Starting to Talk About Race, pt. 2: Understanding Privilege

For Part 1, go here.

Before continuing on with my discussion, I wanted to address something I wrote in my previous post. I wrote that if the reader disagreed with my modified definition of racism, their dissent didn't matter because it wasn't their perspective. To help understand what I meant like that, I want to talk about a Lego sculpture. Imagine a seemingly order less mass of Lego, but when you shine a light on it a certain way, you see the silhouette of a dragon. Standing a few feet from you, someone is looking at the same sculpture but because of where they are standing, a different light is casting a shadow of a butterfly. Same sculpture, two different perspectives that are both valid. The difference being not just where you are standing, but the light that is casting the shadow. I wanted to try and clarify that because in this post I want to try and tackle privilege, and clarifying what I meant, and how our background and education shape it, will hopefully help me get my point across.

If you would like a visual for the concept above, check this out:

Like the last post, let's talk about how privilege might be generally defined, and then modify it to how it can be used from a different context.

I remember when I first heard someone talk about privilege in a more social justice context, I thought that it was stupid. I wasn't rich, I didn't go to a private school, my family doesn't have a jet; my family worked for what we had, nothing was just handed to us. I had to wear knock-off shoes from Payless when growing up! (Aside: I don't have anything against Payless.) For me privilege = wealth. This is what makes privilege a tricky topic, it's easy to see ourselves as not benefiting from it, and seeing others who are more wealthy as the ones who are privileged. While money certainly plays a part in privilege (socio-economic privilege is a very real thing, and I would argue the foundation of the current chaotic election), it is only one of many ways that a person or group can get a leg up on others. Privilege can also be described as having unimpeded access towards a certain social objective, such as higher education or marriage.

Areas such as education, country or state of birth, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, gender identity, and race, are just the tip of the iceberg. How your parent's and grandparents fit into the above list affects your level of privilege as well. With the Lego sculpture, the light is each person's privilege, and it grows lighter or dimmer depending on the demographics of that person.

The two people are standing in different spots looking at the same sculpture, but there is a barrier making it difficult to see what the other is seeing. Behind one person, there is a strong bright light making the image easy to see, and the other has a dim light. To make matters worse, it's pretty clear the stronger light is making it harder for the person with the dim light to make out their image. In this scenario, it would be easy to go around the barrier and see that there is a different image. It would also be easy to understand that it is harder to see.

Unfortunately, getting to the other person's perspective is rarely easy, because it takes effort on our part to understand what they are seeing. What happens with privilege is that we don't have to understand because there are not any repercussions for ourselves. We express sympathy that the other person is struggling, but simply ignore the problem. We say they should just look harder, but don't admit that they shouldn't have to.

This is the difference between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy allows us to acknowledge a problem without addressing it, being able to move on without our lives being affected (which is the essence of privilege). Empathy requires effort and putting the other person first.

So how do we act when we're faced with our privilege? In the next post, I'm planning on talking about guilt and how focusing on it prevents us from truly helping others.

Starting to Talk About Race

For Part 2, go here.

It's the end of September, General Conference is almost here, and the election is in a little over a month. There are so many things that I could write about, and I have even begun a few posts here and there, but nothing felt right. Recently, I've been engaging in more and more conversations about race; in the classroom when discussing identity and outside influences, in general conversation, and on Facebook. One thing that has been standing out in these interactions is that, in general, we lack a shared vocabulary and understanding of what racism is, so that when we have conversations, it is easy to get flustered, because while we're using the same words, we aren't using the same language.

I want to make something incredibly clear: I am not an expert at talking about race. I am just a white guy with a little  grasp of a few concepts that might help when having conversations. I'm also going to point out that this is primarily addressed to my fellow Whites. In cases of race, I don't think it is appropriate to point out the best way another group should talk to Caucasians about race. Instead, when I give a suggestion on how to handle a situation, it is with the white perspective in mind.

In order to give more time to this discussion, I have been thinking about breaking my thoughts up into a few different posts, and because of this, I figured that the best place to start would be to talk about what exactly racism is. To do this, let's talk about the phrase, "I can't be racist, I'm_______."

