Several years ago, I joined a Facebook group designed for white people to learn more about racism and erasure. I wanted to do the work. I had already sought out books and stories to broaden my perspective. I got out of my comfort zone and worked to see my view of the world was not the only one. I was working hard to educate myself, feeling proudly progressive. I might as well have given myself a pat on the back and a gold star. As one friend would say, "White people are a lot of work." Truth.
One day, I took part in a conversation about how to speak to white people when educating them. I smugly suggested you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. The chorus of better educated white folks and people of color shouted at me "YOU'RE TONE POLICING!' What?! I'm not telling people how to talk about their problems, I'm only suggesting we can be friendlier about it. They shouted at me "SHUT UP AND LISTEN!" What?! I don't understand how I'm being so offensive. If you guys would just calm down and explain to us... They shouted "IT'S NOT OUR JOB TO EDUCATE YOU. YOU DO THE WORK." What?! I thought this group was all about you teaching me? I explained all the ways I'd done so much work to be a good ally and why they should work harder to help me understand. Why were they being so mean to me - I was the victim! The final response was "IT'S JUST NOT ABOUT YOU."
I took a break from that group. I un-followed it, I silenced notifications, and I stewed. I stewed and stewed and stewed. How dare they? Didn't they know how hard I was working? Didn't they see what a great ally I was? How could they tell me to shut up? Why did they think I was making it about me?
But, little by little, as I stewed and ruminated for months, it began to dawn on me: It's just not about me. It's not about my experiences or my ally-ship. It's not about following my rules of engagement. It's not about living within the guidelines of my privileged life. I didn't get a say in how they told their stories. I didn't get to demand answers from them. I didn't have the right to insist they inform and educate. But, if I ask a question or engage in a conversation, I sure as shit better be ready for the uncomfortable answers, dig in and do the hard work to understand.
If you haven't read the previous post, now would be a good time to stop and go back to read it. For those who don't have time, here's the quick synopsis: I received a message from a parent asking why I didn't tell inform all parents when my daughter came out three years ago. Her son, who was present on the day my daughter came out to her class, somehow missed it entirely (and the subsequent use of her new name for weeks before they went on a trip). This teen called once he arrived at their location to tell his mum he'd just learned my kid was trans. She was upset that she had to explain it to her son on the phone and we should have warned her. She wanted to know whether we should create a policy (read: we should create a policy) to inform parents when kids come out as trans. That's the quick version.
When I first saw her message, I cried - after I cursed her - I cried for hours. I didn't sleep as I cried and cried and cried over the suggestion that my child was unnatural and parents should be warned. I cried over the privilege that led this woman to think it would be a good idea to suggest to me that my kid was a problem to be solved. Then, I raged. For hours. I wrote for two days, trying to compose the perfect response. Trying to find the balance between firey rage and education. Trying to temper my anger but show my emotion so she can understand the impact of her words. Again, you can read my message to her in the previous post. Her response to me was this:
I understand the mama bear instinct, H. It is something we have in common, though demonstrate quite differently. With that in mind, I will refrain from addressing the assertions you've made about my son. I don't know your family's detailed history and don't pretend to, and you don't know mine.
I'm sorry that my question to you was so hurtful. It was not my intent but was clearly the result. I apologize and appreciate the resources you've provided.
You know what this says to me? It says to me that she wasn't actually interested in an answer to her question. It says she doesn't like the tone I used to tell her that her message was offensive and problematic. It says that, despite the hours I spent trying to help her understand, all she heard was me being mean to her son. This message says to me that she has no intention of checking her privilege. It says to me that she continues to center herself and has made herself the victim in my daughter's story, yet again. This is what I want to say in response: It's just not about you.
Comments