Excrement in North Carolina

      The news came in yesterday that North Carolina's state legislature voted not to repeal their law that requires transgendered individuals to use public bathrooms that correspond with their birth gender.  This, despite several long hours of deals between legislators.  Also after months of intense public protest, media scrutiny, and boycotting.
      I have to keep reminding myself that this senseless prejudice is born out of ignorance.  Gender is a critical part of personal identity.  For people who feel grounded in their gender, the idea of wanting to be otherwise can be really baffling, even terrifying.  And if they don't know anybody who is transgender their imaginations can take them to a lot of frightening places.  I understand this reaction, because I'm human: my instincts when faced with something totally outside my realm of experience is confusion and discomfort.  It has taken work to get to a place where I can catch myself*, and check and challenge my assumptions.

Humor is a great way to get people to stop and think, but sadly, there is very little that is funny about this issue.  Transgender women (women who were born as males) experience the highest rate of assault and murder.

      This piece in the news has me thinking a lot about Gender Privilege.  Of course there is the obvious discrepancy in how men and women are treated, but there's more to it than that.  When someone identifies as other than their birth gender - and that identity may not fit into a neat, binary model - sexism complicates matters even further.  Because gender is not just a biological phenomenon, it's also a social one.  A person who was born a male and transitions to female gives up a hell of a lot of privilege.  Honestly, they probably won't even receive the same privileges as a biologically-born female, unless they can pass really, really well.  It's not the physical, but the social aspects of gender that makes being a member of the trans community so dangerous.
       Recently at a training on working with transgendered youth, the presenter asked us all to imagine waking up tomorrow with our genders reversed.**  The trainer explained that those strong negative reactions are akin to what trans kids feel when they undergo puberty.  All of a sudden their body is becoming more sexualized, except that it's turning out to be something that feels foreign.  They live this feeling every day, and for many it only gets worse with time.
      The exercise was to help people understand and empathize.  In talking with my fellow trainees afterward, I was surprised by the spectrum of responses to imaging waking up with different genitals.  Some people felt shock.  Others felt curiosity.  Some said they felt revulsion, or panic.  A few people said they couldn't participate in the mental exercise, because the idea was literally inconceivable to them: they just couldn't force their imagination to go there.
      It reminded me of my college days, when I cut my hair very short (a "boy cut") and tended to wear baggy pants and flannels.  My reasons were simple: I wasn't vain, and this look was both comfortable and convenient.  But I was mistaken for a male from the back more than once.  On one memorable occasion, a well-meaning salesperson at a high-end retail establishment tried to remove me from the women's dressing room.  My reaction to this was anger.  I remember turning around in shock and gripping my chest to make a point.  She was completely mortified, apologized profusely.  Later, when I got over my anger, it made for a funny story.  But now I think back on that and wonder what precisely made me so mad.
      It's not like I didn't know that I wasn't presenting in stereotypical gender fashion.  Nor was that the first time someone had made that error when seeing me from behind.  I'd like to say that my feelings were born of a deep feminist belief that a woman isn't defined by her looks--especially not her clothing and hair.  But that's too cerebral; my reaction was reflexive.  In retrospect, I think it was because being faced with a limitation based on my perceived gender - even for a few seconds - was offensive to my feeling of identity.  And what's more, because it was someone trying to ban me from a space where  I felt instinctively that I belonged, I felt threatened.

      That was a small, small incident in my own life, but I am trying to use it to come to a better understanding of how I experience Gender Privilege.  For some people it is easier to be an ally to people with different skin, because of course we are born that way, it's nobody's choice, and therefore it's nobody's fault, so prejudice based on skin color is inherently unfair.  But being transgender seems to many to be a choice.  More than that, it seems an incomprehensible choice.  So they don't experience the same level of alliance.  We can all empathize with being treated unfairly for something that isn't our fault; it's harder to grasp making what seems to be such a radical - in some cases incomprehensible - choice.
      I think what these people are missing is understanding what kind of choice it is to become a transgendered person.  Most of us are not faced with a choice to be who we are, or not.  We were born with the privilege of having most of our life choices fall within a spectrum acceptable to our sense of self.  I am going to try harder to be aware of that privilege.  The truth is, I admire people who are true to themselves, no matter what.  I just want to develop a deeper understanding of what that means, for everyone.



*Most of the time, I'm not perfect.

**People are beginning to understand that gender is not binary, but for the purposes of this presentation it made the most sense to present the language in these terms.

Reflections on Safety Pin Training

      Last weekend, I taught a free community training on de-escalation skills.  It was my friend's idea: she's far more involved in social media than I am and she saw both an interest and a need.  She reached out to me, she found a location, and she put out the word.  She is amazing.  And over 20 people showed up.
      Over 20 people came to learn ways to put themselves between an aggressor and a targeted individual.  They came to learn how to help others - help strangers - because they believe in embodying the values of equity and inclusion.  It was humbling.  I know it sounds corny, but I was honestly deeply moved that these individuals were willing to learn, and willing to act.  It's nice to know we're not alone.

