all, a white woman telling a black man to step in line has all sorts of ugly implications. But one could also argue that my obliviousness to his skin color might be the ideal expression of acceptance in a situation as mundane as parking lot turf wars. I don't want to define anyone by their race! But I don't want to be clueless about how their race impacts their everyday experiences, either. How many other people "correct" him on a daily basis? How many other times are his actions rejected by others, and how many times is his race, and not his own character, faulted for it? How likely is it that he blares his music in the first place because he feels the need to do something marginally subversive without immediately being put in his place? Does he even think about these factors? (Probably not, since most people are less neurotic than me.)
Why am I blogging about my neighbor's racial identity when I've never exchanged a word with him other than, "Could you please turn it down a little?" We do exchange waves sometimes, at least. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with him about what his side of these incidents is like. Again, would that be thoughtful or horribly offensive?
In the end, I'm okay with this confusion and ambiguity. In fact, I think it's the point of the whole exercise. Race and culture are tough topics to tackle, and this is an example of how hard it can be. It would be nice to have the luxury of simple, clear answers, but that is (yet again) a privilege that everyone doesn't have, and one that I am willing to give up. I will continue to feel like a poseur, to be uncertain whether I'm getting it all right or all wrong, to inadvertently say offensive things and have to eat crow about it afterward. I think that confronting my own ignorance is probably supposed to be a painful, awkward process. Hopefully all the awkwardness of this entry means that I'm doing something right.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
How to avoid sanctimony
I've gotten really ranty lately. I've started taking stands and making call-outs that I never would have taken or made before. Especially on Facebook, I've instigated debates (i.e. picked fights) about meat-eating, feminism, racism, mental health, the beauty myth, and more. With this change comes a certain measure of embarrassment. You see, I have led my life until recently with a heavy mix of obliviousness, indifference, and moral relativism. I wore my apathy with pride and didn't give a second thought to most social constructs. Even now, I have only figured out a handful of things among thousands, and I'm still messing up a lot of the remaining stuff. In fact, I'm sure that I'm still contributing to many of society's problem despite the modest shift in values that I'm currently undergoing.
Here is a short list of things I've done before that I am now embarrassed about:
-I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, and a server at Bone Daddy's (a Hooters-like restaurant). I turned down the cocktail waitress gig but probably would have taken the Bone Daddy's gig if it were offered.
-I've held many, many stereotypes.
-I've asked to pet a blind person's seeing-eye dog, and what's worse, I actually thought it was friendly and affirming for me to do so.
-I've nurtured and flaunted stereotypically masculine skills and interests in order to look cool to guys.
-Although I wanted to play saxophone in 6th grade, I switched to clarinet because I guy I liked said he was going to play clarinet. As it turned out, he played saxophone.
-Related to above, I disdained clarinet as too girly and idolized saxophone as more guyish and cool.
-I had a vague fear of/disdain for rap and hip hop music.
And here is a short list of things I still do, although I'm not sure if I should:
-I defend Eminem's entire catalog of music, including his most misogynistic songs (although I'm still not sure what to make of his gay-bashing).
-I use the word "wifebeater" in reference to a tank top.
-I feel anxious about wearing sweatpants in front of my boyfriend, as if I will only be attractive when dolled up for the male gaze (and as if attractiveness is the most important virtue to have anyway).
-I buy most products without researching exactly what horrors I'm supporting with my money.
-I hold many, many stereotypes and am still not able to overcome them fully.
-I blog about what people should do, despite not knowing what I should do in many contexts.
