The conference hotel had an impersonal atmosphere, much like many others of its kind. I had arrived a few hours before check-in, hoping to drop off my bags before meeting a friend for lunch. The hotel employees were clearly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of hundreds of impatient academics. When I inquired about where I could leave my luggage, the person at the front desk carelessly gestured towards a nearby hallway and said, “Wait over there, someone will be back soon.”
I wasn’t quite sure who “he” was referring to, but I noticed a woman fitting the description. She was around my age and had a conference badge, rolling her large suitcase back and forth in frustration. Curious, I approached her and asked, “Have you been waiting long?” She responded with a sigh, “Very.”
For a while, we stood in silence, engrossed in our phones. Eventually, we struck up a conversation. Our discussion covered a wide range of topics, from the papers we were presenting to the subpar audiovisual equipment at the hotel, and even our favorite things to do in the city. At some point, our conversation shifted towards our respective jobs. She shared her experience of juggling a temporary teaching position while searching for a tenure-track position, a common struggle among academics.
“It’s tough,” she said, sounding exhausted. “Too many classes, too many students, too many papers to grade. There’s barely any time for my own work, let alone applying for permanent positions.”
I nodded in understanding, prompting her to ask about my own job and whether it was a tenure-track position. Sheepishly, I admitted that it was.
“I would love to teach at a small college like yours,” she expressed. “I feel like my students aren’t motivated to learn. It’s draining.”
Then, out of the blue, she made a comment that completely caught me off guard. “But I shouldn’t be complaining to you about this. I know how difficult it is for BIPOC faculty. You’re the last person I should be venting to.”
I was taken aback, although I shouldn’t have been. It was the kind of awkward remark that has become commonplace since the “summer of racial reckoning” in 2020, when anti-racism rose to prominence in progressive political culture. Prior to this, mentioning someone’s race in such a manner would have been considered impolite. However, she made the comment without a second thought, assuming that being a Black tenure-track professor was more challenging than being a marginally employed white one. It exemplifies how interracial social etiquette has dramatically shifted.
While this racial reckoning brought attention to the deeply ingrained racism within supposedly color-blind American institutions, it also propelled certain race experts and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) consultants into the spotlight. These individuals believe that being anti-racist necessitates a radical personal transformation. In their pursuit of combating color-blindness in policies like race-neutral college admissions, these contemporary anti-racists have abandoned the idea that we are more than just our race. Instead of balancing a critique of color-blind law and policy with an ongoing embrace of interpersonal color-blindness, they have veered towards foregrounding racial differences.
As a Black individual who grew up in a politically diverse area, adhering to the civil rights-era practice of color-blindness, I find this emerging anti-racist culture disconcerting. Many of my liberal acquaintances now believe that being a good person entails constantly reminding Black individuals that they are aware of their race. Difference, which used to be politely ignored, is now insisted upon under the guise of acknowledging “positionality.” While I rarely feel excessively conscious of my race when interacting with more conservative friends or visiting my hometown, it is a constant topic of discussion and focus in the liberal circles I typically encounter, with well-intentioned allies constantly centering race in their conversations.
This constant “acknowledgement” tends to manifest in two ways. The first is when white individuals subtly express their awareness of race and racism. They find opportunities to discuss problematic news articles about race or racism in casual conversations, apologize for expressing their own problems while being white, or attribute any normal personal challenges to racism as a form of support.
The second way in which well-meaning white liberals often emphasize racial difference in everyday interactions is by clumsily ensuring that their “marginalized” friends and acquaintances feel culturally comfortable. This can include deliberately choosing Black-owned restaurants for meals together or assuming that certain abilities or skills are culturally specific and apologizing for making assumptions.
It is peculiar that this so-called “acknowledgement” and “centering” is seen as progress in the racial discourse of the 2020s. However, I believe that current progressive racial dialogue has become distorted. The prevailing anti-racist culture seems to have little to do with combatting systemic racism or fostering better relationships between white and Black Americans. Instead, it rejects color-blindness as a social norm and introduces a new ethos that often creates tense, uncomfortable, or simply strange interactions between white and Black individuals.
Since the tragic murder of George Floyd in 2020, progressive anti-racism has focused on two concepts that have helped Americans make sense of his senseless death: “structural racism” and “implicit bias.” The former highlights how certain institutions perpetuate racial inequalities, such as the disproportionate killing of Black men by the police. The latter describes the subconscious racial prejudice that exists within individuals, regardless of their political leanings.
Both of these concepts critique color-blind ideology, which suggests that policies, interactions, and rhetoric can be explicitly race-neutral but harbor implicit racism. They challenge the notion that race neutrality perpetuates inequality. However, over time, this criticism has been extended to color-blindness as a personal ethical framework that governs behavior at an individual level.
Robin DiAngelo, the most well-known advocate for dismantling color-blindness in everyday interactions, has built a career out of this endeavor. However, her approach often comes across as condescending.
To conclude, the prevailing anti-racist culture lacks a genuine focus on addressing structural racism and fostering positive relationships between different racial groups. It rejects color-blindness as a social norm, inadvertently creating a need for constant management, sensitivity, and even guidance from professional anti-racists in interracial interactions. Instead of promoting racial harmony, this new ethos frequently exacerbates tension, unpleasantness, or simply a sense of strangeness in white-Black interactions.
Overall, there is a need for a more comprehensive and nuanced approach to combating racism, one that recognizes the complexities of race relations and promotes genuine understanding and empathy.
Denial of responsibility! VigourTimes is an automatic aggregator of Global media. In each content, the hyperlink to the primary source is specified. All trademarks belong to their rightful owners, and all materials to their authors. For any complaint, please reach us at – [email protected]. We will take necessary action within 24 hours.