      I am a privileged individual who, by no other means than the color of my skin, am a member of a broad and comfortable majority.  It is exceedingly rare for me to go anywhere and feel out-of-place, and when I do it's usually by choice.  But for the first few days after the election I didn't feel that way.  Everywhere I went, every White stranger I looked at, I wondered: "Who is this person?  How did they vote, and why?  What are their values?"  I was trying to read facial expressions like never before.  Were they happy or sad?  Elated that their "underdog" candidate had made it?  Or did they feel like me, distressed that such an ugly side of America had been exposed, and proved so much larger than they had feared?  It is my nature to assume that everyone is a good person when I first meet them.  All of a sudden, I was questioning that.
      My paranoia had died down a little bit since then.  Logic, education, and experience have tempered my emotions into a more reasonable perspective.  After all, not everyone who voted for Trump is an overtly racist hate-monger.  At least one person I know and love has financial convictions that blinded them to the larger social issues.  And there are people who weren't appalled by Trump's rhetoric because it echoed that of most people they know.  To them, it must have been refreshing - maybe even a relief - to finally have a presidential candidate who sounded like "a real person."  They might have experienced the precise opposite of my reaction following the election.  Maybe all of a sudden they felt more like they belonged.
      For me, the sense of isolation continued.  It wasn't until I walked into the room last Saturday and saw those strangers - those wonderful, caring, daring strangers - that I realized how much I was carrying around.  All of a sudden, here was the Seattle I knew and loved: people ranging in age from early 20's to late 50's; ranging in style from conservative slacks to heavy piercings and blue hair; and from the way they were dressed, there was no way to know what the socio-economic spread might be.*  I felt like a member of a community again.  I felt like strangers and I had something in common again.
      It fueled me.  It humbled me.  It stoked the embers of my hope.  It made me feel so, so thankful that I had something to give.  And it made me hungry to learn more, myself.
      If you were there: thank you for coming.
      We'll be doing a repeat of the first training in January, and then moving on to other topics of request later in the winter.  I will have the slides made available soon.  Another friend of mine and I will be coordinating some open trainings and forums about race discrepancy and White Privilege in south Seattle.  I hope to see some of the same people back again, and I hope to see plenty of new faces, too.  We're not alone. As I've been writing in my holiday cards: 2017 may not be shaping up to be the best year, but it can bring out the best in us.

*Of course everyone was White: the Safety Pin movement is about recognizing privilege and becoming an ally.  But you certainly don't have to be White!

White Shield

      Yesterday, Lady Justice winced under her blindfold.  A lot of people - myself definitely included - expected Officer Michael Slager to be convicted of murder.  The evidence was overwhelming, and the entire country has seen it by now: two separate videos show the White police officer chasing Walter Scott - an unarmed Black man - and shooting him in the back multiple times before deliberately planting false evidence.  Yet one of the jurors apparently "could not in good conscience" give guilty verdict, and Slager was granted a mistrial.  Walter Scott did not receive the justice he deserved.

R.I.P. Walter Scott

      I will not use this space to go into the blatant nature of this failure of the justice system.  I will only say that if we take Slager at his word that he shot Mr. Scott because he was "afraid for his life," then his level of fear was nothing short of delusional paranoia.  Anyone with that extreme disconnect from reality should be court mandated to receive intensive psychotherapy, and be prohibited from ever again owning any sort of weapon.*  Fortunately, the prosecution will likely move for a new trial, rather than letting the matter drop.  Additionally, Slager faces new federal charges within the next month or two.  This isn't over yet.
      This morning I was listening to "The Takeaway," a news analysis show on NPR.  There was a brief segment on the mistrial.  The radio host John Hockenberry, said: "When I watch that video, I feel as though my safety as a citizen is compromised by the idea that someone who one moment can say, 'I'm fearing for my life,' and the next moment is covering up evidence...."
      And it hit me: with all of these police shootings, I have been feeling anger--but never fear.
      This realization has forced me to ask myself some uncomfortable questions.  It never occurred to me that I could be the victim of police brutality.  Not once.  But why not?  In my youth, before I understood the reality of pervasive racial prejudice in law enforcement, I believed that a person had to go looking for trouble.  I was raised to believe that police went after Bad Guys, and since I wasn't breaking a law, I had nothing to fear.**
       So does that mean that I believed the Black population was more prone to crime?  I went to a progressive high school and pursued sociology and psychology from my first semester in college.  I'd heard plenty of statistics about the disproportionate drug use and arrest rate among ethnic minorities in this country.  I'd also been taught that ethnic minorities were far more likely to live in poverty, attend inadequately funded schools, and live in violent neighborhoods.  In my mind, it was these external factors that pushed people to break the law.  Of course I had heard that police targeted and even harassed Black men.  I'd heard the phrase "Driving While Black."  I remember seeing the Rodney King beatings on television.  But I didn't really believe it; I was indoctrinated with the idea that only criminals have anything to fear from police.

Police are my friends, right, McGruff?