But I don't want to remain silent just because I wasn't born with the ability to recognize and embody social justice 100% of the time. As I wrote in my first entry, I want to share my explorations in the hope that other readers and I will find a mutually educational forum. Still, I am painfully aware of how easy it is for me to sound sanctimonious. After all, I still don't know whether to forgive the Beastie Boys for their blatant and glorified misogyny, which they renounced decades ago! (And it complicates matters that "Girls" is such a catchy song.) So, returning to the title of this entry, how do I avoid sanctimony? Should I just shut up and let people make their own decisions without my unsolicited opinion? Am I right for being an instigator on Facebook among the very friends who have supported me and enabled me to think more critically about my own choices? Or can I find a better way to instigate, and to minimize the tone of self-righteousness that I'm afraid lingers on everything I say and write? Is it an inescapable personality flaw of mine? Is it forgivable; does the content hold despite the delivery? I fear this role and don't know how to play it gracefully.
At the root of all this concern for how to be a proper activist, there is shame for things I have said and done in the past. I began this entry as an attempt to own up to these past transgressions, to apologize for my sanctimony. But as I wrap it up, I realize that my bigger aim is to encourage readers to agitate and share their own opinions despite their own past mistakes. After all, if I'm not "allowed" to speak up because I've been wrong before, then logically others aren't "allowed" either...and that is definitely a faulty conclusion--the only way I've changed is by being educated by others. So I'll keep blogging about these things like the loudmouthed amateur that I am, as long as you all do the same in your own ways. Because god knows if I get to have a soapbox, so does everyone else.
Here is a short list of things I've done before that I am now embarrassed about:
-I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, and a server at Bone Daddy's (a Hooters-like restaurant). I turned down the cocktail waitress gig but probably would have taken the Bone Daddy's gig if it were offered.
-I've held many, many stereotypes.
-I've asked to pet a blind person's seeing-eye dog, and what's worse, I actually thought it was friendly and affirming for me to do so.
-I've nurtured and flaunted stereotypically masculine skills and interests in order to look cool to guys.
-Although I wanted to play saxophone in 6th grade, I switched to clarinet because I guy I liked said he was going to play clarinet. As it turned out, he played saxophone.
-Related to above, I disdained clarinet as too girly and idolized saxophone as more guyish and cool.
-I had a vague fear of/disdain for rap and hip hop music.
And here is a short list of things I still do, although I'm not sure if I should:
-I defend Eminem's entire catalog of music, including his most misogynistic songs (although I'm still not sure what to make of his gay-bashing).
-I use the word "wifebeater" in reference to a tank top.
-I feel anxious about wearing sweatpants in front of my boyfriend, as if I will only be attractive when dolled up for the male gaze (and as if attractiveness is the most important virtue to have anyway).
-I buy most products without researching exactly what horrors I'm supporting with my money.
-I hold many, many stereotypes and am still not able to overcome them fully.
-I blog about what people should do, despite not knowing what I should do in many contexts.
But I don't want to remain silent just because I wasn't born with the ability to recognize and embody social justice 100% of the time. As I wrote in my first entry, I want to share my explorations in the hope that other readers and I will find a mutually educational forum. Still, I am painfully aware of how easy it is for me to sound sanctimonious. After all, I still don't know whether to forgive the Beastie Boys for their blatant and glorified misogyny, which they renounced decades ago! (And it complicates matters that "Girls" is such a catchy song.) So, returning to the title of this entry, how do I avoid sanctimony? Should I just shut up and let people make their own decisions without my unsolicited opinion? Am I right for being an instigator on Facebook among the very friends who have supported me and enabled me to think more critically about my own choices? Or can I find a better way to instigate, and to minimize the tone of self-righteousness that I'm afraid lingers on everything I say and write? Is it an inescapable personality flaw of mine? Is it forgivable; does the content hold despite the delivery? I fear this role and don't know how to play it gracefully.
