It's Black, It's White

"You've got to be a little bit more careful, when you talk about the sensitive subject of race."
Everyone's a little bit racist ~ Avenue Q

"I'd like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony! I'd like to hold it in my arms, and keep it company"
I'd like to buy the world a Coke ~ 1970s Coca Cola Commercial


I never realized I was white, until I came to this particular school. Obviously, I was aware of the fact that I had white skin (or pink, or tan, or something in between), but I never thought of myself as a "white woman". I suppose you could argue that makes me obtuse, but I'm more inclined to believe that that's just how it is for white people. In the US, white is the norm, and therefore does not require awareness, while anything else is called "ethnic", is considered an exception, and thus entails a greater awareness.

For the past four years, this is how I start our class discussion on race in my course on ethnic minorities in the media. I never really planned this little speech, but four years ago, when I first taught this class, and asked my students to define "race", I realized how awkward this situation could be. I mean, here I was, the only white professor in our department, teaching the one class that talks about the representation of African Americans in the media. Now it never actually was awkward. At least not for me, as I knew very well that the reason I was teaching this class was that I am the only professor in our department who can say anything sensible about race and media. The fact that I happen to be the only white professor is irrelevant. To me, anyway. But standing there, in 2008, in front of 28 African American students who had all consciously elected to attend an HBCU, I suddenly realized how to them, this might be very relevant indeed.

So I did the only thing I could think of; I was honest. I told them exactly what I just told you. As a white person, I have the incredibly luxury of being unaware of my race, something they don't have. Then I explain how odd it was to realize what it's like to be the minority. And all the interesting things you suddenly run in to.

And, really, it is very odd. Everyone I meet, for one thing, remembers my name. It doesn't matter if they met me once for five seconds in a crowded room, they'll call me by my very long and complicated last name the next time they see me, while I'm desperately trying to remember where on earth I met them. For the longest time I thought that people here just had awesome memories. Or that I was probably being so socially awkward, it was easy to remember me ("oh yeah, that's the woman who (insert random social gaffe here). I remember her!"). But then, last year, when a police officer I had spoken to a week prior called my name across a busy atrium, I suddenly realized how these people all knew who I was: I am the only blond, white woman campus. There are other white women on campus, but none of them have blond straight hair. Just like my friend A tells her blind dates, "I'll be the one Black woman in the bar", I have suddenly become identifiable by my race. Very odd.

I also find myself surprised when I see another white person on campus. And no matter how hard I try not to, I know that my "Hi!" to them is a little more enthusiastic, because, Oh! Wow! There's someone who looks like me! How cool is that! I suddenly understand why, the one time husband-dear and I went to an off-base church, we noticed that all the African Americans (all six of them - out of a 1500 person service) sat together. That doesn't mean I can explain why, but it somehow seems to make sense to me.

So I can understand why, when you attend an HBCU, you might find it slightly strange that the one class that directly addresses sensitive racial issues is taught by someone who is not just not Black, but is actually a member of the race that you know, tried to keep you at the back of the bus for close to a hundred years.

That leaves the professor (i.e., me) with the interesting task of convincing the students that in a class on race, race really should not matter. What matters is expertise. And so far, I've had no problems doing just that. I'm sure it helps that I'm Dutch, brutally honest ("So let's talk about your prejudices"), and asks students to elaborate on everything they come up with, using the ever-dreaded, "Using the theory we just discussed, tell me, why?". And the one year none of those tricks worked, I simply borrowed a milk crate, and carried all the books I had read in relation to race and media into class. Dumping all twenty or so books on my desk, I said, "Once you've read all of those, I will let you challenge my expertise the way you did last class. Until then, if it's not focused on your personal learning process, I don't want to hear it."
And it worked.

Here's to another interesting semester.