      Experience, education, and empathy overcame that misconception.  Little by little, I began to see and comprehend the truth.  I am sure there are more depths of truth for me to experience, which is part of why I write this blog.  Today I was made newly aware of the depth of my internalized White Privilege, and it shocked me.  Even when I watched a video of a police officer chasing an unarmed man and shooting him to death, I never once experienced a moment of fear for myself. From the first, I instinctively - unconsciously - knew that I wasn't at risk.  It's not that I thought to myself, "Well, I'm not Black, therefore I don't have anything to worry about."  I didn't think at all.
      My gut knew the truth long before my brain pieced it together, with all the logic and language of social justice.
      When I contemplate the possibility of experiencing police violence myself, it's within the context of protesting.  Like the heroes at Standing Rock, I reason that if I put my body on the line - perhaps literally on the line - then I face the possibility of injury or even death.  Figuratively speaking, it becomes more probable when I paint a target on my body--whereas a person of color in the U.S. has skin interpreted as an unwanted target every single day.  Bizarrely, it means putting myself in a position to experience brutality at the hands of law enforcement is a privilege.
      On Saturday, I will be teaching a public class in the community on how and when to intervene in a hate crime.  I suspect this training will not go as many of the participants are hoping, but one thing I will be pointing out is that a White person - especially a White man - is simply less likely to be assaulted if they insert themselves between an aggressor and a victim.  That does not mean it's always the most effective thing to do.  But it is true...it is true.




*That's IF we take him at his word.  I'm pretty sure I don't.

**To be clear, I still believe the majority of police officers go into law enforcement for the best possible reasons.  I believe most are wonderful people who want to do the right thing.  I also believe that many officers are good people who are unaware of their racial prejudices--I base this on the fact many of my personal acquaintance are good people, and they are unaware of their racial prejudices, just I have been in the past.

Why "Us vs. Them?"

      I have a theory about why fantasy and science fiction are such popular genres.  I think it gives human beings a subtle sense of relief to have an obvious enemy, particularly one that is clearly different from themselves.  Faced with a slimy creature from outer-space that wants to enslave the planet, one can pull the trigger with relatively few qualms: those pesky questions about ethics, long-term consequences, and "should I have tried another tactic first?" all go out the window.  An already stressful scenario is rendered marginally less stressful but the removal of doubt.

This is not an image that evokes debate about the rights of all living creatures.

      We are not born with the values (or skills) to think before we act aggressively in our own self-interest.  Toddlers don't have ethical struggles when they shove somebody for grabbing their toy.  But of course, wise adults teach those children that such behavior is not Ok, that we need to think, and use your words.  We do this because we know that our civilization depends on, well, being civil to one another.  We have learned it is better to exercise restraint and creative problem-solving to decrease potential fallout. In the real world, decision making can be complicated and emotionally draining.  That's why some people decide not to bother with it.
      There are no filthy orcs or slimy Martians threatening us in the real world.  But some people do feel threatened by other human beings who dissimilar.  Obvious differences would be skin of a different color, dressing different, or speaking a different language--or maybe are outwardly of a different gender.  Other threatening differences could be religion or social customs.  Or even political party of choice; that's one where I've been guilty of crossing the line once or twice.

      Faced with differences that make us uncomfortable, there are three ways to react:
1) Ignore the whole thing.  Pretend we aren't actually uncomfortable.  Either stuff it, forget it, or re-frame it as being about something else that makes us upset, like bad driving or playing music too loud.  Low-key stuff that we can easily go our whole lives without thinking through.

2) Escalate the sense of difference until it becomes an Us/Them mindset.  In social justice terms, we call this "Othering."  We know who our in-group is, whether we think it through or just go with our gut, and the people who are not in that group are Others.  I believe everyone does this to some degree.  Ever glared at a driver who cut you off, and thought - even for a moment - "Well what a surprise, it's an [old lady/Asian man/Black teenager/etc]?"  That's Othering.
      When this grows to an extreme, it becomes paranoid, even hostile. "The Mexicans are coming and taking our jobs."  "The Gays are out to destroy marriage."  "The Jews are taking over the banks."  Suddenly, it becomes more comfortable to slip back into that toddler mentality of reacting without thinking.  If the threat becomes "obvious," then we can just pull that trigger and save the planet...right?
      Maybe that's why hate crimes have been escalating so much recently.

3) Learn more.  Knowledge and understanding are fatal to prejudice.  Going back to my toddler analogy, I was hanging out with a friend the other day who's delightful 2 year-old is scared of dogs.  But a nice man with a sweet little dog was willing to let her watch the puppy through the cafe window, like an animal in a zoo.  Toddler and canine leaned against the glass, getting to know one another.  Later, my friend's daughter went outside the cafe and got close to the dog, enthralled.

      This is what we want our children to do in such situations: we know that if they learn more, their anxiety will decrease.  They just have to get familiar with it.  We know this about children, yet we forget it about ourselves.  It makes us uncomfortable, so we honestly don't do it very often.
      As I continue my contemplation of White Privilege, I realized something about this phenomenon.  When a person of the majority - in my country, that would be Caucasians such as myself - decides to become more actively familiar with a minority culture this is generally viewed as "an interest," or even "an amusing hobby."  You rarely find a privileged White person being chastised for NOT checking out a minority culture.  I've gone my whole life barely dipping my toes into other cultures, and I could easily - comfortably - never do it again.
      But a person of a racial, ethnic, or cultural minority is expected to become familiar with the majority culture--more than that, they are expected to conform.  Whites want them to dress, talk, and act like us.  When they don't, we feel uncomfortable.   "If they're going to live here, they just need to adapt/learn the language/leave the old country behind."  We struggle with accepting the Other as being equal - truly, honestly, functionally equal - to ourselves.