At the root of all this concern for how to be a proper activist, there is shame for things I have said and done in the past. I began this entry as an attempt to own up to these past transgressions, to apologize for my sanctimony. But as I wrap it up, I realize that my bigger aim is to encourage readers to agitate and share their own opinions despite their own past mistakes. After all, if I'm not "allowed" to speak up because I've been wrong before, then logically others aren't "allowed" either...and that is definitely a faulty conclusion--the only way I've changed is by being educated by others. So I'll keep blogging about these things like the loudmouthed amateur that I am, as long as you all do the same in your own ways. Because god knows if I get to have a soapbox, so does everyone else.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Overwhelmed
This is a post I have been wanting to write for a couple of years. It's a daunting task because the topic is tangled up in everything and I sincerely get overwhelmed just thinking about it, but I am going to try to chip away at it a little at a time. Here is the first strike of the chisel.
The topic is privilege. It is something I didn't devote any thought to for most of my life. Now I see it everywhere and think about it almost every day. I was first introduced to the concept of privilege when one of my grad school professors in 2008 assigned the article, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh. I had never thought about most of these things. It had never occurred to me that it might be a strange (invalidating) experience to grow up never seeing representatives of one's own race on prime-time television, or only seeing them in highly stereotyped roles. It never occurred to me that I can "misbehave" in public (bad manners, rowdy behavior, underdressed for an event, or whatever) without worrying that I am not representing my race favorably--or even worse, that people are attributing these traits to my race and not just myself and my own choices.
McIntosh explains it much more eloquently than I can here. But in essence, I have become a true believer in the reality of white privilege, f which I am a frequent beneficiary (despite being only half-white). If I wasn't sure after reading that article, I was certain after attending a talk by Tim Wise at a Baylor event in 2009. He gave a great talk on white privilege, and it doesn't hurt that he reflected on his years in New Orleans at Tulane (I once lived in New Orleans and it remains close to my heart).
Here is the debate as I see it. I call it equality versus reparations. There are those of us who believe that the scoreboard has been wiped clean, or will be any day now, and that all races are now starting from about the same point (no head starts), and so social policy and such should aim for equality. Then, there are those of us who believe that even today, decades after slavery and the state-based implementation of equal rights, even the poorest, most disadvantaged Caucasian still has a leg up over equally-qualified minorities in almost every situation. In other words, the playing board is STILL far from even, and any semblance of "equality" will have to come through reparations or advantages given to minorities.
I am now in the latter group.
This may well be the most liberal, "radical" belief I've ever held. And yes, I know that it may say some incriminating things about my upbringing if I consider this a radical concept. But it totally changed the way I look at the world. I now see all kinds of privilege everywhere:
* Male privilege: You can walk out of your house feeling fairly confident that you won't be bombarded with sexualized, objectifying images of your fellow men, being used to sell everything from cell phones to ad space to hair pomade (you know all those commercials implying that some hot stranger will rub against you like a cat in heat if you use the right hair stuff). I don't have this privilege.
* Female privilege: I can play and roughhouse with small children, even children I hardly know, without people thinking I'm strange or wondering if I'm gay or a pedophile. Men don't have this privilege.
* American privilege: I can enjoy knowing that I live in a country where everyone else in the world wants to be. (I know this isn't accurate but I'm trying to capture the feeling, not the exact stats.) I live within the pop culture (music, movies, clothes, etc.) that much of the world tries to emulate. If this is hard to grasp, I think it might be parallel to how the rest of the country looks upon New Yorkers. Sure, there are always naysayers and people who are content elsewhere, but I think it's agreed that New Yorkers are generally seen as glamorous and in the middle of "where it all happens."
I'm rambling now, but I'll wrap it up with this example of how much I have changed without realizing it. I was hanging out with a friend two months ago, and without thinking I remarked that she posted some racially insensitive things online. Although I didn't say anything like, "You're such a racist!" that is basically how she heard it, and I won't argue that point. She was offended and defensive, and I remember being surprised. I didn't realize that my interpretation of her postings would be considered quite an overreaction, and an inaccurate read on her racial beliefs to boot. She then sarcastically said something like, "I didn't realize that I was over here in a white robe, burning crosses."
