Institutional Racism

Color Blind: The Virtues and Pitfalls of Cross-Racial Casting, Part I

Last night, I decided to finally succumb to the buzz, and watched the new Netflix show, Bridgerton. All that I knew about the show was that it is set during the Regency period and that it was quite steamy…i.e. lots of nudity and sex scenes. I have always somewhat reluctantly enjoyed Jane Austen, and the novels she set during that era, so I figured I might enjoy this new show as well. And it is well-crafted. And easily addictive. I found it begrudgingly satisfying in the way all guilty pleasures are. To some, that’s watching trashy reality television. For me, it’s apparently binging on Regency soft-core porn. 😉

Like Austen, writer Julia Quinn invents a protagonist who is a headstrong and stifled young woman whose sense of fierce self-determination is seemingly at odds with her predestined station in life and the established mores of the age. As you might expect, she wants to find love and true companionship, but being a young landed woman of a certain age, must also find a husband as soon as possible. In Bridgerton, the young protagonist’s name is Daphne, and her older brother (Anthony), is bound and determined to find her a suitable match. In this case, the eldest brother is overly picky and cannot bring himself to approve of any of her would-be suitors.

Enter the newly-minted Duke of Hastings. He is an old college friend of Anthony’s and dutifully mannered, classically handsome, exquisitely dressed, and obviously, London’s most eligible bachelor.

And Black.

Wait. What?

If this film were being made in the late ’60s, it would be called Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? That classic movie stars Sydney Poitier as Dr. John Prentice, the Black fiancé to a young (headstrong and free-thinking) white woman named Joanna, who brings him home to progressive San Francisco to meet her otherwise liberal parents – played by Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn. In that film, the lefty white couple’s attitudes are challenged when their daughter introduces them to her African-American fiancé – a doctor, no less – and their true veneer and liberal hypocrisy and is exposed for all that it is. The movie was of its age, and at the same time, also timeless and far-sighted. You might even say, ahead of its time. How are we still having these conversations nearly 55 years later?

In 2017, visionary actor, writer, director, and producer Jordan Peele completely turned Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? on its head, and injected horror and menace into the premise, mixed genres and allusions in a lovely postmodern pastiche, and produced Get Out. In doing so, he effectively created his own genre of film – social justice horror. Or Racial Thriller. Or whatever film historians will ultimately call it. Essentially, it is a movie about relationships between white America and Black America, and the horror that can arise out of the collision of those two forces…particularly to African Americans, who have been historically abused, maligned, oppressed, and traumatized by systemic racism in this country for over 400 years. This racism is systemic because it underlies EVERY institution in America, from our criminal justice system to housing market to education system to…well…EVERYTHING. But in these films, that racism translates to real people, whose relationships are not merely transactional, but rooted in a deep-seated racism that permeates our very words, thoughts, and actions. The true horror is that we (WHITE AMERICA) are finally seeing what Black Americans have lived in this country since they were first brought over in chains. Peele’s film arrived just three years before the George Floyd murder and subsequent Black Lives Matter summer of protests, but it wasn’t necessarily prescient. Because as a Black man, Peele had already lived this reality his entire life, as every African American has for centuries. It was merely that white America was finally seeing the cell phone videos for the first time. Those images have undoubtedly been imprinted on Black peoples’ minds for generations. OUR eyes have opened, not THEIRS. And yet, if you look at the number of people who reject BLM or deny the existence of racially-motivated police brutality, it seems that only a half of white America have opened their eyes. There is still a LOT of work to do. And that is why there is nothing more urgent or timely than the work Jordan Peele is producing right now.

But what does any of this have to do with Bridgerton and my enjoyment of this light-hearted romp through Regency England?

TO BE CONTINUED…

To Belittle is to Be Little: Mansplaining & Our Words of Oppression

So my mom was just telling me about a man she knows who sometimes talks to her like she was stupid and says sexist things from time to time. I quickly responded that he was “mansplaining” to her. She had never heard that expression. I then proceeded to explain it to her, while also being hyper-aware and vigilant about not doing the very thing I was preaching against.