      So...what do we do?
My answer: do something.  Do ONE thing.  Start with one.  Something small.  Then see if you're up to do something else.  Here's what I've decided to do:

1) I'm going to take Spanish classes.
      I imagine moving to a country where I didn't have a good grasp on the language, struggled with poverty, and received the kind of social messages this recent election has given to our Latino population.  I think it would crush me.  Some people say: "Well, if you're going to move to a foreign country, learn the language."  YOU try becoming competent in a language when you're working multiple jobs and raising a family.   I studied French for 8 years in a very good school district; it was practically fed to me with a silver spoon, and I never got much beyond conversational use of the language.  One of the best ways I can start supporting this minority population is by talking to them.

Just thinking about it makes me feel humbled.

2) I'm going to visit my local Mosque, and ask how I can show my support.
      This will be easy for me, since a gentleman from my local Mosque has already come and presented to my workplace about how to support immigrant Islamic youth.  I get shy in these kinds of situations, but if I can't overcome my shyness and the inconvenience to my comfortable weekly schedule, then I'm falling woefully short of my ideals.

       That's where I'm starting.  If you're looking for places to start, here are some suggestions from myself and others I've spoken to:

 - Stand up against bullying.  Whether it's in your face, or on Facebook, don't stand idly by.  Here is an excellent link sent to me by a reader about how to intervene if you see someone perpetrating a hate crime.  But these days, I think we encounter even more bullying online.  If you are a video gamer, you know what kind of things other people can say in the heat of the moment.  If you hear it, I challenge you to call them on it.  Don't put up with it.  Even if it means booting them, blocking them, or logging off yourself.  It's time to draw the line on every front.

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/safety-pins-solidarity-minorities/

 - Donate generously to a non-profit that serves minorities and other struggling populations.  There are plenty to pick from, and all depend at least partially on government funding.  There is a significant risk that these organizations will take a serious financial hit in the next four years--some may have to close their doors.  Southern Poverty Law Center.  The ACLU (this one may be more important than ever).  United Way.  Planned Parenthood.  Your local food bank, shelter, or mental health/addiction treatment center.

 - Travel.  If you are puzzled about why some parts of the country have such different political ideas than others, go check it out.  Don't just drive through, stay for a few days, and chat with the locals.  Or, if you can afford it, travel outside the country.  Go to Mexico.  Go to South America.  Go to China.  Go to India.  And take someone with you who could really benefit from the education of experience.

That's not a third-world country, that's someone's home in Arkansas.

 - Read.  Keep these issues on your mind, and be willing to explore topics that may not be at the top of your area of interest.  These are complicated issues, tied to history and ideas that may be strange or uncomfortable for a lot of people.  I'm starting a page on this blog tracking the books I'm reading that are relevant to issues of social equity, and you are welcome to recommend more.

 - Have conversations with others.  Talk to other people who share your values and figure out what you can do together.  Find ways to feel connected with others.  Find ways to empathize with others.  Find ways to listen--especially when you don't want to.  And if you're not sure how to do that without yelling, I will put out a post on communication skills in a few weeks.

 - Go to your next city council meeting.  This could say "get involved in politics," but that's a daunting concept for many.  So start with city council.  Check out the website or call city hall, figure out when the next meeting is, and go watch.  And talk to somebody else there.  Voila, you're involved in politics!  Keep it up, and see where it goes--maybe you'll even run for office.

The Reality

      I woke up this morning and really needed a cup of coffee.  I don't actually have a coffee maker right now, so I walked a block to my local cafe to order a cup to go.  When I stepped outside, the first thing I saw was a group of school kids waiting for the bus with their parents.  Most of them not White.  A few were Latino.  About a third were Middle Eastern.

      I nearly burst into tears. I wanted to run up to those parents and hug them, and tell them I was so sorry.  I wanted to let them know that I'm afraid for their kids, too.  And that means I'm going to fight for their kids.

      There's a lot about this election that makes me sad.  I had trouble sleeping last night because it also makes me frightened--genuinely scared for my safety and those who I care about.  And please don't tell me I'm over-reacting or that "things could never get that bad," because that's precisely what people said when Trump started to run for president, and you have seen the headlines, right?  But mostly what I feel is anger.  And anger can be a very, very tricky emotion.

      The fact of the matter is that nothing unites like a common enemy, and that is how Trump got himself elected.  Immigrants, Muslims, the Liberal Media--how did Cercei Lannister phrase it?  "Anyone who isn't us is an enemy."  Game of Thrones may be fiction, but don't forget the author firmly based his stories in historical events.  And history has a nasty habit of repeating itself.

      As a White woman of economic and educational privilege, I've often wondered how I would have handled other periods of history.  Would I have had the guts to be one of the Freedom Riders?  Would I have had the courage to help smuggle runaway slaves through the Underground Railroad?  If I had been German in the 1930's, would I have stood up to the Nazis, or kept my head down like so many others did?  I can't go back in history.  But anyone who thinks the present day isn't just as critical as those dark chapters of our past is blind, sir, blind.

      So how to move forward.  How to make a difference.  How to meet what has happened effectively.  How to be able to look back at this time with no regrets, with no cause to lament: "If only I had done more."

      In the interest of not making posts too long, I will dedicate my next one to ideas, strategies and resources.  If you have any to add, please comment here, and let me know.  We shall overcome.