I got two things out of that exchange, a reality check for myself and one for people I may encounter in the future. I realized that I have gotten more sensitive, more accusatory, and more self-righteous about the topic of race. There are some jokes I can't laugh at anymore, and other jokes that I laugh at but then feel horribly guilty about. I am learning more, and trying to stand up for what I believe in more, than I ever have. I hope that one day I can state my beliefs more eloquently, respectfully, and approachably. But for now I am going to have to get used to being considered a drag, stick in the mud, hypocrite, Judgy McJudgerson, or just plain deluded and mean and rude.
But the other reality check came in the form of a response to my friend's remark, albeit later and in my head: "Just because you're not in the KKK, that doesn't mean you're not racist." And that thought isn't even directed toward her, because we didn't even get that far in the conversation so I don't intimately know her feelings about race. But there ARE a lot of people who think that's enough--that if you are nice to people of other races, and don't use explicit slurs, and don't pitch a fit when your child dates interracially (and yes, don't burn crosses), that you are doing your part to eradicate racism. BUT THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. Understanding white privilege, and recognizing it when it happens, and perhaps even relinquishing it when you can, might be a good start. This is one of my big goals, and I will be writing about white privilege and other forms of privilege in future entries.
(The word "racist": I would say that I hold some racist views and exhibit some racist behaviors--I think we all do. Nonetheless, I know that it was hurtful to my friend when I implied that she is racist, and it just a testament to her forgiveness that she allowed the incident to pass fairly peacefully, and didn't freak out when I told her I'd be writing this entry. Thank you, friend.)
The topic is privilege. It is something I didn't devote any thought to for most of my life. Now I see it everywhere and think about it almost every day. I was first introduced to the concept of privilege when one of my grad school professors in 2008 assigned the article, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh. I had never thought about most of these things. It had never occurred to me that it might be a strange (invalidating) experience to grow up never seeing representatives of one's own race on prime-time television, or only seeing them in highly stereotyped roles. It never occurred to me that I can "misbehave" in public (bad manners, rowdy behavior, underdressed for an event, or whatever) without worrying that I am not representing my race favorably--or even worse, that people are attributing these traits to my race and not just myself and my own choices.
McIntosh explains it much more eloquently than I can here. But in essence, I have become a true believer in the reality of white privilege, f which I am a frequent beneficiary (despite being only half-white). If I wasn't sure after reading that article, I was certain after attending a talk by Tim Wise at a Baylor event in 2009. He gave a great talk on white privilege, and it doesn't hurt that he reflected on his years in New Orleans at Tulane (I once lived in New Orleans and it remains close to my heart).
Here is the debate as I see it. I call it equality versus reparations. There are those of us who believe that the scoreboard has been wiped clean, or will be any day now, and that all races are now starting from about the same point (no head starts), and so social policy and such should aim for equality. Then, there are those of us who believe that even today, decades after slavery and the state-based implementation of equal rights, even the poorest, most disadvantaged Caucasian still has a leg up over equally-qualified minorities in almost every situation. In other words, the playing board is STILL far from even, and any semblance of "equality" will have to come through reparations or advantages given to minorities.
I am now in the latter group.
This may well be the most liberal, "radical" belief I've ever held. And yes, I know that it may say some incriminating things about my upbringing if I consider this a radical concept. But it totally changed the way I look at the world. I now see all kinds of privilege everywhere:
* Male privilege: You can walk out of your house feeling fairly confident that you won't be bombarded with sexualized, objectifying images of your fellow men, being used to sell everything from cell phones to ad space to hair pomade (you know all those commercials implying that some hot stranger will rub against you like a cat in heat if you use the right hair stuff). I don't have this privilege.
* Female privilege: I can play and roughhouse with small children, even children I hardly know, without people thinking I'm strange or wondering if I'm gay or a pedophile. Men don't have this privilege.
