The First Time: A Legacy of Silence
Originally posted by danneunscripted on January 19, 2021
The first time I experienced what I understood as racism was in my English Literature course in my first semester of college. I was 17. Being from the first “free” Black nation to overthrow their enslavers, I had experienced what I now know as colorism. Being from a working-class family with financial means, whose patriarch was a highly regarded member of the community, I had experienced the privilege of classism. Being an immigrant at a predominantly Black school in which the students had divided themselves by ethnic origin and I was, therefore, “not really Black”, I had experienced ethnocentrism. What further divided, or protected, me was the fact that I spent most of my early education in special classes: First ESL, then honors and AP. As such, my classmates were a multicultural bag of misfits. And I remember, most especially in high school, we had created our own micro-cultural enclave.
We were Pakistani, Ecuadorian, Indian, Jamaican, Guyanese, Cuban, Polish, African American, Haitian. We were learning from each other and supporting each other as we navigated what it meant to be a hyphenated American. We didn’t have time to talk about race, we were too busy trying to fit in!
Thus, my dominantly White college was a deeply rude awakening. It was still early in the semester and the fact that I was the only person of color in the class had not fully revealed its consequences. My mind was still wrapped up in presenting as “American enough” to my new classmates. Having excelled in English and writing in high school, even winning local awards and getting published in the local newspaper, I was prepared to take my writing to the next level. While my parents dreamed of my future as a nurse or doctor, I imagined myself as a writer. Needless to say, I was really excited about taking this course and, consequently, equally broken by the experience.
In discussing this activity of recalling one’s first race-related experience, Tatum (2017) notes that the actual event is not as significant as the emotions triggered by the experience. She asks her audience to focus on two important questions: How they felt and did they tell anyone.
How did I feel? In one brief moment, I felt like I had been swallowed by a void. My culture, my ethnic origin, my accent, my weight, all the aspects of my identity I had wrestled with were no longer visible. I had been erased. And without any recollection of someone explaining it, I knew this was happening to me because of my race.
Did I tell anyone? No.
Like Tatum’s participants, I did not discuss this experience with anyone for years to come, but the feeling has haunted me the rest of my life.
This “legacy of silence”, according to Tatum is part of the reason why we have such a difficulty talking about race. At an early age, we (particularly White children) learn that it is impolite to point out someone’s racial difference. White children internalize the superiority of whiteness, the silence regarding race promotes anything other than White as inferior, taboo, and lacking in some measure. Hence, we have questions like, “why are all the Black kids…?” instead of questioning the behavior of all the White kids. Hence, color blindness is praised while critical consciousness is perceived as judgmental and “causing division”. Hence, diversity initiatives often benefit the privileged at the expense of those who are already oppressed. Hence, I am where I am now. Thinking about the first time, which naturally triggers so many other times since. Thinking about all the ways I have changed and all the ways the world has not. Thinking about why I didn’t speak up then and why I am not inclined to speak now.
Originally published August 16, 2020 Dannemart Pierre (danneunscripted). This post is part of a series for a course on Diversity and Social Justice in Higher Education