A Doctor with Any Other Skin

      There was a lot of interesting bits in the news this week (including a pretty hilarious Saturday Night Live skit spoofing the most recent U.S. presidential debate).  But the piece of news that stuck with me the most was about a doctor's experience on a recent Delta airlines flight.  A fellow passenger was experiencing a health crisis, and the flight crew called for a medical professional.  Dr. Cross raised a hand to volunteer, but a flight attendant declined the offer of assistance, stating the crew wanted "a real physician."
      What made this flight attendant think Dr. Cross wasn't a real physician?  The only possible cues this flight attendant could have called on to make this erroneous assumption were Dr. Cross's appearance: clothing, age, gender, and skin color.
      Dr. Tamika Cross is a young Black woman.  You do the math.

This is what a doctor looks like, America.

      If you haven't read Dr. Cross' original Facebook post, I highly recommend that you do so.
      There are two layers of atrociousness to Dr. Cross' experience.  One is that the prejudices of that flight attendant could have cost the sick passenger his life.  What if there hadn't been another medical professional on board?  How long would the flight attendant have dithered about, making Dr. Cross drag out some kind of ID to satisfy her doubts?  The other is a deeper, sadder truth about our judgements and decisions under stress.
      I recently attended a fabulous training on racial diversity.  The presenter made a point early on of saying that she judges people all the time--in fact she judges them before she's even seen them.  She gave the example of making judgements about the people she's hired to train based on where they work, their line of work, where they sit in the room, what they're wearing, etc.  Then she pointed out: "Judging people like this is normal, everyone does it.  Don't be worried that I'm judging you--be worried if I'm not aware of it."
      Of course I do this, too.  And I'm sad to say that the first thing that comes to my mind when I hear the word "doctor" is a White man.  But it's happened to me enough that I am aware of it--that, and other prejudicial, knee-jerk assumptions that lurk in my unconscious mind.  When people wonder why it's so important to have diversity in things like the cast of TV shows and movies, or in the characters of novels, this is why.  We need to see people of all genders, colors, body types, ages, and sexual orientation in all kinds of life roles.
      It's even more important that we see that kind of diversity in real life, which brings us to Affirmative Action...but that's another post.  We think that these kinds of superficial, snap-judgement prejudices are relatively harmless.  So what if the first thing we think when someone is driving slow is "probably a little old lady," or if we see someone struggling with an ATM we as assume, "must not be from this country?"  Now we know what: the doctor on the plane when you're having organ failure might be a little old lady, or might have English as a second language.  Fortunately, the signs of heart attack are the same no matter where you are from in the world.
      If that flight attendant wasn't aware of how she judged people before this incident occurred, I sincerely hope she's aware of it now.  I'm going to keep pushing myself to over-come my own mental stereotypes.
      Delta airlines is apparently investigating the incident.  Dr. Cross is not responding to media requests for interviews, which is the professional thing to do.  She is completing her final year of residency at a hospital, and believe me when I say hospitals do not like their medical staff to be in the news for any reason besides awards.  Although many people - including myself - would like to see Dr. Cross speak about her experience on a respectable national news program, keeping silent is definitely the way to go.
     The only point on which I disagree with Dr. Cross is on the issue of compensation.  According to her Facebook post, she would accept Skymiles as part of the airlines apology.  Whereas I intend to never fly Delta again.



*The type who are disinclined to believe in the existence of rampant racism in our society, which is sometimes subtle and sometimes not so subtle.

Support in Unexpected Places

      I spent this last weekend in Seattle attending Geek Girl Con.  I went because I am essentially a nerdy person, with interests ranging from Star Trek to Star Wars, from fantasy novels to anime, and from video games to cosplay.  In other words, I went to find other women such as myself: I went to feel like a part of a community.

      Women are under-represented or exploited in much of geek culture.  We're often hyper-sexualized, as brilliantly highlighted in The Hawkeye Initiative.  In movies and novels, we're often slotted as support characters whose main purpose is to back-up the male protagonist.  Or worse, we're often redshirted or fridged as a means to further the plot.  The purpose of Geek Girl Con is to identify, discuss, and support healthy and positive use of female characters, and the women who work in geeky industries such as computer science or the comic industry.
      I am happy to report that I got what I wanted out of the experience.  Every minute of the convention, I was surrounded by other people who shared not only my interests, but were willing to be brave about it.  I'm even happier to say that the support was not limited to just women--not by a long shot.  This was a convention that takes pride in being a voice of social justice: ethnic minorities, LGBTQ minorities, religious minorities, and all body types and abilities were being supported, loud and clear.
      I learned about so many wonderful aspects of nerd culture I'd never known before.  I discovered the Gaymer community, and learned about how they're working to eliminate homophobia in video games at every level.  I learned about organizations that support differently-abled individuals in accessing video games, both for pleasure and as a means to support physical activity.  I learned about women taking control of their bodies and drawing healthy boundaries by enjoying cosplay without being victimized.

      But I was most deeply stirred when I learned about "Blerds." The term refers to self-identified Black Nerds who are building a community of their own, and calling out for strong and positive representation.  In the last panel I attended, I got to hear Blerd journalist Valerie Complex describe her experiences of being shunted to the side again and again, not taken seriously as a writer or a geek.  She talked about how businesses and organizations would claim to be diverse--then she would show up, and find that she was the only non-white person there.  She also talked about how these same groups would bemoan how "no minorities every show up, no black people every apply!"  Her answer to this was so simple and yet so profound: she said that these same organizations don't reach out.  She asked why they had not attended meetings, festivals, or job fairs in the Black community.  She said, "If you don't go to their party to show your interest and support, why would you assume they would want to come to your party?  Why would they feel safe doing so?"
      It immediately struck me how this was true for so many groups, not just employers or conventions.  It's true for political groups.  It's even true for social services.  Outreach is essential in every area, and that's true of individuals as well.  I hope to be more mindful of this concept myself, moving forward on my own journey to being a better Ally.

