All my life, I’ve been categorized as a minority and many times I’ve been asked to speak up on the behalf of all other minorities.
Growing up, I was one of three Black girls at St. Mary’s Catholic School, where in the fourth grade the teacher singled me out when Michael Jackson’s hair caught on fire, to ask me to explain to the kids in the class, why Black people put grease in their hair. In high school, I remember accepting a ride from a co-worker, who before she dropped me off at home one evening after work, had fifty million and one questions regarding why Blacks do this and why Blacks do that, and if we get tanned by the sun or blush when embarrassed (to my dismay, my medium brown cheeks turn red all the time when I encounter a guy that I find attractive, more so now in my late thirties than ever before).
In my current office environment, my office mate has bombarded me over and over with questions regarding the N-word and the hypocrisy of it. In addition, during our first year working together, OJ Simpson was a subject that she just couldn’t get past, although from day one, I made her aware that I’ve always thought he was guilty. Well, these are just a few examples of conversations that I’ve had thrown at me over the years, that have really gotten on my nerves. This morning though, I decided that I have had enough, and I’m not going to participate any more. It was pretty slow in the office today, due to the holiday. Around mid-morning, my office mate and I received a visit from the former GM of the developer we work for. He stopped by for a brief holiday hello. My office mate and this former GM named Steve, started talking about Whitney Houston’s performance on Dancing With The Stars last night. With that, my office mate decided to bring up how much Whitney Houston sweats while she’s onstage. I really wasn’t paying attention to the conversation; because I don’t really care too much for that show (my show is So You Think You Can Dance). But out of nowhere, Steve turns to me and says...
“I didn’t think Black people sweat.” I looked at him and said, “What?” And he said again, “I didn’t think Black people sweat.” Although I heard him clearly, one more time I said, “What?” He then re-worded his question and asked, “Do Black people sweat?” I looked at him with a blank stare, and replied, “I’m not going to answer that question.” “Why not?” He asked surprised. “Because I don’t want to,” I firmly stated, while focusing on his middle aged wrinkled eyes.
My office-mate interrupted us and changed the subject. I think she finally got it, and maybe even felt a little guilty, because in the past, she’s asked me plenty of stupid questions too. The last stupid question she asked me was last summer, in which I cut her off in mid sentence one day when I told her I just didn’t feel like discussing the N-word with her anymore (I hate the N-word, and I’ve never used it, I’ve tried to explain that to her. But still she wants to discuss why black folks continue to use it). I’m so tired of being uncomfortable around certain people. I’m not going to do it anymore. Most times people don’t hear what I have to say anyway, because their beliefs in their stereotypes cloud their judgments of what I have to offer. People will be people. And sometimes, some folks will never change. Black, white, red or purple. Living in a box is still living in a box.
Growing up, I was one of three Black girls at St. Mary’s Catholic School, where in the fourth grade the teacher singled me out when Michael Jackson’s hair caught on fire, to ask me to explain to the kids in the class, why Black people put grease in their hair. In high school, I remember accepting a ride from a co-worker, who before she dropped me off at home one evening after work, had fifty million and one questions regarding why Blacks do this and why Blacks do that, and if we get tanned by the sun or blush when embarrassed (to my dismay, my medium brown cheeks turn red all the time when I encounter a guy that I find attractive, more so now in my late thirties than ever before).
In my current office environment, my office mate has bombarded me over and over with questions regarding the N-word and the hypocrisy of it. In addition, during our first year working together, OJ Simpson was a subject that she just couldn’t get past, although from day one, I made her aware that I’ve always thought he was guilty. Well, these are just a few examples of conversations that I’ve had thrown at me over the years, that have really gotten on my nerves. This morning though, I decided that I have had enough, and I’m not going to participate any more. It was pretty slow in the office today, due to the holiday. Around mid-morning, my office mate and I received a visit from the former GM of the developer we work for. He stopped by for a brief holiday hello. My office mate and this former GM named Steve, started talking about Whitney Houston’s performance on Dancing With The Stars last night. With that, my office mate decided to bring up how much Whitney Houston sweats while she’s onstage. I really wasn’t paying attention to the conversation; because I don’t really care too much for that show (my show is So You Think You Can Dance). But out of nowhere, Steve turns to me and says...
“I didn’t think Black people sweat.” I looked at him and said, “What?” And he said again, “I didn’t think Black people sweat.” Although I heard him clearly, one more time I said, “What?” He then re-worded his question and asked, “Do Black people sweat?” I looked at him with a blank stare, and replied, “I’m not going to answer that question.” “Why not?” He asked surprised. “Because I don’t want to,” I firmly stated, while focusing on his middle aged wrinkled eyes.