* American privilege: I can enjoy knowing that I live in a country where everyone else in the world wants to be. (I know this isn't accurate but I'm trying to capture the feeling, not the exact stats.) I live within the pop culture (music, movies, clothes, etc.) that much of the world tries to emulate. If this is hard to grasp, I think it might be parallel to how the rest of the country looks upon New Yorkers. Sure, there are always naysayers and people who are content elsewhere, but I think it's agreed that New Yorkers are generally seen as glamorous and in the middle of "where it all happens."
I'm rambling now, but I'll wrap it up with this example of how much I have changed without realizing it. I was hanging out with a friend two months ago, and without thinking I remarked that she posted some racially insensitive things online. Although I didn't say anything like, "You're such a racist!" that is basically how she heard it, and I won't argue that point. She was offended and defensive, and I remember being surprised. I didn't realize that my interpretation of her postings would be considered quite an overreaction, and an inaccurate read on her racial beliefs to boot. She then sarcastically said something like, "I didn't realize that I was over here in a white robe, burning crosses."
I got two things out of that exchange, a reality check for myself and one for people I may encounter in the future. I realized that I have gotten more sensitive, more accusatory, and more self-righteous about the topic of race. There are some jokes I can't laugh at anymore, and other jokes that I laugh at but then feel horribly guilty about. I am learning more, and trying to stand up for what I believe in more, than I ever have. I hope that one day I can state my beliefs more eloquently, respectfully, and approachably. But for now I am going to have to get used to being considered a drag, stick in the mud, hypocrite, Judgy McJudgerson, or just plain deluded and mean and rude.
But the other reality check came in the form of a response to my friend's remark, albeit later and in my head: "Just because you're not in the KKK, that doesn't mean you're not racist." And that thought isn't even directed toward her, because we didn't even get that far in the conversation so I don't intimately know her feelings about race. But there ARE a lot of people who think that's enough--that if you are nice to people of other races, and don't use explicit slurs, and don't pitch a fit when your child dates interracially (and yes, don't burn crosses), that you are doing your part to eradicate racism. BUT THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. Understanding white privilege, and recognizing it when it happens, and perhaps even relinquishing it when you can, might be a good start. This is one of my big goals, and I will be writing about white privilege and other forms of privilege in future entries.
(The word "racist": I would say that I hold some racist views and exhibit some racist behaviors--I think we all do. Nonetheless, I know that it was hurtful to my friend when I implied that she is racist, and it just a testament to her forgiveness that she allowed the incident to pass fairly peacefully, and didn't freak out when I told her I'd be writing this entry. Thank you, friend.)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Let's be friends (but first, you need a lobotomy)
I’m a liberal. So, naturally, I find all forms of conservatism to be deeply offensive, including but not limited to discrimination, homophobia, warmongering, anti-scientific attitudes, and free market circle-jerks.
If you were to prime my consciousness with the word ‘conservatism’ and hardwire my brain to a dot matrix printer (it seems only obsolete hardware is compatible with my operating system) my stream-of-consciousness would read something like this: cruel, aggressive, vindictive, myopic, paternalistic, authoritarian, xenophobic, medieval, anal-retentive, and, yes, I think the most destructive things in the history of education were, in no particular order, Bush, Bush, and people who barely graduated from high school but thought they should run for national office and manage education policy and were named George W. Bush.
But you’d be surprised to know that I don’t think we should throw every conservative into the deepest hole we can find (unless, of course, the conservative in question is guilty of illegally wiretapping American citizens, torturing prisoners of war, and lying their way into a multi-billion-dollar quagmire, in which case I’ll settle for an eight-by-six cell with bimonthly visitations and a television tuned invariably to Hardball with Chris Matthews). Why so generous?, you ask. Well – and this may be an uninspiring excuse, but it’s true nonetheless – it’s because I, too, was once a conservative.
