The current Princeton Alumni Weekly features an eye opening story about race, privilege and status in America. The article was written by a courageous Princeton alumnus, Lawrence Graham ( '83).
Graham, like many of his fellow alums, has been very successful in his career. Like Samuel Alito, (Princeton '72) he is male and a lawyer. Like Michelle Obama, (Princeton '85) he is black.
I doubt anyone seriously argues electing a black president proves we live in a post-racial society. But you might be forgiven for assuming an Ivy League degree would allow a black person to insulate themselves from the more commonly encountered forms of discrimination. Lawrence Graham originally grew up believing that.
I imagined that the privileged children of rich and famous blacks like Diana Ross, Bill Cosby, or Sidney Poitier were untouched by the insults and stops that we faced. Even though the idea wasn’t fully formed, I somehow assumed that privilege would insulate a person from discrimination.
Growing up with the assumption that with enough privilege he could escape the bias he encountered as a young child, Graham and his wife (also an Ivy League graduate), "used our knowledge of white upper-class life to envelop our sons and daughter in a social armor that we felt would repel discriminatory attacks. "
Before we get to the actual events, let's consider parenting style for a second, shall we? Remember how you grew up and your parents made you follow their rules? Remember how much that annoyed you? Before you go on, think about which rules really generated the most friction. Got them in mind? Good. Now read what this couple did out of parental concern for their kids.
We outfitted them in uniforms that we hoped would help them escape profiling in stores and public areas: pastel-colored, non-hooded sweatshirts; cleanly pressed, belted, non-baggy khaki pants; tightly-laced white tennis sneakers; Top-Sider shoes; conservative blazers; rep ties; closely cropped hair; and no sunglasses. Never any sunglasses.
Let's pause for a moment. Be honest -- did your parents
ever forbid you from wearing sunglasses? If they had tried, would you have tolerated that? I didn't think so. This certainly sounds excessive. Why would anyone go to such extremes? Well.....
No overzealous police officer or store owner was going to profile our child as a neighborhood shoplifter. With our son’s flawless diction and deferential demeanor, no neighbor or playdate parent would ever worry that he was casing their home or yard.
Ok, even if it sounds excessive... at least it was borne out of real world experience:
Seeing the unwillingness of taxis to stop for him in our East Side Manhattan neighborhood, and noting how some white women clutched their purses when he walked by or entered an elevator, we came up with even more rules for our three children:
What? More rules? You already are dictating dress, diction, and behavior what else could be proscribed? You want a list? Ok....
1. Never run while in the view of a police officer or security person unless it is apparent that you are jogging for exercise, because a cynical observer might think you are fleeing a crime or about to assault someone.
2. Carry a small tape recorder in the car, and when you are the driver or passenger (even in the back seat) and the vehicle has been stopped by the police, keep your hands high where they can be seen, and maintain a friendly and non-questioning demeanor.
3. Always zip your backpack firmly closed or leave it in the car or with the cashier so that you will not be suspected of shoplifting.
4. Never leave a shop without a receipt, no matter how small the purchase, so that you can’t be accused unfairly of theft.
5. If going separate ways after a get-together with friends and you are using taxis, ask your white friend to hail your cab first, so that you will not be left stranded without transportation.
6. When unsure about the proper attire for a play date or party, err on the side of being more formal in your clothing selection.
7. Do not go for pleasure walks in any residential neighborhood after sundown, and never carry any dark-colored or metallic object that could be mistaken as a weapon, even a non-illuminated flashlight.
8. If you must wear a T-shirt to an outdoor play event or on a public street, it should have the name of a respected and recognizable school emblazoned on its front.
9. When entering a small store of any type, immediately make friendly eye contact with the shopkeeper or cashier, smile, and say “good morning” or “good afternoon.”
These are just a few of the humbling rules that my wife and I have enforced to keep our children safer while living integrated lives.
What? There's
MORE?!?! Maybe someone is being just a little bit overprotective here? After all, you live on the Upper East Side of New York.
Sadly, the answer is a resounding -- NO.
I knew the day would come, but I didn’t know how it would happen, where I would be, or how I would respond. It is the moment that every black parent fears: the day their child is called a nigger.
Now, we all know stupid bigots roam free in America, so it is no surprise you will encounter some of these inbred jerkwads on our highways and byways. They roam free in our cities and thrive in our rural hamlets. But I don't think you would expect to be accosted with "are you the only nigger at
____?" as you walk across the grounds of a "leafy New England boarding school." OK, maybe you would. Stupid is as stupid does and Lord knows money don't buy you class (
cough Trump
cough).
Imagine you are a parent of means (i.e., you are a lawyer who graduated from Princeton) and someone has just accosted your child who you are spending hard earned money to send to a summer program at a pricey New England boarding school. Imagine your son calls you very distressed about this situation. What would you do? I think calling the school might be high on your list of to do items. That's what Graham did. But here's where things get weird. And all that concern gets validated.
