Guarded.

Trayvon Martin's tragic death makes me feel a sick resignation and a nauseating sense of hopelessness. Just seems that every day a disgusting new, but old, injustice is being perpetrated within or outside of this country relative to our collective "justice" aims (.e.g the racist, so-called "war on terror").  And with the exception of a few golden pals, I can't even be bothered much with getting into conversations with White people around me about any of this shit. 

I'm a Latina by self-identification. By blood heritage, I'm Cherokee Indian, Apache-Mexican Indian, and Dutch. By social construct, half of my family is Mexican/Hispanic/Latino, the other half is White/Caucasian. I was raised by an educated White father and him alone. Up until I moved to Pennsylvania (in 11th grade), I went to highly diverse schools - in fact, schools where I believe minorities were actually the majority. I went to school with a lot of Black people and have some good friends that are Black with whom I have talked about race. Even so, I find that since I've become a Mom to a Black son I have been so focused on race in the past 4 years such that I've undergone a psychological evolution, a veritable psychological makeover. You can't really truly step outside of a privileged bubble, but the lens through which you see the world can change in refraction such that your view encompasses a more dynamic, detailed perspective. Where I am now at, in my social perspective, was largely incidental to the research and education I undertook learning how to try to be the best transracial adoptive Mom I could be. 

In a blog post a while back (on September 23, 2011), I wrote something like the following: I remember a time I didn't wake up every morning and see racism everywhere - why? because I was a privileged asshole that didn't have to see it, that's why. I'm still privileged, just hopefully less of an asshole. Most White people inexcusably don't get it - entrenched, systemic racism - because 1.) they don't experience it, 2.) they aren't educated about it and 3.) they have no compelling reason, generally, to recognize it. (Yes, I know racism and/or discrimination can come from anybody and be directed towards anyone for any number reasons. But let's get real and not-irrationally simplify, White people, as an isolated demographic subset (less specific than say female White people or gay White men), enjoy the most privilege in this country and have the least incentive to recognize and thus oppose racism. Since generally White people don't have any reason to see racism, it's easy enough for them to deny its existence. Add to that that too many White peeps don't want to see racism. 

I had a reason to put on a new pair of glasses: My son. And when that transition happened, when seeing racism became a matter of undeniable, stark relief, at which definitive point I couldn't begin to determine exactly, there was no going back. These days, I assume most people are racist, or at least race ignorant, until I glean evidence to the contrary. As opposed to waiting for evidence that someone is racist and trusting at the outset that they are not only to be shocked and dismayed to find out they are and only to have to do damage control to my son's self-esteem after finding out.  Which is why I guess I can say I've reached a point where hanging around groups of White people, given the likelihood of their racism / race ignorance, doesn't much appeal to me. Also, because I don't want to get in those conversations, its absolutely exasperating. Can you imagine how Black people must feel? They don't want to have to walk around their whole lives always educating "other" people about racism, its a huge burden. Not that they have a choice necessarily.  But if I were Black, I'd live in a Black enclave to minimize this grave, unjust annoyance. 

Mostly I hang out with people who get it.  The White friends I have are smart people who do or can recognize privilege disparity, who know something about systemic racism, who don't utter ignorant comments based on people's skin color or cultural heritage. I wouldn't have it any other way. Literally. If you are a racist, no thanks. In a perfect world I'd have the time to try to deconstruct would-be-close friends' privileged upbringing or rehabilitate their impoverished views, but I don't have the time and increasingly I don't have the desire. I just want to hang around people who don't pose a threat of stupidity around my son. And that's where I begin to justify not trying to "educate" my White friends on Facebook or elsewhere. Armchair activism is only so good anyway. We can all sit behind a key board and pontificate. Also, I don't even think I have White friends on Facebook or elsewhere that need educating because I've pretty much systematically eliminated those kinds of people from my life overall. 

I know, I sound like an elitist asshole. Oh well.  Here's the deal: As far as my personal aims, there is the concomitant larger objective of trying to make the world a better, more equitable place for everyone. And then there is the most important thing to me, raising my son in a way that I hope will drastically minimize identity-trauma. Yes, racism is out there. Yes, I've already begun talking to him about it. Yes, as a Black boy/man he will be faced with it and will need coping and survival skills. But I don't want to needlessly expose him to stupidity and racism.  While I will and do engage in social justice activities, I'm a Mom to a 4 year old and I work full time.  So mainly I focus on my son.