I know, I know. It’d be so much easier to claim that Republicans, Tea Partiers, and Ayn Rand devotees are inherently evil, label myself a born-again liberal who was saved by the grace of his gradually maturing frontal lobes, and devote myself to proselytizing my revealed and unimpeachable Truth. But come on, what rational and open-minded person does that kind of stuff, anyway? Hell, it’s not like I’d be rewarded with an unlimited supply of sky cake for my efforts.
Not only am I trying to avoid the legacy of Biggest Asshole Who Ever Lived, but I also know that many conservatives are incredibly decent people. In fact, I’ve met some very intelligent, fair, and compassionate people who voted for Bush, claim that No Child Left Behind provides the accountability that our floundering school districts need, and believe that Glenn Beck is the second coming of Christ (okay, the last one’s an exaggeration on my part, but I’m sure even those folks aren’t so bad).
So, knowing that good people can believe some incredibly stupid, cruel, and Troglodytic things, I’ve always been curious about what sets people like me (circa 2011) apart from people like me (circa 2000). There are likely some fundamental and intrinsic differences between liberals and conservatives, differences that would predispose people to one orientation or the other. Some research has proposed conservatives are more cognitively rigid, have a lower tolerance for ambiguity, and are relatively more preoccupied by thoughts of their (inevitable/unpreventable/irreversible) death.
I fit at least two of the three of qualities listed above (I’ll leave you guessing as to which ones), so I may be able to explain at least part of my wayward youth (which complements the tried-but-sometimes-did-inhale part). But whether or not this research stands the test of time, there will be more of it, and eventually we’ll have better ideas about the origins of our (often idiotic) beliefs. So, whenever I celebrate a study that reveals how conservatives are reflexively moralistic, it’s not because I think conservatives are inferior or undeserving of respectful conversation – it’s because we’ll be one step closer to explaining why fat, bloviating bigots and divisive, hate-spewing lawn gnomes dominate the heart of an otherwise friendly America.
Monday, March 21, 2011
More on the Beckwith story: an email exchange
Well, this entry is a funny story. Kevin posted his own acerbic take on the Francis Beckwith/Baylor/sexuality forum incident below. I was all ready to post my own experience, wherein I emailed Dr. Beckwith with one big grievance and he responded in quite a timely fashion with a noxious cloud of self-serving rhetoric (avoiding my question in the process). I was going to post my email and his response here, directly against his explicit wishes. However, before I hit "Publish," I gave it some thought.
In his email, he added a disclaimer that recipients "may not" publish any part of his private email without his consent. I was 99% at that moment that this disclaimer was flimsy and groundless. However, he had also added some point in his email about how "adults" conduct their disagreements, i.e. not through public dissection of private correspondence. Now, please understand that I think Dr. Beckwith is absolutely delighted to have any sort of audience for his incendiary (and logically questionable) ideas, regardless of what he puts in his disclaimers. However, I do concede that if I were to engage him through email, then turn around and post his response without even telling him, "Hey, I'm going to post your response publicly," it would look somewhat cowardly. So I emailed him and asked him for permission to post his email, adding, "I'm not convinced that your permission is actually required." He refused, with quite a saccharine tone. He also reiterated that permission is required. Heh. Suuuuuure.
Meanwhile, I spoke with a labmate who is familiar with Dr. Beckwith and confirmed my suspicion that Beckwith is just a big ol' attention whore who loves to start shit with people. This was my hunch after his first reply, wherein he responded carefully to the accusatory email of a peon like me, while wagging his finger in my face about not publicizing his words. Someone who truly wanted to maintain privacy would have ignored my email altogether or (much more improbable but still a solution) sought me out by phone or in person to share his rebuttal. I mean, he has no idea who I am but probably knows enough to realize that my opinion is inconsequential to his position, and that he has no reason to take me seriously. He also never acknowledges that he is knowingly making himself vulnerable to breach of privacy by emailing me in the first place! The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
In the end, it's probably better that I just keep him muzzled (on this blog, anyway), by posting my own thoughts but refraining from spreading his words to a wider audience. However, I have the intention of seeking some legal input on the matter, just to educate myself. I've also sent him another email asking on what legal or university regulatory grounds am I not permitted to use his email without permission. Something tells me he hates not getting the last word, but who knows? Maybe he'll surprise me by ignoring me, a response much more befitting of someone who genuinely cares about keeping his private words private.