I realized that this kind of hyper-vigilance is exactly what we all need to practice every day and in every circumstance. No matter who we’re talking to – friend, family, or foe. It’s not about political correctness. It’s about basic human decency and respect. We should always be able to disagree, but it’s about how we do so.

I honestly think half the problems in this world aren’t necessarily caused by WHAT we say to each other and what we disagree about, but HOW we say it. How we talk to each other matters. It should be discourse built on an unspoken agreement of respect and civility. It’s about empathy.

The next time I talk to a woman, or a child, or a minority, or someone perhaps less formally educated- but no less intelligent, or ANYONE, I hope I remember what I learned today: words matter. Charity begins at home, and the way we talk to each other is the first step towards truly listening. And that’s where true compromise lies.

How Liberal White America May Be the Most Complicit in Perpetuating Racism & Deflecting Its Own Ugly Role

“This is the country we live in. Millions of Black lives are valued less than a single White person’s hurt feelings.”

When I was teaching my first year in the inner city, I was like the only white teacher, and in fact, one of only a handful of white employees of this school for at-risk kids, where all the students were black. One week, we were told we’d all be receiving racial sensitivity training — presumably directed at us white teachers, who needed to learn how to navigate a very different culture than the one we knew. I was very receptive, and welcomed any help I could get. It was a very rigorous two days, and very emotional, and it was the first time I had ever heard the words ‘Institutional Racism’ or ‘White privilege’ before. It was all so overwhelming, and a bit disorienting. Everything I thought I knew about how the world worked had been upended quite shockingly. After all, I was a proud liberal Yankee, and felt very strongly about racism and equality for all Americans. I deplored racism, and couldn’t possibly see that I had any role in its existence. Near the end of day two, we were all so exhausted and frazzled, and were asked to pair up. I got matched with this grumpy and miserable black secretary, whom I had always tried to be nice to, but just never got anywhere. In an epic and climactic finish, we all sort of extemporaneously aired our dirty laundry, and by this time, I was crying and fragile, and I just came out and admitted that I too, was a racist, and as much a part of the problem as I was the solution. I had broken down, and confessed this horrifying secret, and rather than compassion or understanding, this woman shook her head in disgust, and muttered epithets under her breath. I felt betrayed, and she made me feel like the worst person on the planet for doing something I thought was rather brave and honest.

What did I want a medal for most valuable white guy hurt feelings?

In the days that followed, and the years that have since passed, I recognize how valuable that lesson was for me. Although it was painful and humiliating to put myself out there like that, and get so harshly rebuked, I think we all need to break a few eggs before we can make an omelet we all can enjoy. I don’t hate all black people because that ONE misanthropic black woman showed me no mercy when I needed it the most, just as I would hope I don’t represent the whole of my race.

I don’t have to have personally owned slaves or trafficked in the contemptible institution, but I do benefit from it. Over 150 years later, and I still operate freely in a world built for ME! The laws we abide by, the narrative we choose to spin, the iconography of black (evil) and white (good) that permeates our story, the very way our city blocks are laid out, public transportation is organized, the schools teach to a white learner, and perhaps the most insidious of all….the very language that we use in everyday parlance. ALL of it is skewed towards white privilege. Institutional racism is not the evil confederate flag waving, cross-burning hillbillies from Dixie. We know about them. They’ve never been shy to express their vitriol. It”s ironically the very kindness of friends which often hurts the most. These are the nice and respectable husband and wife academics from Westchester, who annually donate to the NAACP and the United Negro College Fund, while holding onto their college days at Berkley, and their many Civil Rights marches. It’s the most well-intentioned of us, who often don’t even realize our own culpability in perpetuating the system.

That’s not meant to demonize white males or give a free pass to all unguided black youth. It’s just to recognize that there is an unseen system at work, reliably stacking the deck for the hegemony, while covertly or overtly suppressing the hopes and aspirations of the people of color in this country. It doesn’t mean that the good old ‘American Dream’ can’t work for people of their stature, it just means that we’re not all taking off from the same starting line. White males have already made three full laps, and minorities are just warming up. Have no illusions: this race was rigged for just ONE race.