Think about this as a paradigm: Everyone and anyone can be racist. White people have historically been oppressors, segregators/segregationists and racists. Thus, White people are more likely to be actively racist than other groups of people or to be as actively racist as the most racist people out there. 

The more exposure a Black person has to White people, the more likely that Black person will experience racism. A Black kid that grows up with a non-Black parent will be exposed to more White people than a Black kid that grows up with Black parents.  Ergo, a Black kid that grows up with a non-Black parent will likely be exposed to more racism than a Black kid that grows up with Black parents.  [You can characterize this differently or look at it from a less linear perspective.  And you can extrapolate from it many things, such as:  The racism to which a Black kid that grows up with a non-Black parent is exposed to is artificially over-inflated. Artificially because the family itself is a product not of natural blood-lineage.  It is a family constructed by society, not by biology.]

So, I want to minimize my son's relative overexposure to racism that results from the fact that I am not a Black parent.  So I want to minimize his exposure to White people.

I don't want to be around a lot of White people.   With some or many of whom, undoubtedly, I would have to get into heated arguments about Trayvon Martin's death. I have actually not even been tempted to get into any argument with anyone about Trayvon Martin's death because ALL of my friends think the same thing about it that I do:  He was killed by a racist because he was Black and the context itself, guns, the Fla laws, everything, is all fucked up.  It's therefore unlikely I will be getting into any arguments with anyone about Trayvon Martin's death. As far as my family, we are splintered and I hardly see them because they live so far away. All of them live so far away, every last one. Which is both lamentable and a serious reason for celebration. My son doesn't have a lot of family around, sadly. Yet, family functions where Uncle So-and-So blurts out some stupid shit about race in front of my son is not going to happen. Except maybe once every seven years, if that. 

It results that I judge White people insomuch as I am guarded around them because the likelihood that they will be race-knowledge-equipped around my son is pretty pathetically low. Call me racist.  My Black boyfriend calls me racist. He says I am more racist toward White people than he is. I am half White, with a White father I adore, and am more racist toward White people than is my Black boyfriend. Digest that one! I call it "Mama Bear Protective". Call it what you want.  I think I kind of understand how Black Moms feel though. Kind of. A little. 

Speaking of judging people based on race, a funny thing happened yesterday. My son and I walked to the bank. On the way in, I saw these White people dressed in dark clothes sitting on the bench in front of the bank. One of them was this man wearing a black wife-beater with like a Metallica symbol on it or some such.  He sported a shaved head and a tattoo on his arm. I immediately judged him as a potential threatening figure and I pulled my son closer to me before we walked into the bank. 

We stood in line at the bank.  In front of us was a middle-aged, tall White woman also wearing a black tank top. A ring through her nose. I considered that she might be with those people on the bench outside and immediately decided that I wanted nothing to do with her. While I was talking gingerly to my son she kept looking back at us. After all, we are a moderately conspicuous pair.  I tried to ignore her and posture my body in a not-interested-in-conversing-with-you manner. My son sat down in a chair and started looking at a newspaper. The lady commented to me, "Is he finding which stocks to invest in?" I issued a fake chuckle and mumbled something quasi-pleasant. Then, I was holding my son in my arms and he asked me why there was a camera in the bank. 

Is it because they don't want people stealing money? 

"Yes, I think so, my love," I replied. 

The lady in front of us turned, smiled and said, See those toys behind the window they probably don't want anyone stealing the toys either! Which of course was a sure fire way to draw my son into conversation. We politely entertained her for a quarter of a second before I equally-as-politely tried to squeeze her out of the conversation I was having with MY son. 

I told my son, "Hiwot isn't here." 

Who? 

"Hiwot, the Ethiopian woman who works here. She isn't here today. She's probably enjoying her Saturday."

"He looks totally Ethiopian," said the lady in front of us with a kind smile. 

With half resignation and half sincerity, I smiled at her. "Yes, he does," I said proudly and emphatically. 

"I lived in Ethiopia for three years," she offered. "My Dad was in development." 

I suddenly softened.  With those few words she laid waste to the wall I had immediately erected between her and I .

I almost missed out on meeting a woman with an interesting experience who had an affinity for us because my son is Ethiopian.  That sucks.  And while it makes me reconsider judging a book by its cover, I continue to feel more strongly about protecting my son and his experiences and his identity than I feel a desire to actively reform my race-based lack of desire to be around White people.