In the past few months, I witnessed a reinvigoration of discussions regarding microaggressions– whether that’s a societal phenomenon, or just something I have personally witnessed, I can’t say, but I’ve learned something valuable from it: most people have no idea what microaggressions are.

But never fear, your diverse friend Hafsa is here to help explain them.

Microaggressions describe that language and behavior which, although not necessarily intended to be hurtful, has a negative impact on the recipient which– in much the same way as overt acts– serves to reinforce, exacerbate, and ultimately perpetuate the hatefulness which underlines it, however covertly. Because that’s a lot to talk about, here are a few things to know about racial and ethnically-based microaggressions.

And, exhibit #1? Me as someone’s “diverse friend.”

Because suddenly it’s reducing a human being of many facets, interests, passions, and qualities to… her diversity.

Now, honestly, not that many people would outwardly come out and introduce someone as their “diverse friend,” but people have no issues calling someone their “Black friend” or their “Jewish friend.” Maybe their “gay roommate” or their “Latino cabdriver.”

Contextualized in what I’ve already said about microaggressions, it’s rather obvious that I am not a fan of that language, but I need to unpack that. Why? Well because all you’re doing is labeling someone based on this one aspect of their life. And that reduces someone to a token to be pulled out as demonstration of a “diverse environment.”

I mean it’s great that you have diverse friends, really it is. But not if you’re only friends with them for their diversity. And just like the “I have Black friends” card is cliche, racist, and prejudiced, so too is telling me about your Muslim friends or telling your gay colleague that it’s okay, you can’t be prejudiced because you have gay friends, too.
At one point, when having a discussion about microaggressions, someone asked, “Is what you’re saying that we just shouldn’t label people?” And I gave a vehement no, followed by a really muddled explanation, but I think I can do a better job now that I’ve had time to think about it and can backspace the confusing stuff.

There’s nothing inherently wrong, in my opinion, with labels; to some extent, they serve a vital purpose in our day-to-day life to help us identify individuals and navigate interpersonal relationships. “My wife” or “her father” are labels, as are “history teacher” or even “middle-class,” and in and of themselves, they’re not problematic. The problem comes when there is a simultaneous failure to acknowledge the plentiful other facets of someone’s identity and reduce their entire existence down to their relationship to another individual, their occupation, their socioeconomic status, their sex, their gender identity, their race, their religion, etc.

So, yeah, call me Muslim; I have zero objection to that. But also recognize that I am a daughter, a college student, a writer, an RA, a woman, Pakistani-American, etc.

And the other thing about labels is that we have to remember the person wearing them isn’t the end-all-be-all representative of that label; they’re not the mouthpiece for their entire identity.

 Exhibit #1-b:

Don’t assume that your “diverse friend” has the complete, authoritative, perfectly cited answer to every question about diversity because WHY WOULD THEY? Just because someone has experienced a certain type of discrimination, doesn’t mean that they (a) can explain it to you with dictionary-perfect definitions and scholarly references and have every answer to every possible question you ask (I don’t know is a perfectly valid answer, thank you very much) or, more importantly, that they (b) even want to explain it you.

To the first point, the best example I can give is asking an international student about their “professional” opinion on something occurring in their home country. Like asking a Frenchmen to compare the French constitution to that of the American. Would you be able to do that? Then why are we assuming they can? Or asking a Syrian why their country is at war and what they recommend as a solution to the refugee crisis. Can you spout foreign policy recommendations off the top of your head with statistics and historical evidence? Or asking a Kenyan why Africa is so poor. (1) Africa is a continent, not a country; (2) it’s pretty doubtful that individual is a scholar on such a difficult, oft-asked, and well-studied question, and if scholars who spend their entire lives studying a tiny aspect of this global issue don’t have an answer yet, why would the random dark-skinned person you found on the street?

To the second point, it strips you of your dignity a little bit at a time to have to explain it over and over again. Really. Speaking purely for myself, I usually don’t mind answering people’s questions, whatever they are. I typically encourage people to speak frankly and ask questions without fearing they’re being rude because I would rather they be honest if a bit insensitive, than dance around a question unnecessarily or, worse, resort to a random Google search or FOX or CNN to try to answer the question. The integrity of asking an actual person with actual experience can’t be matched through a media response, but faced with the possibility of being ashamed for their ignorance or the anonymity of a screen, people often choose the latter.