As a white person, this used to make no sense. For me, racism meant not liking someone because of their skin color, which, I'd be willing to argue, is the way a lot of white people define racism. Because this is the functional definition from a white perspective, hearing this can make the person defensive or even attacked. It can also lead to this enlightened epithet shared with me by some guy:

"I'm proud to be black said the black man.
I'm proud to be Asian said the Asian man.
I'm proud to be Hispanic said the Hispanic man.
I'm proud to be white said the racist."

Grammatical errors put aside, I wouldn't be surprised if something like this regularly crossed people's mind when being told that they could be racist when it is an impossibility for the other person. Again, they feel attacked and become defensive.

(As an aside, I think it should go without saying that I disagree with the statement. Generally, we don't express our pride through our skin color, but through our cultural heritage: Irish, Italian, Scottish, Greek, etc. Also, I think it is telling that of the four groups above, Black Americans have the hardest time linking their family's cultural heritage to a specific country in Africa. As Mormons, this should be particularly disturbing to us, as linking ourselves to our ancestors is an integral part of our worship, and for those descended from slaves, that task may be near impossible. It's commendable that the church works to do what it can, and genetic mapping may help, but that severed link to the past is just one of the many bricks in the facade that helped create institutional racism.)

The problem with feeling attacked and becoming defensive, is that it takes the possibility of a meaningful conversation and throws it out the window. Empathy becomes less likely.

So, what does a person mean when they say, "I can't be racist, I'm_______." To answer that, we need to look at the definition of racism a little differently. Instead of looking at it as one race vs. another, let's consider it as society valuing one group over others and creating an imbalance in access to resources that lead to success. Think of it as Top/Down Racism. When looking at it this way, the predominate group is the only one that can be racist, because they are the only one reaping the full benefits from that society while the other groups typically have to work harder to achieve similar success.

It is possible that you just read that and thought that it is just a bunch of liberal B.S. and that is not how our society works at all. To respond, I am going to lovingly suggest that what you think doesn't matter, because it isn't your perspective. (Hopefully, I'll address Privilege in the future, along with subjects like White Guilt and Implicit Bias. But for the moment, the response above to the expanded definition of racism is an example of how privilege shapes how we perceive our society.)

The question of perspective is important, because it is the first step towards an empathetic response, and in this case the response will make the difference between a meaningful exchange and the possibility of a new best friend, or a continuation of the shouting that plagues the national dialogue.

So what would an empathetic response be? How about any of these:

• "I'm sorry, I must have offended you."
• "I'm trying to learn more about racism, and how it affects everyone. Would you be willing to talk about your experiences?"
• "Some guy wrote a blog post about how I should respond to that comment. He's an idiot, but I still want to understand what you mean by that. There's a _______ nearby, can I buy you a ________ and talk about it?"

Try to avoid:

• "Clearly, you don't know what racism means."
• "That's offensive, how dare you."
• That four line freeform poem above about only whites being racist and yelling stuff.

To finish, talking about racism is hard, and despite best efforts and well-meaning comments, chances are we'll still make missteps, offend, and alienate. If that happens, the best thing to do is listen and understand. The main thing is that we try to understand and accept the validity of others' perspectives that we may not have shared experiences with.

On finding my faith, and being at peace with it.

When stripped away of feelings, confirmations, and whispers, belief at its core is absurd. I'm not just talking about religions that believe in a higher power; believing that there isn't a higher power is equally absurd, because objectively, there is no way to prove things one way or another. Until the heavens open and someone comes down, be it Thor, Zeus, Allah, or Heavenly Father, we have to trust in those feelings, confirmations, and whispers to influence our belief in our worldview.

This belief then turns to faith, which as we like to say in Sunday School, is belief in action. Faith is how we let our belief shape us. However, when we allow our belief to shape us in a way that begins to deny objective facts, we begin to detach ourselves from the shared experience of existence, and deny others access to an honest exchange of ideas that can help relationships grow, and that foster mutual understanding even when there may be disagreement.

For a long time, I thought I had things figured out, and was unable to see how someone could not just see the logical conclusions that I had arrived at. I was unable to see the absurdity in it, and therefore cut myself off from understanding others.