My email (I left in a spacing error that I made):
On 3/13/11 7:28 PM, Angela wrote:
Dr. Beckwith,
The most demoralizing part of the email you sent (which has been circulated on the Internet) is your fervent entreaty for others to recognize that your (and other Christians') theology is not chosen, but is rather inherited in"Scripture and Tradition." Did it not, for a single moment, occur to you that you are in the very same position as GLBT individuals who are subjected to the spurious, disenfranchising accusation that they "choose" the gender of those to whom they are romantically and sexually attracted?
I am very curious about where you stand on the question of whether or not sexual orientation is inherited or otherwise biologically determined. I would hope that you are at least knowledgeable about the empirical research on this question. However, regardless of whether or not you are informed on the scientific findings on the issue, it looks short-sighted and tone-deaf for you to use the "inherited, not chosen" argument for your theology when that same argument is widely ignored by Christians when applied to gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. If you feel so invalidated by this misconception about theology, why would you contribute to spreading the same misconception about sexuality?
In his email, he added a disclaimer that recipients "may not" publish any part of his private email without his consent. I was 99% at that moment that this disclaimer was flimsy and groundless. However, he had also added some point in his email about how "adults" conduct their disagreements, i.e. not through public dissection of private correspondence. Now, please understand that I think Dr. Beckwith is absolutely delighted to have any sort of audience for his incendiary (and logically questionable) ideas, regardless of what he puts in his disclaimers. However, I do concede that if I were to engage him through email, then turn around and post his response without even telling him, "Hey, I'm going to post your response publicly," it would look somewhat cowardly. So I emailed him and asked him for permission to post his email, adding, "I'm not convinced that your permission is actually required." He refused, with quite a saccharine tone. He also reiterated that permission is required. Heh. Suuuuuure.
Meanwhile, I spoke with a labmate who is familiar with Dr. Beckwith and confirmed my suspicion that Beckwith is just a big ol' attention whore who loves to start shit with people. This was my hunch after his first reply, wherein he responded carefully to the accusatory email of a peon like me, while wagging his finger in my face about not publicizing his words. Someone who truly wanted to maintain privacy would have ignored my email altogether or (much more improbable but still a solution) sought me out by phone or in person to share his rebuttal. I mean, he has no idea who I am but probably knows enough to realize that my opinion is inconsequential to his position, and that he has no reason to take me seriously. He also never acknowledges that he is knowingly making himself vulnerable to breach of privacy by emailing me in the first place! The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
In the end, it's probably better that I just keep him muzzled (on this blog, anyway), by posting my own thoughts but refraining from spreading his words to a wider audience. However, I have the intention of seeking some legal input on the matter, just to educate myself. I've also sent him another email asking on what legal or university regulatory grounds am I not permitted to use his email without permission. Something tells me he hates not getting the last word, but who knows? Maybe he'll surprise me by ignoring me, a response much more befitting of someone who genuinely cares about keeping his private words private.
My email (I left in a spacing error that I made):
On 3/13/11 7:28 PM, Angela wrote:
Dr. Beckwith,
The most demoralizing part of the email you sent (which has been circulated on the Internet) is your fervent entreaty for others to recognize that your (and other Christians') theology is not chosen, but is rather inherited in"Scripture and Tradition." Did it not, for a single moment, occur to you that you are in the very same position as GLBT individuals who are subjected to the spurious, disenfranchising accusation that they "choose" the gender of those to whom they are romantically and sexually attracted?
