Be Uncomfortable: How non-black Americans can start facilitating change
I’m dealing with the heart sickening feeling that many of you are also feeling while watching these events that put racism at the forefront of our collective consciousness, lassoing in those who don’t typically face racism as part of daily life. So many of my black friends are saying, don’t just repost these horrible acts and his name, GEORGE FLOYD. Do something that could make a difference, could incite justice or if anything, change perspective once and for all. I think there is some pause to consider before meaningful action is possible. There is a middle transit on the road to action. In between those stages is the hard, real and unsavory task of true self evaluation and critical thinking.
At the risk of sounding like a school girl with dreams of world peace while doodling horses in her notebook, I must say I truly believe change is possible — if we do the work.
What perplexes most people is the constant reminder that, yes, America, is constructed unfairly. Our history of oppression and institutional racism has undoubtedly birthed a system that feels vindicated when there are those who are punished. Or if not vindicated, then just really damn happy that there are some bad guys, because, gee, that must mean I’m a good guy.
Why is it so hard to swallow that yes, like any system born from a broken set of ideals, there is work to do here. The frustrations of so many of my white friends for example, are that they can’t do more to help. Or that they are feeling unwelcome in the conversation around change. What if someone points their finger at you and laughs because how could you even begin to understand. They don’t want to be ridiculed for protesting or for saying that #blacklivesmatter. There is a fundamental problem here, and that problem is well, it’s not really up to you how you are perceived. You don’t get to control that narrative.
This is a tough pill to swallow, but one that is important medicine to take. I’m not white and I’m not black. I’m an Asian American woman, who was born in Los Angeles and have undoubtedly benefited at some times from the system in place. I got an education and worked hard and for the most part am rewarded for that hard work. What I do think my background gives me is a particular way of feeling akin to “the other” or the outsider.
I, like many other children of immigrants, feel the twang of discomfort when it is clear I am being judged solely on my outward appearance and categorized as such. There is one grocery store in my neighborhood that I do not go to anymore, because I was consistently followed around by two security guards who must have been profiling Asian women for shoplifting. The first time it happened, I laughed. The second time it happened, I got irritated. By the third and fourth time, I got mad. And I can’t help but wonder — what if I were black? Would this be an underlining story in my life’s narrative?
In no way am I indicating my life’s experiences map to the experiences of a black man or woman in America. I simply feel like I have had the privilege of perspective. That in some way I can see how it might feel. Maybe sharing these thoughts will help another person with a multicultural background also access perspective.
I think about the occasional irritating experience at an airport or public terminal, a rare moment when stripped of my signaling accessories like a nice car or general awareness of my college degree. When I am shoved, my personal space unreasonably invaded, or had my things thrown at me and spoken to as if I had a hearing and comprehension problem (YOU! MISS LADY! MOVE!). What if this was my expectation and something I always had to worry about when I spoke to a police officer?
Or when I sat waiting for a table at the local sushi restaurant and customers (in this instance, white) asked me about their reservations? Or the deeply terrifying fear that in some public area someone will single me out and go on a racist tirade about how the Chinese should go back to where they came from because they are responsible for spreading Covid 19.
No matter how much I build my own identity, in one signifying moment, that can all be stripped away by a remark or an off look. I can feel deeply to the core that I am this complicated human spirit with hopes and dreams and preferences, but truly am I nothing more than what someone else will construct in their minds after two glances, if that?
It’s not pleasant to consider how unfair this life can be. I explained it to one of my dearest of friends who happens to be white. It’s a little bit like you walk into a house where a 6’5” man lives and all the countertops and cabinets have been custom made for his size, his hand shape, his reach. That’s what it comes down to. Our country has been customized for one type of person. So let’s just accept that. Don’t be defensive. Do some hard work, which starts with thinking about how you fit into this system and how you might be at times deeply criticized no matter what you do. Have some tough conversations that leave you exposed. It’s your responsibility to weather that storm. Ask yourself — do I have black friends? visit black establishments? support black entrepreneurs and their ideas? Do my children have black friends? read black novelists? have awareness of African American foodways?
Your discomfort is change. My discomfort is change. I’m sorry if that is upsetting. But if you want to make a difference, you have to accept that. The awkwardness you feel, that is necessary and it is a part of your contribution. So please take it seriously. Don’t retreat into a blissful state of ignorance because it’s what you’ve always known. Yes, someone might point at you and laugh as you fumble towards evolving. That person might be black or that person might be white. Or Asian American, Latinx, or young or elderly. It could be your own family or your loved ones or people you will never meet.
So what. Be uncomfortable.