My office-mate interrupted us and changed the subject. I think she finally got it, and maybe even felt a little guilty, because in the past, she’s asked me plenty of stupid questions too. The last stupid question she asked me was last summer, in which I cut her off in mid sentence one day when I told her I just didn’t feel like discussing the N-word with her anymore (I hate the N-word, and I’ve never used it, I’ve tried to explain that to her. But still she wants to discuss why black folks continue to use it). I’m so tired of being uncomfortable around certain people. I’m not going to do it anymore. Most times people don’t hear what I have to say anyway, because their beliefs in their stereotypes cloud their judgments of what I have to offer. People will be people. And sometimes, some folks will never change. Black, white, red or purple. Living in a box is still living in a box.
Hey Nefertiti! I traveled here from the "What Tami Said" blog regarding allies.
ReplyDeleteJust wanted to share a bit of empathy after reading this - I'm sure your co-worker is very nice. But wow. Sweat? REALLY?! Wow. Anyway, I have a nice but very clueless officemate that is similar. She has not only asked ME to "explain black people stuff" because I grew up in vast-majority black neighborhoods (but I'm white...), but I have also heard her ask one of our black officemates stuff like that as well. Most recently: "why do black people listen to Gospel really loudly?". Yes, the overwhelming -isms of all kinds seeping from that question are astounding, assuming not one stereotype but sort of rolling a whole bunch into one really dumb question, based solely off of ONE person in our office who happened to like Gospel (alot), be black, and in her case hard-of-hearing (she's almost 80!). And of course she told ME how she was shocked that our coworker (your sister-in-cool-Egyptian-names, Isis) took a few kinds of offense to the question. And was UNSATISFIED with her attempted explanation (bless her heart how she tried to break down the several stereotypes and explain...). And I wanted to be nice to her, to educate her...but I've done that for her too, as an anti-racist ally, and the ignorance persists. Last time, I responded "I wouldn't know, I don't listen to Gospel. More of a jazz and blues person, myself." She has admitted to being ignorant of these things "because she's from rural Washington". Which is great, of course, I explained - but your town DID have a library, yes? Hmm...whatever. I'll continue to try, but only when I have the patience. Which, sadly, is more rarely every day. Anyway, thank you for recognizing allies and helping us when you can. :-)
On another note, I just wanted to say I read your whole site! Really good! Your nieces DO sound SO amazing ;-) And your ghost stories are awesome! I've had so many similar experiences, some almost the same as your own! Craaaziness! Hope your current dwelling is spirit-lite or at least friendly. Also, I loved your blog "A Call to Serve". No matter what career I'm trying at the time, I seem to become that "go-to" person (regardless, yes, of the 1-800 lines and group email lists! AGHH!). I understand the guilt of having to actually (*GASP!*) take time for yourself! And the horrendous effort to catch up upon return. I hope you've learned to take your power back and politiely inform your customers of the nature of your job/availability of other representatives/demands on your time. I'm a trainer at a gov agency. My new line: "Hello, ___. I'm sorry you didn't get a response away. As you know, I am a trainer and am often teaching classes for entire days, in addition to my other responsibilities as a curriculum developer. In the future, if you require an immediate response, please call the hotline or join the support chat room, where a minimum of ten of my equally-brilliant colleagues are eager to assist you. Otherwise, I will get back to you as soon as I can, but of course that may not be for a few days sometimes. THANKS!" I try to speak with less sarcasm than I write with. Sometimes works. :-)
Again, thanks for your voice! Love the blog and will be back for more! More poetry please! :-)
--Kaya--
I'm a traveler from What Tami Said too. Sometimes the best way to answer a stupid question IS silence...especially when someone insists on maintaining their stupidity. Besides I think people are not asking those questions for their own edification. It is just an "acceptable" way to make a racist comment. That's really what they are doing.
ReplyDeletePS - You are even more brilliant than I thought! DUNE is the best stuff ever! Rock on! ;-)
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Kaya K for your kind words! You are wonderful! And yep Cindy! you got a point there!
ReplyDeleteLinked from Tami as well.
ReplyDeleteI can definitely relate to this; I got to the I'm-not-doing-it-anymore point a couple of years ago myself. I mostly try not to engage when I get these kinds questions (I've worked to perfect my "think about what you just said" face), but sometimes... jeez. For example, why ask Kaya's officemate about the loud gospel, when she's not the one playing it? Why ask Traveler about the n-word, when she never uses it?? I have to say, I don't know if I could resist some combination of 1) inviting these people to ask someone who'd know, since I don't do that; 2) witheringly noting that since I don't do that, I must not be black, huh?; and/or 3) honestly asking why they chose to ask me, and not the perpetrator. Because after all these years of it, I don't have much patience. If I have to put up with this crap, somebody's learning something!