As you know, my name is William Samuel McLain. I can trace my ancestors back to the Mayflower, my distant relatives had a castle in Scotland, I grew up in Lexington KY, and I have had multiple lessons on how to clap on the beat. I don’t think I need to include a physical description for you to imagine the color of my skin.
In the book Citizen, Claudia Rankine shows us the privilege of comfort white folks have in this country. White folks have been raised in a society where they are always comfortable, and it has been unacceptable for a person of color to impede on this comfort. I have had the privilege of spending the majority of my years both oblivious to and comfortable in my skin. I can count the number times I’ve been uncomfortable in my white skin on one hand, probably even half a hand. But people of color in this nation do not have nearly enough hands to count the number of times they’ve been uncomfortable in their skin. White folks grow up never having to challenge their whiteness. They grow up only knowing whiteness, and therefore, they do not see their privilege without a deliberate, voluntary decision. If you are white, I am inviting you to wake up each morning and acknowledge both your comfort and privilege.
A few weeks ago, Claudia Rankine came to Rhodes College and gave a phenomenal presentation. The part I want to reflect upon was when she showed a graphic photo of a lynching. The response in the room was divided. When the image went up on the screen, a handful of white students left the room, obviously disturbed. The black students – who were also disturbed and uncomfortable – stayed in their seats. This is a simple yet clear example of white folks using their privilege to leave an uncomfortable space. However, when people of color are uncomfortable, they do not leave. Why? Perhaps it is because there is nowhere for them to escape to.
This fall in Rhodes Singers, we are singing a very graphic slave spiritual entitled “Great God Almighty” composed by Stacey Gibbs. As we began to learn the piece, I became increasingly uncomfortable and I had to ask myself why. I felt as though I was prying on a history that was not my own and possibly even diminishing the impact of the song by my whiteness. So I reached out to Dr. Chaddock, the Dean of Diversity at Rhodes. I expressed my discomfort with a very predominantly white choir singing this song, and they challenged me to see that my discomfort was subconsciously stemming from the fact that the history was my own. And it was the side of this history that I was on that was making me feel uncomfortable. My family history as land-owners in the south and soldiers for the Confederacy clearly implies a support if not active participation in slavery. Singing “Great God Almighty” forces me to confront that heritage.
Dr. Chaddock was invited by our choir director to lead a discussion about the song with the entire choir. Their questions and comments invited amazing dialogue and ultimately helped us see that white people’s discomfort should not dictate outcomes. Songs like “Great God Almighty” were not included in musical cannons for centuries. Dr. Chaddock showed us that we needed to sing this song and sing it well and sing it loudly because the song’s message continues to ring true to this day. When the lyrics discuss the murder and mistreatment of black people, the audience will hear the voices and stories of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland, Freddie Gray, Michael Brown, etc. The fact that I can extend that list with an “etc” proves – in and of itself – that black lives don’t matter today just as they didn’t matter when the song was written so many years ago.
My initial desire to not sing this song demonstrates my privilege of comfort. Like the white students during Rankine’s lecture, I was attempting to basically leave the room to avoid being confronted and made UNcomfortable. When a white person is uncomfortable, they have the privilege to walk out, speak out, leave. Thankfully, Dr. Chaddock was willing to confront me and show me why I needed to stay. White folks, let’s be willing to be uncomfortable. Let’s acknowledge our privilege this morning. Wake up, stay woke.
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Pledged: William McLain
William, I can relate to this post and I think it speaks volumes to the racial tension in our country today. It is disgusting how quick our society is to judge the motives of black people and the lengths at which black people must go to defend their actions, while we as whites can easily and quietly remove ourselves from situations that threaten our comfort. Being able to acknowledge the differences in privilege and comfort based on race is a step in the right direction and can help open discussion about the history and presence of racial inequality.
ReplyDeleteI agree with both of you that the tension does stem from a lack of understanding of black people. Black people are raised with the feeling of discomfort. I was sent to school everyday with the feeling of discomfort because there was nobody like me in my classes. Because society is geared towards the comfort of white people, when their comfort stops they get upset and act out in many different ways. Talking about race is one of the many things that causes discomfort because it brings up a side of history where they were not necessarily the victors and the reaction I have personally witnessed the most is anger. To step outside of their privilege and embrace discomfort in order to learn about the black experience in america, is a tall order for those who refuse to even recognize that their is a difference at all.
ReplyDeleteWhile reading this post, I was reminded of my work with Thandeka's "Learning to be White" in one of my other classes. White people struggle to think of and conceptualize a white community because we already assume a unique and storied diversity amongst ourselves. We lean into this privilege, this luxury, of seeing ourselves as individuals first, with our race being a seemingly unimportant and unacknowledged aspect of our lives. It makes us severely uncomfortable to interrogate our own whiteness, to even utilize identifiers such as "we" and "us" instead of "them" and "their". We assume this cohesive unit of a black community, but as many of Thandeka's interviewees exhibited, we are uncomfortable, even ashamed to label ourselves with race too. One interviewee even suggested that to label herself as white took bravery she simply did not have. Perhaps this is because the history of white people and our unbridled access to power is nasty and shameful... to quote Dr. Zandria Robinson, "whiteness is terror". As you said so beautifully, "my discomfort was subconsciously stemming from the fact that the history was my own, and it was the side of history I was on that made me uncomfortable". You are certainly not alone in that sentiment.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for the encouragement. I really like the way you expanded my ideas to include this issue of white people being afraid or uncomfortable using "identifiers such as 'we' and 'us' instead of 'them' and 'their.'" And also how we white people are ashamed of our past. This leads into the immensely complex issue of white guilt, as Logan Griffin so beautifully tackled in her blog post.
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