When to be Serious

      I recently hung out with a family member who I don't get to see very often.  He's my age, and with similar economic and social upbringing.  We were talking about the manslaughter charges that have been brought against Tulsa PD Officer Shelby.  There's a lot to talk about with this case: the utter, horrible senselessness of the shooting; the way fear and unconscious* prejudice can prompt the worst decision making; the ponderous fact that the first cop to be promptly charged in this slough of shootings is a female officer.
      I thought it would be an interesting conversation, because my family member is an educated, intelligent man.  So you can imagine my frustration when he refused to engage in the conversation seriously.

Sometimes it's hard to tell where the first three leave off, and the fourth one begins.

      Before you write him off, I will say that this is partially his personality: he has a job that requires a lot of mental, emotional, and physical energy.  Part of how he keeps his sanity is to make a joke out of just about everything else.  But then again, he can afford to make light of these tragedies, because he's an educated White Male.  He's at the top of the Privilege Food Chain.
      I tried a variety of tactics to engage him.  I spoke intelligently, citing research highlighting racial bias in every level and aspect of the criminal justice system.  He cracked a joke.  I talked about my blog, and quoted Eldridge Cleaver's famous line: "If you are not part of the solution, you must be part of the problem." He cracked a joke.  I offered suggestions as to how he could start conversations in his own workplace, use his job as a way to make a difference.  He cracked a joke.

This was from an article in the Huffington Post last year.  I find this data to be particularly useful when discussing police shootings with people who are resistant to the idea that there is a racial aspect.  It gets them thinking about misuse of force, which seems like a good starting place.  Baby steps are better than not budging at all.

     Finally, I said simply: "This is something that's important to me.  If you're not willing to do anything, then I need to ask you to be supportive of me, because I'm taking this seriously."
     He didn't make a joke; he seemed taken aback.  I have a feeling I may need to say it again in the future, probably more than once.  But if that's what it takes to get even one person to pay a little more attention, I'll say it as often as necessary.  This blog is here as a reminder for me to keep talking.  It's the least I can do.


*Or conscious, obviously, but in some ways I think it is our biases we aren't aware of that are more dangerous.

My First Introduction to U.S. Race Relations

      When one is born into privilege, one could easily go one's entire life without ever realizing it.  As I'm fond saying: it's hard to convince a free swimming fish that it's wet.  That fish has just never known anything else, and unless it is literally pulled out of it's comfort zone, it might not be able to conceive of anything different.  For this reason, I believe that it's important to teach kids - especially White kids - about racism.
      I think a lot about my understanding of racism growing up.  I'm deeply grateful that I experienced no overt racism in my family.  My parents and extended family all believed in racial equality the way any ordinary person would believe in gravity.  I never heard a single racial stereotype growing up, and I never knew a single racial slur until I learned about them in a historical context.  I think the first time I heard the "n word" was reading Mark Twain in middle school.

This book includes the words "injun" and "nigger."  For that reason, it has been re-edited for some schools, and banned in others.  Still other people believe it is critical to leave the original story as it's written, because it offers a valuable insight into history.  What's your perspective?

      In some ways, I think this was a great way to grow up.  My mind wasn't poisoned with any senseless, stupid, cruel biases around skin color.  Thank the Powers That Be I didn't have that nonsense to root out of my head.  When I did learn about overt racism, it shocked me.  It shocked me to learn that the KKK still exists.  It shocked me the first time I heard someone say a racial slur in conversation.  I think those things should shock people: we should consider them so atrocious that they stun us to the core.*
      My parents sent me to good schools, that made an effort to teach kids about racism and U.S. history.  The classrooms had posters of famous authors and scientists of many different ethnicities.  During story time, the librarian read us children's tales from China, and India, and Africa.  We diligently revisited the bravery of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and the other Civil Rights leaders every February.

This is a great example of the kind of equality-promoting propaganda used in my elementary schools.  It took me a long time to realize what was wrong with it.

      What we didn't have - and what I desperately think we were missing - was diversity in the staff and student body.  There were almost no kids of color in my elementary school, and not a single Black kid in any of my classes.  So my understanding of racism was purely academic.  I will give my teachers the benefit of the doubt; they were probably doing what was considered a 'best practice' at the time, and I think they wanted their students to have good values.  I did develop a strong moral value that prejudice based on skin color, language, or culture is wrong.  But I also learned some other lessons, that I've only identified in retrospect:

1) Racism happened long ago/somewhere else
2) Everything was better now
3) Relations between Black & White people were defined by mistrust

      As a psychologist, I now understand the power of learning through observation.  Where our personal experience leaves a void, book learning will fill in--but it will do so imperfectly.  This is what happened to me in early childhood.  Since I didn't know a single Black person, as a little kid I became afraid that Black people would assume I was racist, just because I was White.  I'm not sure I totally got over the misconception until adulthood.  And that anxiety prevented me from taking advantage of a lot of opportunities.
       Moreover, I feel that this mindset unintentionally set me up to be closed-minded about race-relations today.  Since I never SAW any racism growing up, and I had LEARNED about it only from a historical perspective, it was that much harder for me to accept the present day reality.
      I have no idea if anybody else had an experience like mine.  My brain may just work in weird ways.  But through the lens of hindsight, I do have some suggestions for elementary schools:

1) Deliberately integrate schools--there will be another separate post on this
2) Keep teaching about the Black leaders of the past, but also teach about Whites who helped; not to diminish the greatness of the Black participants, but to offer role models for dumb kids like me, who think that the struggle for equality and justice is something other people do
3) Incorporate the history into the present.  Always.  In all topics.  Especially when we have so many present-day challenges to overcome.