I called a dean at the boarding school, who seemed to justify the incident as something that “just happens” in a place where “town-and-gown relations” are strained, but he had little else to say. My son’s school adviser never contacted me about the incident, acting with the same indifference that so many black parents have come to expect. After I reached out to them, I never heard from either man again. Like so many whites who observe our experiences, these two privileged white males treated the incident like a “one-off” that demanded no follow-up and that quickly would be forgotten.
What boggles my mind is the reaction of the privileged white men in the school's administration. I could understand them wanting to avoid publicity. I could understand them counseling against pursuing criminal actions. I could understand their reluctance to bring police on campus. What I can't understand is their failure to recognize the damage to the kid's psyche and their responsibility to reassure him he is in a safe and supportive environment. This is the sort of experience that leaves a mark. As Hushes so trenchantly
notes in the comments:
Do you remember your first kiss? The first time you had sex? Your first car? Your first ... that memory is as strong as any other.
If that doesn't get you right in the heart, you don't have one.
Too often, we hear about the failures of teachers; rarely about the failure of administrators. Well, now you know what that looks like. I'm sure that if the shoe was on the other foot, the administrators Graham contacted would expect an active response if they called to report their kid had been abused. I know I would. But like these administrators, I'm white.
Hold it.
I think we found the problem here. He's not like their kids. At least they don't recognize the similarity. Until we change that, I don't see how we move beyond the current mess. I can't imagine anything more discouraging. Actually, I don't have to imagine anything. The article spells it out in black and white. Graham's son specifically told him not to intervene:
“If the other kids around here find out that I was called a nigger, and that I complained about it,” my son pleaded, “then they will call me ‘racial,’ and will be thinking about race every time they see me. I can’t have that.”
I don't care what color you are. I don't care what culture you hail from. I don't care if you were raised by wolves. I think we can all agree that right there, in that pleading, what it means to be
truly privileged comes into sharp focus. When a victim feels so powerless that even complaining to the proper adult authorities is not an option he entertains -- because he doesn't want to be viewed as the problem -- the invisible chains of oppression have already begun to bind his mind, heart, and soul.
This sort of anecdote is why I find it hard to imagine any black kid growing up in America ever feeling safe. It doesn't matter how well-educated you are, how well-off your family is, how much status your parents have. If you're not white, you are not truly privileged. You think Alito's kid would have been handled the same way? I sure as hell don't.
When I wrote The White Knuckles of Black Men, I opened with these lines:
Steven Colbert can joke that he doesn't see color. People tell him he's White, and he believes them because police call him "Sir." He's right. Rev. Wright in one of his tears goes off on how Hillary will never know what it is like to grab the wheel tightly as a cop car passes because you are a Black man driving in the wrong neighborhood. He's right, too. Dick Gregory, ever the truth-teller, echoes the same story, and like Wright, he explodes with indignation recalling what happens when "They pass by you and you thank God....damn thanking God! You didn't do nuthin' in the first place! Then you know what it's like! Then you Black!" He's so right, it hurts.
They say the worst wounds are self-inflicted. That's true. It's what makes this so devastating and intractable. No invading army, no foreign power, no raiding hordes placed these chains upon us. We forged them ourselves. They are our own peculiar
Gleipnir; barely visible chains fashioned of impossible things. Stronger than any metal, they will endure until Ragnarök, the end of our world. But wringing our hands until that day arrives is mything the point. We built these chains ourselves. We have to break them ourselves. The problem is it will take all of us to do it. For that to happen, the benefactors of white privilege need to understand how it
feels to never be able to have enough privilege.
It's not as hard as you think to get that message across. That is why I ended "The White Knuckles of Black Men" with a simple exercise that cuts through that comfortable cloak of privilege like a hot knife through butter.
The next time you hear the anger in the voice of someone who has lived with this abuse all their life, try to put yourself in their position for a moment. If you have trouble doing that, here's something that might help: Next time someone calls you "Sir" imagine they called you "Punk" instead. If they call you "Ma'am" imagine they called you "Bitch" instead. Next time you try to hail a cab, don't take the first two that stop for you. Next time you go to a restaurant, imagine you put in your reservation BEFORE the people they just seated. Next time you hand someone your credit card, offer them a photo ID as well. Try that for a week and see how you feel. I'm not saying that's going to give you real insight into what it means to be Black in America, but check your blood pressure and you'll be surprised how much you have in common.
It took a lot of courage for Lawrence Graham to write
The Rules: Making sense of race and privilege. He could have borne the slights in private. He could have justified it by saying he didn't want to add to his son's burdens. No one would have faulted him for taking that course. But to his credit, Graham chose the harder path. By sharing his story the way he did, Graham models the behavior he wants his children to emulate. Stepping up as he did, he demonstrates to his son (and others like him) how to face his fear. Princeton's alumni office is to be congratulated for featuring the article. The article is thought provoking and worth reading in its entirely. It's also worth sharing, especially with people who are truly privileged. Maybe they will recognize a piece of themselves in the chicken-hearted administrators described in this tale.