ON INVISIBILITY: PART III - The Inauguration Edition
Just as I was getting ready to post a new entry last week, an inauguration happened. My, what an extraordinary day! And though it may not have rhymed, and it ran a little too long for my non-poetic taste, Elizabeth Alexander’s inaugural poem touched on the topic for my latest ranting: speaking.
“Each day we go about our business,” she read, our new president looking wondrously presidential behind her, “walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.”
Or, I’d like to add, not doing anything…at all…ever.
A few weeks ago, I spoke with an African American mother, the friend of a friend, who is in the process of applying to schools for her daughter. Having already spent two years at an all-white preschool, a well-known bastion of Waspiness, she wondered if she was up for more of the same going forward. Her daughter had thrived there, she told me, but “of course there are parents who won’t speak. That’s the way they are, and that’s fine.”
No, it’s not fine. I had to admit to her that as much as I love my daughter’s school, and most of people in it, there are people, primarily other mothers, who for years now have not said “Boo!” to me, no matter how many times I have said, “Hello.” For a while, with a couple of the biggest offenders – the ones I see virtually every day and still nothing – it became a bit of a game, until one day I just gave up and decided not to acknowledge them, either. Maybe now that Obama is president I should try again: I’ll let you know how it goes.
Another mother once told me, shortly after her two children started at a private school in New York, “You’re in this weird zone. The parents don’t speak to you, because they think you’re a nanny; and the nannies don’t speak, because they know you’re not one of them.”
Okay, so we know that the Nanny Syndrome has a lot to do with it. But others are just rude, and yes, some people still have a hard time talking to black people. I also think that there’s something else going on in the subconscience of many otherwise decent souls: conditioned to believe that their owners couldn’t possibly know anyone one who doesn’t look like them, at least no one of consequence, their brains simply filter them out. They don’t see us; and sometimes, admittedly, we don’t see others.
I happen to know a lot of people, and as I “go about my business,” I am always on the lookout for one of them. It’s fun – well, most of the time – to run into old friends and colleagues, former classmates, fellow moms, people I’ve served on juries with, and even the women from the beauty shop. Plus, I am terrified of dissing them – well, most of them – by not at least smiling in recognition.
In his most recent TV special, Chris Rock does a bit praising our new president, saying that America has come a long way in electing him. To paraphrase, he says that, “My black friends now have a bunch of white friends. The white people I know now have one black friend.” Whatever your color, you just never know when you might find a friend. It’s actually how I met my husband, but that’s a story for another time.
Look up! Catch each other’s eyes! And for heaven's sake, speak!
“Each day we go about our business,” she read, our new president looking wondrously presidential behind her, “walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.”
Or, I’d like to add, not doing anything…at all…ever.
A few weeks ago, I spoke with an African American mother, the friend of a friend, who is in the process of applying to schools for her daughter. Having already spent two years at an all-white preschool, a well-known bastion of Waspiness, she wondered if she was up for more of the same going forward. Her daughter had thrived there, she told me, but “of course there are parents who won’t speak. That’s the way they are, and that’s fine.”
No, it’s not fine. I had to admit to her that as much as I love my daughter’s school, and most of people in it, there are people, primarily other mothers, who for years now have not said “Boo!” to me, no matter how many times I have said, “Hello.” For a while, with a couple of the biggest offenders – the ones I see virtually every day and still nothing – it became a bit of a game, until one day I just gave up and decided not to acknowledge them, either. Maybe now that Obama is president I should try again: I’ll let you know how it goes.
Another mother once told me, shortly after her two children started at a private school in New York, “You’re in this weird zone. The parents don’t speak to you, because they think you’re a nanny; and the nannies don’t speak, because they know you’re not one of them.”
Okay, so we know that the Nanny Syndrome has a lot to do with it. But others are just rude, and yes, some people still have a hard time talking to black people. I also think that there’s something else going on in the subconscience of many otherwise decent souls: conditioned to believe that their owners couldn’t possibly know anyone one who doesn’t look like them, at least no one of consequence, their brains simply filter them out. They don’t see us; and sometimes, admittedly, we don’t see others.
I happen to know a lot of people, and as I “go about my business,” I am always on the lookout for one of them. It’s fun – well, most of the time – to run into old friends and colleagues, former classmates, fellow moms, people I’ve served on juries with, and even the women from the beauty shop. Plus, I am terrified of dissing them – well, most of them – by not at least smiling in recognition.
In his most recent TV special, Chris Rock does a bit praising our new president, saying that America has come a long way in electing him. To paraphrase, he says that, “My black friends now have a bunch of white friends. The white people I know now have one black friend.” Whatever your color, you just never know when you might find a friend. It’s actually how I met my husband, but that’s a story for another time.
Look up! Catch each other’s eyes! And for heaven's sake, speak!
Wonderful blog! I think the nanny syndrome goes deep, and speaks to how we treat any human being who works in care-giving or the services industry in general. Now that I am staying home with my children, I have even more respect for the skill and patience of the women who handled me and my children.
On a diversity note, I was always a little surprised when mothers would offer outlandish praise about my babysitters, who were great, but not quite ready for sainthood. Then, I figured out that part of the attraction was that they were white, and the mothers felt comfortable being seen in public with them at play dates.
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I enjoy reading this blog as it echoes so much of what I feel to be true. On the other hand, as a woman of color but pale, or melanin-ly challenged, as I like to call it, I am not always ignored. People don't know what to make of me and that can create it's own issues.
What I find curious is the lack of communication between the parents of color at my son's predominantly white school. When I see them in the hall, they often don't speak or make eye contact. Perhaps it's a vibe I give off. Or perhaps it is the desire not to stand out. Not to be bring attention to the fact that we are, in fact, people of color. One on one, people are personable but in a group the desire to blend in separates us. For years I've heard statements like "you know black people always speak to each other on the street even if they don't know each other." or "you can always tell a brother or a sister, even by their voices" or such trite things as "we've go to stick together". Yet that doesn't ring true here.
Now that Obama is president, I imagine that there are white people worried that he'll change the color of Washington. That he'll bring all his "homies" into the White House. As he settles into office, clearly that is not the case (altho he certainly is not afraid to award those talented or close to him with the jobs they deserve). While he acknowledged his roots in his Inauguration speech, he was careful to speak of inclusion rather than separation. We're all in this together. But does that mean that it's no longer politically correct to bond with those who look like us? The people on the mall in D.C. were a melting pot but the black people there were unabashedly proud of Obama and their color. If people can do that on national TV, why can't we do it the hallways at school or at the wine and cheese receptions we all attend? I'm curious if others feel this way, if I just need to reach out more, or if I'm hyper sensitive.
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