That being said, there are days I really just can’t handle it. Maybe I’ve just dealt with too many microaggressions for the day, or maybe I plain and simple just had a bad day. And every person has the right to just not answer the question. Asking the question isn’t necessarily a microaggression, but insisting that a person answer the question when they don’t know the answer or just don’t want to almost inevitably is. Try this cartoon on why microaggressions hurt.

Don’t make assumptions about someone based on their appearance.

It sounds super-obvious, right? I mean that’s literally the definition of prejudice. But it happens all the time.
A few that come to mind immediately?

• Black individuals who, when in a store, are followed. Black individuals not being served, period, or treated dismissively. A store clerk assuming that the individual from a minority group cannot afford the higher-end items in the store and therefore directing them immediately to cheaper goods. Crossing the street when you see a Black/Latino/minority man approaching you on the sidewalk.
• Self-identifying as a feminist, and people constantly being skeptical of that and arguing you “can’t be” because you’re Muslim/hijabi (and then having to “defend your religion” against claims of inherent misogyny).
• Asking a white mother “what her husband does for a living” and asking a black mother “if the father is still in the picture.”
• Automatically turning to the student of Asian descent for math help.
• “Merry Christmas” turning into “Merr– happy holidays” because the person on the other side of the counter looks different. Because you “look different,” people constantly asking if you’re an international student or doubting your citizenship in the United States (BTW look different from what?)

Some of these examples border on the overtly racist/hateful, but most of them are the subtle everyday things that we don’t even necessarily recognize doing. The absolute best thing I’ve seen that explains this is this phenomenal photo series that exposes our own biases and this set of Google searches about cultural stereotypes.

The person being microaggressive/prejudiced, doesn’t get to decide what’s hurtful.

Remember what I said earlier about the difference between intent versus impact? The individual most likely doesn’t intend to say/do something prejudiced, but the impact on the recipient is hurtful and reinforces the oppression of prejudices and stereotypes.

Allow me to illustrate with an example: as an RA, I moved onto campus before most of the student body in order to help prep the residential halls. So for a few weeks, only professional staff, RAs, and a few straggler conference attendees (including some international students) were on campus. One of my first interactions with university staff as an RA was when I said good morning to a member of our maintenance crew, and he, smiling, responded with “Are you a guest here?” I said, “No, sir, I’m an RA on the second floor.” Not at all abashed, he says,” Oh, I just thought you weren’t from here because of your” *gestures to headscarf repeatedly*. I smiled and kept walking, but it bothered me the rest of the day that people kept doubting my citizenship or right to be here. He obviously didn’t intend to be microaggressive. But he doesn’t get to dictate how I was impacted by what he said.

Or, in the words of Britni de la Cretaz on EverydayFeminism:

“We [White People] Don’t Get to Determine What’s Racist
How often do we see something posted about racism, only to then see a bunch of white people jump into the comments to argue about why that thing isn’t actually racist? For example, maybe someone calls out Kylie Jenner for appropriating black culture with her braided hair. Or maybe they’re pointing out why white people wearing bindis as a fashion statement isn’t cool. And then a white person comments, “Um, it’s just hair” or “Bindis have nothing to do with skin color.”

Or perhaps someone is venting about a racial microaggression they experienced when they were out to dinner, where they felt like they were treated differently by their server because they’re black. And the next thing you know, a white person swoops in to say something like, “Wait, how do you know it was because you were black? I think you’re being paranoid. It was probably just because the server was having a bad night.” But here’s the thing, fellow white people – it’s not on us to decide what is or isn’t racist because we don’t actually experience racism.”

The most important thing, though is what you can do about it.

First and foremost, acknowledge the validity of other people’s experiences.

So if you’re coming from a position of privilege– and it’s 99.9999% likely that we are in some position of privilege, because discrimination in one area does not negate privilege in another– all you need to do is acknowledge that other people’s experiences are valid. That’s literally it. That’s the first step.

It sounds really simple in writing, but it can be rough in real life. I mean, it’s so bad, that it’s honestly revolutionary for administration or any other people in power to say ‘You know what, your experiences are valid.’ That’s it. That’s all I’m asking for. That you acknowledge my experiences are valid. That they happened. That I have legitimate concerns. That it matters to someone.

And the reason this can be so difficult is that we have to swallow our instinct to defend ourselves or to feel guilty, and, instead, try to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. This is not a conversation about blame or guilt. No one is saying that you are the reason for this system or that it is your fault that you benefit from it. That’s stupid. No one is saying that you didn’t work hard to get where you are in life or that you should feel bad because you maybe didn’t have to work as hard as the person next to you. You don’t have to feel guilty for the body into which you were born any more or less than someone who was born into a different body. You just have to accept that as a result of your body (in comparison to someone else’s) you have been indoctrinated and socialized in a different manner and that as a result, the set of privileges, challenges, and experiences in your life are drastically different from someone else’s. And when someone else is talking about their life experiences, you have to respect that, rather than trying to compare it to your life story in order to minimize their challenges or aggrandize yours.