I am very curious about where you stand on the question of whether or not sexual orientation is inherited or otherwise biologically determined. I would hope that you are at least knowledgeable about the empirical research on this question. However, regardless of whether or not you are informed on the scientific findings on the issue, it looks short-sighted and tone-deaf for you to use the "inherited, not chosen" argument for your theology when that same argument is widely ignored by Christians when applied to gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. If you feel so invalidated by this misconception about theology, why would you contribute to spreading the same misconception about sexuality?
Hell is overrated
A blogger defends Hell as "perfect justice." I disagree.
Here's my comment:
I don't believe in Hell, but I also know that people who do believe in Hell have their own reasons for doing so. All I can do is share why people like me find the idea of Hell to be unnecessary for an ethical and rewarding life.
I don't have much use for Hell, not just because I feel it's "mean, cruel, and vindictive" - and eternal suffering most definitely is each of those things - but because it conflates revenge or punishment with justice. Justice is fundamentally about creating conditions in which everyone can thrive, regardless of their initial predispositions or life circumstances. Justice is the compassion to see beyond mistakes, imperfections, and "evil" and to help people who are acting against the wellbeing of others to develop a more compassionate lifestyle themselves. In a word, it's about growth, not destruction. I should say that I may be biased in this regard: I'm a therapist, and most of us believe that no suffering is good suffering, and that punishment is always ineffective for promoting ethical behavior in the long-run (and, believe it or not, there's science to back me up on this).
But I'm sure you and most other people who read this site are more interested in the theological repercussions of Hell, so it's essential that we address your claim that fundamentalist Christians are different from fundamentalist Muslims. The belief that evil (and those who practice it) will be punished with unimaginable suffering and eventual destruction is not very much different from the "justice" practiced by Islamic jihadists. You could argue that God, as creator of the universe, has every right to inflict such a penalty, while mere humans have no such right. But violence and destruction are violence and destruction, even if Revelation makes them sound poetic when distributed by the hand of God. While I definitely prefer violence in an afterlife that I don't believe will happen to suicide bombings in this life, the state of mind that underlies both orientations is essentially the same.
So, for those of us who are unsatisfied with Hell, I propose the opposite: eternal forgiveness. Forgiveness can transform people and mend relationships in a way that threats of eternal punishment cannot.
Here's my comment:
I don't believe in Hell, but I also know that people who do believe in Hell have their own reasons for doing so. All I can do is share why people like me find the idea of Hell to be unnecessary for an ethical and rewarding life.
I don't have much use for Hell, not just because I feel it's "mean, cruel, and vindictive" - and eternal suffering most definitely is each of those things - but because it conflates revenge or punishment with justice. Justice is fundamentally about creating conditions in which everyone can thrive, regardless of their initial predispositions or life circumstances. Justice is the compassion to see beyond mistakes, imperfections, and "evil" and to help people who are acting against the wellbeing of others to develop a more compassionate lifestyle themselves. In a word, it's about growth, not destruction. I should say that I may be biased in this regard: I'm a therapist, and most of us believe that no suffering is good suffering, and that punishment is always ineffective for promoting ethical behavior in the long-run (and, believe it or not, there's science to back me up on this).
But I'm sure you and most other people who read this site are more interested in the theological repercussions of Hell, so it's essential that we address your claim that fundamentalist Christians are different from fundamentalist Muslims. The belief that evil (and those who practice it) will be punished with unimaginable suffering and eventual destruction is not very much different from the "justice" practiced by Islamic jihadists. You could argue that God, as creator of the universe, has every right to inflict such a penalty, while mere humans have no such right. But violence and destruction are violence and destruction, even if Revelation makes them sound poetic when distributed by the hand of God. While I definitely prefer violence in an afterlife that I don't believe will happen to suicide bombings in this life, the state of mind that underlies both orientations is essentially the same.
So, for those of us who are unsatisfied with Hell, I propose the opposite: eternal forgiveness. Forgiveness can transform people and mend relationships in a way that threats of eternal punishment cannot.
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