This next writer is still one of my favorite thinkers (not just in education) out there, and contributed the epigraph to my book This Is Not A Test: A New Narrative on Race, Class, and Education. Without further adieu, here’s Michael Doyle.
José has been kind enough to let me share words in his space. If you look up “José” in Wikipedia, you’ll learn that “José is a predominantly Spanish and Portuguese form of the given name Joseph.”
A few years ago I would have read that sentence as it was meant to be read by people like me written by white folk for white folk. (If you’re more comfortable substituting “dominant culture” for “white folk,” feel free. I want you to be comfortable.)
Mr. Vilson has gone done turned my eyeballs inside out, through his quiet but fierce tutoring. Jose is a predominantly Spanish form of the given name ????—turns out the original Joseph was not European after all.
True story.
Back around 1975, Elwynda and I went to the Red Barn, our suburban (code word for white) school’s local deli hangout just down Tindall Road. We both ordered similar sandwiches—been a while, don’t remember what, but when we got them, mine was easily twice as thick as hers.
Elwynda said nothing, and didn’t look much surprised.
I dramatically swapped the sandwiches, taking the skimpy one, feeling pretty damn proud of myself for righting a wrong, announcing through my actions that I was an anti-racist.
Elwynda still said nothing more than a polite thank you, and didn’t look surprised, deflating me a tad—she knew then what I would not know for a few decades yet. I am a no risk anti-racist racist (NRARR).
If you are white in America, chances are pretty good that you’re a racist. Maybe not hooded version, at not publicly anyway, but it’s not the yahoos doing most of the damage.
I am a NRARR—if you’re a progressive white in America, chances are you are, too. The first step to recovery is admitting to your powerlessness over your ingrained privilege.
“My name is Michael, and I am a racist.”
Not sure if you’re a NRARR? Here’s a (very incomplete) checklist:
- You proudly wear colorblind glasses, announcing to anyone who will listen that you do not see skin color.
- You have a “TOLERANCE” bumper sticker yet commiserate with your friend with a “COEXIST” bumper sticker “If only they had more grit.”
- You donate to the Southern Poverty Law Center even though you’re not too clear on exactly what they do. And you make sure your friends know this. Especially those friends.
- You spend more time worrying about whether you used the right term for people of color than you do about the obscene differential in incarceration rates.
- Ben Carson irks you because he’s a person of color, and people of color shouldn’t be Ben Carsons, especially after all the government assistance he got.
- On black friends
- You feel special when a black friend comes over.
- You never had a black friend come over.
- You have no black friends.
- You spent considerable time contemplating the last three points.
- You believe white privilege exists, but not in your case—you worked hard to get where you are.
- You take it personally when someone even thinks you might be racist.
- Talking about race makes you “uncomfortable.”
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| Photo: Graeme Main/MOD via Wikimedia Commons |
So are you a NRARR?
“Not me”—yes, you. You’re likely a racist, but not incorrigibly so. Take the first step. Own your racism, observe the world around you, not just the one in your head.
And once you do, have a chat with your “COEXIST” friend.
Do the work, the real work.
Get used to being “uncomfortable.”
Get used to being “uncomfortable.”
I shock myself regularly by thinking I’m not NRARR when I am. I can cite specific ways I have lived my life, relationships I have had, but my head is still affected by the monstrosities of our system that has always subjugated one group or another and easily justified its actions. Now we are destroying the world, randomly killing whoever we feel is in our way. Our CIA started with Patrice Lumumba and has gone on to commit some of the worst atrocities on the planet, and won’t stop. Sorry – I am just seeing the extension of our policies in our own country as they are applied to the world. Thank you for these posts JLV.
Dear Joan,
You seem like a kind soul, and I have no reason to doubt you have spent a lifetime dancing along the same edge as I have, but we NRARRs tend to fly off into existential angst that leads to much breast-beating, but it gets back to “we.”
I’m getting old. I’d start meeting with neighbors and dabbling in town politics before getting all jacked up about the CIA (not that that doesn’t need a lot of mending). We NRARRs are not so good at getting to what’s real.
It’s just too easy to deflect to the abstract.
Yours in healing our NRARRism,
~Michael
You push my thinking and challenge me all the time, Michael. I’m listening. I hope you’ll write a post on “Do the work, the real work.” Perhaps you already have written several on this topic and if so, please share with me. Thank you.
Dear Maureen,
Alas, I have no prescription–too many of us (including me) are looking for the grand gesture when it’s the day to day actions that determine who we are. We got to get used to doing what needs doing without hearing trumpets.
We NRARRs are in a pretty good position day to day. A lot of folks are not. None of us are saviors, all of us are people. Sounds to damn pat when put that way, but I trust you know what I mean. So long as we need a formal method to “do the work,” we’re not doing the work.
~Michael
Often I find myself forgetting racism and privilege aren’t really about me as an individual. These constructs are about the injustices others have faced and are challenged by every day. Doesn’t more good come from thinking about others, about being unafraid to say, “I am not perfect, but I will try harder”? “Not me” has no inherent value to anyone but myself. Anyone can say, “At least I’m not THAT guy…”, but it takes a little more work to think, “How am I like THAT guy, and how can I fix it?”
Turn your thoughts to other people, help solve problems in your community, your state, your nation, and get out of your own way.
Dear Alix,
“Often I find myself forgetting racism and privilege aren’t really about me as an individual.” That get to the heart of NRARRism–our inability to recognize that our privilege blinds us to what needs doing.
There is danger when we believe that we NRARRists hold the key to “fixing” the problem. We *are* the problem–but breast-beating and checklists highlighting our progressiveness can’t fix a mild case of acne, never mind the deeply ingrained mindset of the dominant culture.
I’d go one step past “How am I like THAT guy,” but it sound like you already have. “Get out of your own way” may become my mantra.
~Michael
First, the photo used had me burst out laughing; a throwback to my childhood, especially since my neighborhood was kinda like that (a little more pepper, but mostly salt).
The not-so-funny aspect is how many educators, educators of colored children, fit the NRARR description. It’s almost like the inverse Invisible Man (math teacher, can’t help myself): they wear a mask from 8 to 3, but listen to the stories of students sent to the Dean’s office from their classroom, or the ones who would wander into my class after being sent out, and that mask works with edu-bureaucrats but doesn’t hide them from students. Generations of them, post 1964, and we wonder why our children suffer after K-12 years.
Dear pdexii,
Sad thing is, NRARRs have no idea it’s just a mask, obvious to all except (perhaps) other NRARRs.
Hey Dr. Doyle ( I know you prefer Michael but I think it’s hard for me still after all these years since I first met you as a Pediatrician and then co-worker). What insightful and thought provoking words! You are one of a few people I know who lives life in a way where everyday you spread knowledge and are truly helpful without needing a pat on the back or recognition. Do you mind if I share this essay? I know many people who need to read it as you can imagine.
Chey :)
Dear Chey,
Hey, what a nice surprise! Of course you may share it.
Your class was my introduction to high school teaching–your passion lit up the room, and convinced me I was making the right decision, otherwise I might still be a pediatrician.
~Michael