When I hear someone ask “why does it always have to be about race,” it’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. It’s usually followed by something like “we’re all human / I don’t see color / we’re all the same on the inside” or some other well-meaning phrase. Seeing as I have a platform (this blog), and I have friends from ALL walks of life, I feel like I might be able to bridge the gap of (mis)understanding.
I’m going to tell you a story to help explain my annoyance. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, and, because I haven’t asked their permission to share it. It’s all for a greater good though, so I’m sure they’ll understand. 🙂
I have a good friend who I’ll call Pete. If someone would’ve told me 15 years ago that Pete and I would become close friends, I would’ve laughed in their face. On the surface, you’d think Pete and I have very little in common, but it didn’t take us long to see we actually have a lot in common. So much so that I proudly call him my brother (and his mother ‘mom’).
Pete is married to Sharon, and they’re both as white as the day is long. They are salt of the earth, genuinely good people, who would both give me the shirt off their backs if I needed one. I can actually see Sharon, shirtless, standing tall, shoulders back, shamelessly shouting “stop staring, I’m helping a friend!”
We’ve spent a lot of time together, Pete, Sharon, and a few others, doing everything from watching movies, enjoying a meal, shopping, exercising, and even traveling, They have been there for me more times than I can say, and I have been very thankful for their friendship over the years.
One day I was sharing a story with Pete about an experience I’d had visiting a winery here in Tennessee. This visit, which I was SUPER excited about because I LOVED their wines, was less than stellar. The racism that my family and a good friend of ours experienced was so blatantly obvious, my kids picked up on it before I did. And I haven’t bought their wine since. After I shared the details of the story with Pete, he looked me in the eye and asked, “are you sure you weren’t looking for it?” ‘It’ being racism.
Not only was I taken aback, I was hurt and pissed off, all at the same time. Pete and I have known each other for YEARS, and for him to question me like that almost made me question our entire friendship. I wanted to scream ‘dude, you know me, why would you even ask me that?’ Instead, I calmly assured him I was not. And, with what I felt was a hint of disbelief, he shook his head, told me it wasn’t right, and we left the conversation there.
That wasn’t the first time I’ve gotten that kind of reaction from a person who isn’t of color, to a story about racism or discrimination. And it’s the reason why I rarely share those kinds of stories with people who aren’t of color. I shouldn’t have to justify myself to someone who knows me, because they should already know I don’t go looking for it. But I also have enough emotional intelligence to understand that when people react this way, it’s usually out of genuine ignorance. I’d like to try to teach those folks something today.
Fast forward a few years. I’d planned a trip to New Orleans with some friends, to include Pete and Sharon, and another good friend of mine who lives in a different state. I’ll call her Pam. Pam is black. None of them had ever been to New Orleans, so I took great pleasure in planning the trip and showing them around the city.
On this day, we were strolling down Royal Street, ducking in and out shops as we’d spot things of interest through the display windows. We were hanging out together, but from the outside looking in, you wouldn’t think we were together because we weren’t walking together as a group. There are SO many great shops on Royal Street that it’s easy for a group to separate and seem, well, less group-y. Yes I just made that word up, roll with it please.
We’d all stopped in one store, and then split into pairs as Pam and I decided to cross the street to an art gallery, where a painting had caught Pam’s eye. We let Pete and Sharon know we were leaving, and they responded that they were almost finished looking around and they’d be over shortly. And sure enough, they did come along right behind us. Not close enough to appear as if we were all together, but close enough to make the following observation.
When Pam and I walked into the gallery, we were not greeted. Even after we said hello. In fact, the clerk, who was white, didn’t even bother to acknowledge our existence. She continued to do exactly what she’d been doing, which was nothing. Let me make this as clear as I can. There weren’t any other customers in the store, she wasn’t on the phone, on a computer, reading, or completing paperwork.
Her lack of hospitality didn’t deter us though, as we continued to browse while Pam contemplated whether she wanted to spend the cash for the painting she’d seen. It had a sizable price tag on it, and even though it was beautiful and well within her means, she’s cheap.
Pete and Sharon, who’d been hovering in the doorway, briefly chatting about something, finally came inside. And the clerk immediately perked up and gave them one of the warmest, grandest New Orleans welcomes I’ve ever seen. She asked them if they needed any help, and if they were looking for anything specific. And it was at that moment that it clicked for Pete. He noticed the difference in how he and Sharon were treated, and how Pam and I were treated. The woman chatted up Pete and Sharon the entire time they were in the store, and still had not said one word to me or Pam. She never even bothered to look our way.
After we finished browsing, Pam and I left, continuing on to the next store. We were unaffected, because this is a typical experience for us. We run across these types of exchanges, together and individually, on a regular. But instead of reacting and getting all in our feelings, we simply find other places to spend our money.
Once Pete caught up with us, he blew up. “What the hell was that? That woman acted like you guys didn’t even exist! What kind of crap is that?” In that moment, he felt the same type of rage that people of color have had to manage all of their lives. He’d just gotten a mere glimpse of the type of experiences we have all the time. Finally, my good friend of many years got it.
The beauty in this story, if there’s any to be found, is that I didn’t have to point out what was happening. Pete picked up on it all on his own, through the power of observation. He saw firsthand that we weren’t “looking for it,” and there was nothing about us or our actions that triggered the woman’s behavior. In that moment, I felt validated. He’s since developed a better understanding of what it’s like for me and the skin I’m in.
The less obvious problem with this situation is this. The pieces in that gallery are on consignment. The clerk’s actions not only affected us, they affected the artist, who missed out on a sale. The asking price for that painting, I can assure you, would’ve covered someone’s rent, or car payment, or a few bills. The actions of one can affect many.
When people ask why it always has to be about race, sometimes as if they’re seemingly exasperated by it, I want to shout because that is my experience. If you’re tired of hearing about it, imagine how tired we are of experiencing it. I’m not wearing a costume that I can remove when I get tired of being mistreated for something I have no control over. I’m black 24/7/365.
I don’t walk around with a chip on my shoulder, like a stereotypical ‘angry black woman,’ looking for racism everywhere I go. How exhausting would that be! However, I do encounter racism all the time. Most of the time, like Pam and I did that day, I ignore it and go about my business. If I reacted every time I encountered racism, I’d be extremely tired.
As much as you may believe in the golden rule of treat other people as you would like to be treated, as much as you may insist that you see people as people and not what race, color, creed, or religion they are, not all people do. Not all people are like you.
Until you see it for yourself, like Pete, you cannot comprehend what it feels like to go through what we go through. You cannot possibly know what it’s like to be a person of color. So please, stop asking people of color why it always has to be about race. When you do this, it’s as if you’re discounting our experiences.
Attempting to bridge the gap,
Angela
**In case you’re wondering, Pam found another painting at a different gallery, where we were treated as valued customers. Also, this clerk is not representative of New Orleans as a whole. The city is a melting pot full of weird, wonderful, fun, friendly people. And if you’ve never been, I highly recommend adding it to your bucket list.**