Now, regardless of what your opinion of Orson Scott Card is, Ender's Game is an amazing book, and somewhat ironically, helped me on my way towards becoming that liberal-for-a-mormon I am now. It was the first book that I read that helped me understand empathy. In order to defeat his enemies, be it bullies or aliens, Ender had to learn to think like them, which in the end, led to him learning how to love them. This in turn led him to becoming the Speaker for the Dead, which is the ultimate display empathy.

Ender’s story helped me to understand my middle-namesake, Ammon, better. Essentially, he became a Lamanite ally. He put away his stereotypes of the Lamanites being heathen and evil, and saw them for what they were, sons and daughters of God. Now, the thing about being an ally is that you don't have to ditch who you are to acknowledge the experiences of others, just like Ammon acknowledging the Great Spirit that King Lamoni believed in. When you become an ally, you end up finding out how much you have in common with a perceived other.

So what does this have to do with belief being absurd? Acknowledging that others view my belief as absurd, has allowed me to realize that I don't rely on any logical conclusions, but that I have to rely on faith, because I can never, objectively, know and prove that what I believe in is true. And I would not be able to come to that conclusion if I had not started to learn empathy, and love the people I viewed as others.

It is this combination of absurdity and faith that has allowed me to search for my faith anchors. In some cases they are my belay to the Iron Rod when I have the urge to let go as the pull between my religious affiliation and my understanding of human nature strengthens.

Through all of that, the easy question is, why don't I just leave my church, and I think I speak for most liberal leaning members when I say that that isn't an option. I do have faith that I have had experiences that testify that the Church is true, that I just can't accept as confirmation bias. I love the Church and the people in it despite having deep reservations about how certain groups are being treated, or have been treated in the past.

This faith lives next to my support for issues that are outside my religious mainstream, which has helped me step back and see the absurdity of both. This is how I live with my cognitive dissonance, and this is why I persist in belonging to and loving two increasingly opposing positions. Because life is absurd, the only thing we can do is love one another, and in the end if there is hate in my heart I don't think I would be comfortable meeting my Maker.

No matter how absurd that idea may be, it is the one I decide to place my faith in.

Pseudo-Voltaire and Religious Freedom

My long journey toward becoming a francophile started with a lie. In some quote book in our house growing up, there was a quote by Voltaire, "I may not agree with what you believe, but I will defend to the death your right to believe it." He didn't say that. That being said, I thought, and still think it's a good mantra to keep in the back of your mind.

It's good because it is a very basic template for respecting other people. It's also good because in France, not being Catholic could get you killed, or at least lose everything. Just ask the Huguenots in La Rochelle, how they would've liked a little bit of religious tolerance.

Religious tolerance was one of the noble reasons why Europeans started migrating en masse to the Americas. Pilgrims hopped around until they finally landed at Plymouth Rock. Freedom to choose an practice one's own religion was also the first rights given to in the Constitution, it's some pretty awesome stuff.

Speaking of awesome stuff, I like cake. Give me a slice of cake instead of a cupcake any day (or better yet, give me both, even more awesome). But the problem with cake is that gay people like it too, and surprisingly they like it at their weddings. Bakers who disagree with same-sex marriage have refused to accommodate these couples, lawsuits have followed, and the bakers lose. The question being, where does one person's rights start, and the other's end? I'm not a constitutional law scholar, nor do I play one on TV, but this is how I see it.

Once upon a time, there were places that Blacks could not go, or if they went, there were certain places they had to be, which was often sub-par in comparison to where Whites were. Blacks and Whites couldn't marry. Blacks, once they could vote, often had to pass impossible tests in order to register. Like the same-sex question, religion was one of the arguments for these practice, as it was for slavery. Eventually, we figured out that this was a bad idea, and what subsequently happened was that the privileged, and un-privileged were slowly brought to a level playing field.

I do believe that if you open your doors for business, you open them for everyone. Putting a sign on your door restricting access is the same as it was during Segregation. It is wrong and it is dehumanizing. I strongly believe that we are created equal, and that we are due the respect that being a Child of God should bring regardless of background. Again, the socially privileged are starting to have to give up that status so that others can be brought up to the same level as them.

In the end that loss of privilege, is what is hurting so bad. God is no respecter of persons, and government should be no respecter of religions in the same way.