This is the kind of poster I wish had been in my schools: seeing and valuing difference, and realizing that helping others means strengthening all.

*Then we need to have the same reaction to systemic racism, like a court system that unevenly punishes African Americans versus Caucasians.  Unfortunately, a lot of privileged White people see those statistics as a glitch.  You can't assume somebody said "wetback" on accident.  You can assume that it's just coincidence Latino drivers get pulled over more often than Whites.

Preferential Treatment, Part Two

      This is the second part of a blog post about an experience I had at a restaurant last weekend.  In Part One I outlined the experience as honestly as I could, and the observations I made that led to my thoughts that the staff - almost all ethnic minorities, predominantly Black - were giving preferential service to Black patrons.  I did doubt myself at the time - I still do, as I'm writing this - and I hope that my knee-jerk conclusion is wrong.  I hope that my low blood sugar affected my powers of perception, and made me feel more paranoid and testy than normal.  I really don't like thinking that anybody is exhibiting racial prejudice for any reasons; as I've stated before, I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt.
      That being said, I'm far from ignorant.  I know too well the many different forms that prejudice can take.  And I'm very aware that usually that prejudice benefits me, as a White American woman.  But sometimes it doesn't.  When White people find themselves on the losing side of racial prejudice, they tend to react very negatively.  I'm trying to see this as an opportunity for learning, about myself and the society in which I live.
      So now that I'm thinking back over the events of the morning, my brain goes into Alternate Theory Mode.  (I'm starting to recognize this as my pattern.)  Maybe I missed something, and those tables with Black patrons were seated and ordered earlier than I thought.  Maybe those patrons were owners, or former employees, or family members--if we're being honest, we all give preferential treatment to those individuals.  Or maybe nobody was receiving special attention, and the kitchen just didn't have their act together.  After all, that White family seated to my right got their food more quickly than my husband and I.  It's totally possible that something wonky happened with our order.  There are plenty of perfectly logical reasons for the timing and order of food service that have nothing to do with race.

I realize it sounds entirely silly, but if there was some way to end racism through food, I would drop my career and make that my life's work.

      Then my brain goes into Explore the Meaning Mode.  To lay it out: what if my initial assumption was correct after all?  What does that mean to me?  What does it mean in a larger social context? What can I learn?
      So: if my initial assumption was correct, and my food order was intentionally delayed as the orders of Black patrons (and other minorities, for all I know) were put in the front of the list, what does that mean to me?  My first reaction is indignant anger.  I don't like unfairness in general.  And if I'm being honest, I like it even less when it negatively impacts me--particularly when it comes between me and my breakfast.*  There's a part of my privileged, restaurant experienced brain that says, "That is a piss poor business model, and a great way to alienate customers. Where is your pride in your work?"  I also feel hurt.  I think, "I'm a nice person!  I just wanted to eat breakfast!  Judging me on the color of my skin denies me who I am as an individual!"
      Well, duh.
      Which brings me to the question of a larger social context.  What if the staff there were prioritizing the orders of Black patrons?  What if they were using this restaurant as a space for people who get the short end of the stick in so many ways, so often, and making a small gesture to put them first for a change?
      There area couple problems: I'm pretty sure that giving preferential treatment to customers based on perceived race is illegal.  I say "pretty sure," because if there's one thing I've learned in the last few years, it's that laws vary more from state to state than one might expect.**  But more importantly, it goes against a moral code to which the majority of Americans believe that they adhere.  Given the legacy of the 1960's and the Civil Rights Movement, I think most of us have very strong reactions to blatant exhibitions of racial prejudice, particularly when it comes to service industries.

The Supreme Court abolished segregation in public businesses with the Civil Rights Act of 1964.  The way the law is written, is applies all ways, across all races.

      After segregation became illegal, many business establishments attempted to discourage minorities from coming by treating them badly.  This still happens today, way more often than most people know--or are willing to admit.  And I know exactly how I would react if I thought a restaurant were giving preferential treatment to White customers: I'd call my friends who are lawyers and try to get it shut down.  That being said, I noticed who was receiving food at the restaurant over the weekend because I was the one being kept waiting.  Would I notice if I was the one being moved to the front of the list?
      Historically, how many places gave preferential service to ethnic minorities over White people?  If my order was pushed back in favor of others, still I wasn't refused service, and no real damage was done.  Do I have an ethical leg to stand on in being bent out of shape?
      I don't like unfairness to be encouraged or tolerated in any sense.  It may sound idealistic, but I believe it is detrimental to an individual if they are taught that it's Ok to discriminate for any reason.  I recognize and honor the statistical foundations of Affirmative Action, but I also admit it took me awhile to really believe it was necessary, and to get on board.  I long for the day when the playing field really is level.  Cynically, I doubt that will happen in my lifetime.
      Here's the last thing my brain is processing on this before I get too flooded to continue: what if the restaurant gave preferential service to ethnic minorities, and everybody knew about it?  What if it was something they took pride in, because they wanted to make a political statement?
      Weirdly enough, if that were the case, I think I would make a point of eating there.  There are businesses I boycott because I dislike their politics--this would just be the opposite.  Then I would feel like I was a part of a socio-political statement, instead of a victim of prejudice.  Or even if the employees weren't doing it to make a statement, just to support fellow minorities, if they were honest and open about it, I would patronize their establishment to show my support as well.
      So what does all this say about me?  I guess I don't take kindly to being marginalized.  I don't want ANYBODY being marginalized, especially for utterly stupid reasons like skin color.  But, like most people, I'm more likely to get worked up when I'm the one impacted.