And that is a lesson for all of us.

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One of the lines that sets off an alarm in me is when someone says, “I’m not a racist.”  The major lesson that I take from it is (a) to never make such a statement on my behalf, and (b) to try to make every effort to not say or do things that might be interpreted as racist.  Sometimes I succeed; sometimes I fail.

I have heard people say and seen people do things that set off my “race-dar.’  I imagine that sometimes it’s a real alarm; other times it’s a false one.   Here are a few examples from the world of sports, a realm with which I am somewhat familiar.

For the better part of the last decade, the St. Louis Cardinals baseball team has had very few African-American players on its roster, and those players have largely been fringe ones.  The team has been well-endowed with Caucasian and Latino players and among them are some of the best players in the League.  The Cardinals won the World Series is 2006 and 2011, so no one can say that the organization wasn’t doing everything within its power to win.  In fact no one can say with evidence that the team has tried to limit the number of African-Americans.  We are in an era in which the percentage of African-Americans in baseball has dropped from 20% to 8%.   Some teams have only one African-American player; others have none.  The Cardinals largely swing between one and no African-Americans on the team.  But in the mainstream community of St. Louis, this issue, or question, of why there are so few African-Americans on current teams is rarely, if ever, brought up.  We seem to be scared to talk about race for fear that we might cause trouble. We rarely say that by ignoring it we’re pretending that it doesn’t exist.

The Cardinals have had a running feud for three years with the Cincinnati Reds.  While the primary instigator of the first brawl was Johnny Cueto, a Cincinnati pitcher from the Dominican Republic, St. Louis fans have taken to placing the blame on Brandon Phillips, the Cincinnati African-American second baseman from Raleigh, NC.  The problem seems that the Cardinals can neither accept Phillips’ humor nor friendliness.  He likes to tweet a lot and at times makes playful fun of the Cardinals.  All in good jest; nothing more than that.  In a 2011 game, Phillips gave Cardinal catcher Yadier Molina a playful tap on the shin guards, but Molina considered it a violation of his space and another brawl broke out.  Ever since then, St. Louis fans and even announcers have described Phillips as being their nemesis and someone who hates the Cardinals.  I cannot say that there is any racism involved on the part of some in “Cardinal Nation;” I can only say that it smells a little like it.  It makes me feel uncomfortable.  It’s also possible in some ways that Phillips and many of his teammates dislike the Cardinals because the team can appear to be a bunch of white Boy Scouts.

The St. Louis Rams football team tried to sneak a talented African-American quarterback from Duke University named Thaddeus Lewis through waivers a couple of years ago.  Lewis had been exceptional in pre-season games with the Rams but he had little chance of replacing starting quarterback Sam Bradford who was both good and a $50 million investment.  Lewis was claimed off waivers by the Cleveland Browns and since has been a backup with the Detroit Lions and Buffalo Bills.  But he could be valuable to the Rams in a couple of ways.  First the team is weak at backup quarterback.  Second Lewis can run a “read option” offense; a style that is becoming to be a norm within the league.  Third, at the very least Lewis could run a “read option” offense in practice against the Rams’ defense.

On a sports radio program in St. Louis, an African-American co-host suggested that the Rams might try to get Thaddeus Lewis back to strengthen themselves at the quarterback position.  The white co-host said, “For what?”  Again, when I heard that, I felt uncomfortable.  Would the white co-host have said that about a white quarterback?  Maybe so, maybe not.  It just seemed like too easy a dismissal of a quarterback who in his one NFL start completed 22 of 32 passes for 204 yards with one touchdown and one interception.

The term “read option” has only come in style since then end of the 2012-13 season.  That’s because they playoffs featured three of the four such QBs in the league, Colin Kaepernick of the San Francisco 49ers, Robert Griffin III of the Washington Redskins, and Russell Wilson of the Seattle Seahawks.  The fourth was 2011 Offensive Rookie of the Year, Cam Newton of the Carolina Panthers.  What virtually no one says publicly is that in a league that for decades was the domain of white quarterbacks, all four of these run-option quarterbacks are African-American.  I don’t know whether it would be better for football observers to say that teams should look for more read option quarterbacks or more African-American quarterbacks.  I don’t think that there is a right or wrong about this; only that it seems that we’re afraid to say “African-America” or black for no particular reason.  If there is a reason, perhaps we should talk about it.

