Finding a Way to Relate From a White Perspective

During our class discussion about “The Color of Fear” and white privilege, I made the point that, as a woman, I could relate to a number of the scenarios listed on “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack”, but, as a white person, I could not. I found myself wondering how, as a white person, I could relate to some of the injustices of racism.

A few days later, I attended the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day Marade where we were asked to interview a few people about the significance of the day and racism in the U.S. I comfortably approached women, but I found the thought of approaching a man—regardless of his race—paralyzing. I couldn’t do it. I feared an angry response.

While feeling ashamed of myself for not being braver, I came across this blog post: A Letter to the Guy Who Harassed Me Outside the Bar. This is one woman’s retort to all men who regularly harass women with “jokes” or “compliments” or “in light-hearted fun”. She talks about how men don’t understand that when they publicly comment on your body or interrupt a conversation to “get in a lame sexual pun or rude gesture” they make women feel unsafe and incredibly uncomfortable, but to them, it’s just a little fun. She explains why:

You don’t get it because in your world, this is just you being clever and hilarious, just a little light-hearted late-night banter! Where's my sense of humor? Dude, you are the third, or fifth, or ninth man this week to be rude to me, to think that what you want—to get a rise from your friends, to make your desire known, to make me uncomfortable, to project some twisted "proof" of your virility into the air—is more important than my comfort or safety. This is not an anomaly. This is constant.

So what? You say. So you get a lot of attention, why is that such a bad thing? Annoying, maybe, but no harm, no foul! You know you mean no harm, but how do I know that? When women get harassed on the street, or at a bar, or on their walk home from work, do you know what we think? We wonder, am I going to get out of this safely? Am I going to walk away from this? Where are my keys if I need to stab someone in the eye? Are there people on the street? Will they hear me? Which way will I run? Solar Plexus, Instep, Nose, Groin. I’m exaggerating, but only so slightly. Does it disturb you that we think like this? That we have to think like this?

When I read this, not only did I think, “This is so true,” but I also thought back to our discussion about white privilege and the “other”. I thought about Art Jones’ description of his Aunt’s reaction to a white woman in her house. I thought about how a black man or woman may have felt on their walk home in the Deep South in the 50s or 60s. I thought about the men in “The Color of Fear” discussing how scared they were in a rural community in more recent years. I thought about the anger and fear and how could I possibly relate to that. This. This is how I can relate. Sometimes, I don’t know if I can go out alone and be well assured that I won’t be followed or harassed. Sometimes, I don’t know if my voice will be heard if I’m the only woman present. Sometimes, I get tired of being whistled at, having my space invaded, being afraid to walk home alone, and listening to rude commentary.

When looking at something I do understand, something I’m angry about or fearful of, I begin to understand why someone would get tired of answering questions about racism. I begin to understand why someone would be angry with the number of times they’ve been asked about racism by someone who doesn’t understand it. I begin to understand how white people are blind to the daily struggle of non-white people. I begin to understand how a “cultural” costume is offensive. I begin to understand why that racial joke is not funny. Even if a little bit, I begin to understand…