This brings me to what has been bothering me over the past day or so. Several church leaders held a press conference in support of LGBT rights in cases like housing, the workplace, and public transit. Fantastic!! What a perfectly good stance to have! Then they started talking about freedom of religion. Possibly some clear protections should be put in place. I don't believe that clergy should be forced to perform a marriage they disagree with, nor should they be forced to rent out their chapels for the same. Religious organizations should be able to practice according to their own conscience, even if that involves discrimination. However, it didn't feel like this was what they were talking about.

The examples given seemed more about protecting private enterprise or individuals from having to treat others equally. If that is allowed, it's not a stretch to imagine gays not being able sit at certain tables in a restaurant. To avoid too much of a slippery slope, I do think that there should be protections from having to post messages that go against a business owner's beliefs. Make the gay wedding cake, but not have to write, "Gay sex is the best sex!" Or in another, actual case make a cake that says, "God hates gays." (Full disclosure, I read about this compromise here.)

As I wrap up, I do want to say that I support the church leadership, and I won't hesitate to raise my hand to confirm them. It just feels like this Church announcement was brought to us by Fox News. And like Fox News, the Voltaire quote above might be fake (zing!), so, I've decided to adjust it to better reflect how I feel about the rights of others: I may not yet know how everything fits together, but I will defend to the death your right to be who you are, and your right to be treated fairly.

Keeping Them in the Boat

I've been sitting on this blog for a while, wondering exactly what I wanted to do with it, then my faith was called into question this past weekend. This was the first time that this had happened to me, but from what I've been told, and from what I've observed, these types of accusations have become increasingly common both in social media, blogs, and editorials. What stung a little was not only the accusation, but the use of two different conference talks to support the attack, one being Pres. Uchtdorf's "Come, Join with Us" talk (commonly referred to as the doubt your doubts talk), and the other, "Stay in the Boat and Hold On!" from Elder Ballard. Both attempt to help those that struggle with the Church, but regularly Pres. Uchtdorf's talk is used as ammunition to attack those that have doubts, and Elder Ballard's was used in a way toward me to imply that if I didn't get in the boat, shut up, and fall in line (with that persons view of doctrine), or I should just get off the boat.

Before I received the message, I had spent the day in my graduate "Social Justice" class, and was already somewhat emotionally raw. I was able to share some of my experiences of being what I know see as being a passive racist, and my experiences led me towards something I hope is what Mellody Hobson refers to as "Color Brave." And a large part of that journey was learning how to look outside of myself and actively assess how my actions, behaviors, and words affected other people.

We all want believe that we are good people, and I think that can prevent us from honest self-reflection. Being color-blind, and hating the sin, but loving the sinner, are two of ways of convincing ourselves that we are good people. The problem with these arguments, is that they are often the starting point for dismissing others concerns, and distancing us from the empathy and charity we should be practicing.

So, how does this all fit into what happened to me this weekend, and what exactly do I hope to do with the blog?

The reason the accusation was thrown my way was during a Facebook conversation about the ramifications of things said at the recent General Conference, and subsequent edits concerning the Women's Session. To be clear, I do support the conversation groups like Ordain Women are trying to have about women's role in the Church, while not particularly agreeing with their conclusions as to what the outcomes should be. Some, however, see the conversation itself as a threat, and because of it, get defensive immediately, dismiss the value of even having the conversation to begin with, and telling the person that they risk being like Simons Ryder. He might be a good example to use during a Sunday School lesson about Church History, but he is a terrible example to use when talking to someone who is struggling with doubts. (And yes, he was used against me.)

What if, instead of retreating immediately to our defensive stance, we instead listened, and acknowledged the other person's feelings as authentic?

What if, instead of immediately trying to "fix" their doubts, we tried to help them maintain the stronger parts of their testimony.

What if, instead of telling those that are trying to stay on the boat that they are holding on to the side wrong, (and if they get back in, they can only sit or stand in a certain way), we  let them have their doubts, and explore their faith, but in the boat, in a place of refuge and love.
Letting them have their doubts can be scary, but doubts are more likely to lead to stronger and deeper testimonies when they are confronted with members by their side instead of in their faces.

To be clear, I do not have doubts, even though my views tend to lean a little more left than your average Mormon (hey, the title!), but there are members that do who feel like that don't matter. That is unacceptable, and that is why I try to participate in conversations that are difficult.