I have written several other articles on the recent history of race in St. Louis sports teams:

• Baseball and Politics – Part I
• Baseball and Politics – Part II
• Baseball and Politics – Part III

It has never been our desire to accuse anyone of being racist because (a) we have no basis for doing so, (b) it never leads to productive conversation.  It might serve us well whenever we feel queasy about a race-related issue that we take time to think through our thoughts and not be afraid to check with others to get their perspective on it.  If opponents of President Obama would challenge themselves to see how much of their opposition to his policies emanate, at least in part, from race, it would help.  I have to acknowledge that I tend to favor his policies more because he is African-American.  Perhaps I’m practicing my own version of affirmative action.  If so, I don’t mind because I think that we are still some distance from equality.  I continue to question my choices; I think that it would be wise for all Americans to do so because we have not cured “our original sin” of slavery.  Let’s continue to make special efforts for the next 50 years and then see where we are.

[See companion article: The new denial: How much of partisan gridlock is driven by race.]

The post Walking on the thin line of racism appeared first on Occasional Planet.

During the administration of George W. Bush, I remember feeling a more or less chronic sense of despair and incredulity at the state my country was in. Lots of my friends felt the same way. And many others in this nation and in the world felt similarly. The distinguished historian Eric Foner wrote a Washington Post piece about W’s Presidency. It was called “He’s the Worst Ever.” Greg Brown, one of America’s greatest singer-songwriters, began performing a song in concert called “I Want My Country Back,” an anguished cry of despair about Bush’s America.

Why did we feel this way?

Thinking back, I can name several reasons I personally despised Bush as a president:

• the farces of the recount in Florida and the Supreme Court decision in Bush v. Gore

• war in Iraq

• surrender of environmental policy to industry

• torture

• tax breaks for the wealthy

• Bush’s blithe, dismissive personal manner, and his ineptitude with language

Today, three and a half years into the administration of Barack Obama, I think it’s obvious that some people feel the same level of disgust for him that I and others did for Bush. (Although I haven’t heard any distinguished historians call him the worst ever, nor any august singer-songwriters pouring out their despair in song.)

What I honestly want to think about here, though, is what specific reasons the Obama despisers could possibly have for despising Obama as a president.

* * *

Let’s think about the signature events in Obama’s time in the Oval Office:

• The Affordable Care Act? I can’t believe that anyone could hate Obama with a blazing passion over this one. For Pete’s sake, it started as an idea from a conservative think tank.

• The killing of Osama bin Laden? Only Noam Chomsky hates Obama for this one.

• The appointments of Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court? Too wonky to inspire much hate.

• The end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell? Nah. Polls indicated that almost 8 of 10 Americans favored ending this discriminatory policy.

• The economic stimulus? The bailout of the auto industry? Besides those who were actually helped by these, I don’t think most people even know what these measures really consisted of.

• The recession in general? I guess some people probably resent Obama for not catapulting the economy into high gear somehow and generating full employment, but I think people mostly realize that the President really doesn’t have the power to control something as massive and multifarious as the US economy.

• The growth of the deficit? This is certainly one that you hear from critics of Obama—that he has presided over an unprecedented expansion of government spending that is driving us into economic ruin. But, as this Washington Post graphic makes clear, the argument has serious problems. I doubt that much hatred of Obama is sincerely based on the deficit.

• His personal style and manner? Seems highly unlikely, given Obama’s winning personality, friendly smile, and facility with language.

* * *

I’ve given it my best shot, and I really cannot come up with any fact-based reasons to hate Obama.

You might have disagreements with him. You might be dissatisfied with some of the things that have happened on his watch. But it seems objectively true that nothing that has happened in Obama’s term of office could legitimately prompt the level of disgust and anger that numerous events during Bush’s presidency did.

It should be acknowledged that Obama does not inspire intense dislike as widespread as that inspired by Bush. A recent Wall Street Journal/NBC poll indicated that 2 out 3 Americans say they like Obama.

I’m forced to conclude—as I have thought before and as many others have also concluded—that the high level of antipathy and derision that Obama inspires in a minority of Americans people is connected with his race: the facts that his father was African, his wife is African American, and he identifies himself as black.

Obama hatred is a thin stew—a few morsels of policy disagreement floating in a gravy of racial resentment, paranoiac birther fantasy, and simple prejudice. The good news is that, at this point in history, America’s appetite for such a stew seems relatively weak.

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