The easiest way to teach is to tell a story. The best way to present material so that people will remember it a long time is by using the frame of storytelling. This strategy works best when the person at the heart of the story is someone with whom the listener can feel a special connection.
Amber Ruffin and her sister Lacey Lamar have done an outstanding job of describing some of the impact of racism on their lives by sharing years of personal stories in their book “You’ll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey: Crazy Stories About Racism.”
This book will kick some people in the gut, will make others howl with the laughter of recognition, and others will give up after a few chapters (or pages) having missed the point.
The cumulative effect depends on whether the reader has a reason to care about the women at the heart of the stories and feel some sense of connection to them.
For some readers, the book will bring back memories of times you called your sister or brother or mother or friend to say “You will NEVER believe what happened THIS time” and poured out your latest tale of indignity. Or maybe it will remind you of the times you were the loved one or trusted friend who received the call, offering your listening ear and your compassion and your laughter from time to time to help soften the blow.
Someone who has no personal identification with these stories might come to a broader level of awareness about the pervasiveness of racism: “All this happened to just one family? And they have lots of stories they didn’t even put in this book? And this is multiplied by tens of millions of blackfolks and other PoC in this country? Damn!”
Amber Ruffin was one of the first writers hired by Seth Meyers after NBC shuffled their lineup in 2014 and offered Meyers his own show in the 12:30 am time slot. Ruffin is the first Black woman (in fact, the first woman of any color) to be hired as a staff writer on a network late night show. She was such a hit in the writers’ room that soon she was appearing on-air in recurring bits called “Jokes Seth Can’t Tell” and “Amber Says What”.
Her on-camera focus was mostly lighthearted pop culture observational humor. Even her segment “Amber’s Minute of Fury” was full of twinkling eyes, sparkling smiles, and comically exaggerated preening, with blood-boiling blue-hot rage (that’s hotter and more progressive than white-hot rage LOL) sandwiched expertly in between.
She gained a devoted following for the no-nonsense way she delivered sharp remarks about serious topics with a snarky kidding/not kidding smile on her face. Because she was giggly and goofy and pleasant, she was able to say things that might turn off a majority-white audience if it were coming from someone letting her pain and anger show without the humor overlay. Some didn’t think it was funny at all. Some folks even found it offensive. But she got her point across in ways no one else had ever done in late night.
June 2020 was when everything changed.
The week after the murder of George Floyd, Meyers opened his show each night with a serious clip of Amber sitting alone before the camera talking about her personal run-ins with the police.
The stark contrast with her previous bubbly bouncy image took some people by surprise.
Things like this have happened to Amber? To Amber? What cop could possibly feel threatened by perky peppy Amber? What police officer could possibly be aggressive toward sweet funny non-threatening Amber?
It turned out she was a powerful communicator when she was speaking as herself and not directly playing for laughs (although she still managed a few poignant moments of being funny in spite of it all). As the clips went viral they raised her profile as a social commentator and broadened her fan base considerably.
A few months later, NBC made the very wise decision to greenlight The Amber Ruffin Show and give her a Friday evening half-hour slot of her own on the Peacock network. It took off like a rocket and already has a passionate following even though it started during the pandemic and she has no studio audience. Just as with John Oliver, there is no prompt but your own mind to fill in the laugh track (ok, sometimes the crew can be heard laughing in the background, but still). She is the single reason I subscribe to the Peacock channel.
Publishers had been eagerly buzzing around her for a while with interest in her rise to late-night cult fame, but she had no intention of writing a book until the day this topic occurred to her. You think the stories about Amber’s encounters with racism were eye-opening? You’ll never believe what happened to Lacey!
Amber and Lacey grew up in Omaha, Nebraska: the heart of the heartland, the very archetype of “Middle America,” and a city not noted for having a large black population. But Omaha has the same neighborhood conflicts and distinctions associated with larger urban areas, including places white people are reluctant to go and places Black people are reluctant to go. Except for frequent mentions of Omaha landmarks, these stories could have happened anywhere, which is exactly the point.
The style of the book creates a back and forth experience as if you are overhearing a conversation the sisters are having in person or on the phone. Amber is a tremendously talented comedy writer and satirist, so there are places where, despite the underlying seriousness of the subject matter, you might embarrass yourself reading it in public. I yelped so loud one time while reading it in the doctor’s office that staff members thought I was crying out in pain!
At the same time, there are chapters that inspire such heartbreaking despair and incandescent fury you will not know whether to weep buckets or put your fist through a wall (or both).
The book makes an effort to ease readers into the topic by saving the most intense stories for last. The Table of Contents gives clues to this progression, moving from early chapters “I Got a Million Of ‘Em” and “Is This a Joke” to “I Want to Put This Book Down and Run Away from It” and “There’s Nothing I Can Say to You to Make You Believe These Stories but Here They Are Anyway.”
This book is for you if:
- You heard Amber’s four stories about the police and wanted her to say more.
- You are a person who wonders why blackfolks bring up race all the time because when you look around your own life you don’t notice racist things happening very often.
- You have a job in human resources, retail, or any kind of work with the public, where being able to recognize and deal with these situations competently is more important than it has ever been before.
- You don’t have anyone in your life who tells you stories like these from their own experience, so the book is a way for you to hear a first-person perspective on “everyday racism.”
- You can relate to these stories because of what you have been through in your own life, and even feel some pride & admiration for how strong blackfolks are to put up with this stuff and still survive and thrive day after day, year after year, decade after decade, generation after generation.
Needless to say, I do believe what happened to Lacey. Nothing in the book seems implausible or hard to believe, because I have similar stories of my own, and have heard countless stories from family and friends over the years. Most BIPoC can say the same; the only difference is a matter of degree. For every event that goes viral or gets national attention there are many more known only to a handful of people in the towns or neighborhoods where they happened.
I am more than a little concerned about a flame war if people start sharing personal stories here in response to this essay. I’ve been around long enough to have seen many a well-meaning conversation about race end up with the usual suspects showing up to piss in the punchbowl. Of course, anyone who feels led to share an “everyday racism” story is absolutely welcome to do so.
I have a different, more general discussion question on my mind:
Does it help to tell/hear/write/read these stories?
I mean, really. Does it?
I keep flipping back and forth on this point.
Sometimes I want the world to know. Sometimes I want to flood the awareness of the doubters and deniers with story after story after story after story after story until they face reality. Sometimes I wish I had a soapbox to stand on and shout to the rooftops: this crap is happening to someone somewhere every got damn day, and anyone walking around unaware needs to open their eyes and ears and see and hear!
On the other hand, sometimes it is depressing to realize how long this has been going on, and discouraging to wonder if any more significant progress will be made in my lifetime. Then I want to pull back and shrink away from it all (which isn’t really an option, but the impulse does arise occasionally).
Sometimes people need to vent, to let it all hang out, to be reassured that their voice is heard, to honor their resilience and acknowledge their survival, and, by hearing similar stories, know they are not alone.
On the other hand, sometimes it is hard enough just carrying the weight of my own memories, and when I hear a particularly outrageous story it takes every bit of strength to rise above and find a way to laugh to keep from crying.
Obviously, since I have written this, today I believe the stories are worth telling. I respect folks who say: Don’t show them how badly it gets to you. I have equal respect for those who say: Eff this, it’s time to stop shielding individuals (and the culture as a whole) from the truth.
Most important, I definitely believe “You’ll never believe what happened to Lacey” is worth reading and recommending.
Since I can’t bring myself to watch the police brutality videos anymore, I need another way to bear witness. Spreading the word about a book like this one is a small part of fulfilling that solemn obligation.
Perhaps the bottom line reaches back to a deep connection with the core of my faith tradition: By hearing the testimony of people who speak truth, I carry their truth within me, and in so doing I take my place as part of the continuing legacy of truth.
Amber and Lacey talking to Seth Meyers about the book