*Remember my three disclaimers from Part One: I am a breakfast-loving foodie who get cantankerous when my blood sugar gets too low.

**Especially in the area of civil rights.  Which is, frankly, downright alarming.

Preferential Service, Part One

      Last weekend, I had an interesting experience at a restaurant.  It was a diner with a cool theme in a city that my husband and I were visiting, and we were excited to check it out.  I did not expect that going out to brunch would bring race-related issues to mind--then again, that's part of being racially privileged, isn't it?  Anyway, I want to be honest about my experience, and objective in my introspection.  To accommodate the length I'm breaking this post into two part.  Part One is a summary of events from my perspective.  Part Two will be my reflections after the fact.  If you're up for it, I would appreciate your willingness to read both, and give me your feedback.
      But before I go any further, here are three things you should know about me, because they probably influenced my experience:

a) I am a foodie.  Not in the snobby way, in the "I really like food - buying it, making it, eating it, learning about it, and experiencing it in a wide variety of places" way.  I am equally happy eating in a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant with peeling wallpaper and mismatched plates as I am stepping into a high-end restaurant with Wagyu beef flown in from Japan on a daily basis.

b) Breakfast is my favorite meal.  Everything from mimosas with eggs Benedict, to black coffee and hashed browns; from asparagus soufflé and brioche, to bacon and oatmeal, I am a breakfast person.

c) Perhaps most importantly, I get "hangry;" when my blood sugar gets too low I turn into a grumpy five year old version of myself.  Experience has taught me to time my meals throughout the day and carry emergency snacks.

      So here's an honest account of my experience at the restaurant. We arrived, and it was crowded, but since the host said the wait was only 15 minutes I wasn't worried.  As we waited for our table, I noted that the restaurant staff - waiters, cooks, host, etc - was made up of predominantly young Black people, a couple Hispanic people, and one individual who appeared White.  My reaction to this, as a professional who tries to work from a social justice perspective, was, "This is awesome!  It would appear that the owners make a point of hiring minorities, who typically experience negative prejudice in seeking jobs.  What a great, practical way to make social impact!"
      We were seated after 14 minutes, so I was a happy camper.  Our server - a young Hispanic woman - was prompt in bringing our water and taking our order.  When I asked for a recommendation on sausage vs. bacon, she answered promptly and with a smile, and I was happy to take her suggestion.**  I sat back, soaked in what the restaurant had done with their theme, and chatted away with my husband.
      At the table to my right was a family of five, all White, who had been seated about 10 minutes before us.  At the table to my left was a Black couple about my age. They were seated right before us, received their water right before us, and put in their order right before we did.  So when I saw the couple's food arrive after about twenty minutes, I expected our food to arrive next.
      Then I noticed the table to my right had not yet received their food.  I was a little surprised, but they did have a couple small kids.  I thought, "Maybe they ordered after we did, or put in a special order for the kids.  That would delay things."  That family got their food about 10 minutes later.  My husband and I were still waiting.
      When the Black couple to my left got their check, and my husband and I had not yet received our food, I started to wonder if our order had gone missing.  Unfortunately, the restaurant was crowded, loud, and busy, so there was no easy way to flag down a server to ask.  Then, before I could exert myself, my husband pointed out that our parking meter was probably about to expire.
      Note: we had paid for 90 minutes on our meter.

This sight does not promote good digestion.

      I was closer to the door, and I wanted to get up and use the washroom anyway, so I volunteered to go check the car.  It was when I got up and started walking that I noticed the effects of my low blood sugar.  My energy was low, my brain felt jammed, and my stomach was growling painfully.  We did, in fact, have only 19 minutes left on the meter, so even if the food had arrived by the time I returned, it was unlikely that we would have made it back to the car in time to avoid a ticket.  So I added another 40 minutes.
      I got back to the restaurant, and our food had not yet arrived.  I went to the restroom to wash my hands, which required squeezing past a table where two Black men were seated, just putting in their order.  I thought, "Good luck, guys, I hope you aren't prone to hunger-crankiness like I am."  When I returned to my table, the food had still not arrived.  At this juncture I began to debate whether or not to eat my protein bar, even though I had ordered a full hot breakfast. I decided to hold out another 5 minutes.  Just as I was about to get my snack, the server brought out our food.
      The food was tasty enough, but nothing fancy, and nothing spectacular.  And home-fried potatoes, three eggs over medium, three strips of bacon, and a muffin do not take an hour to prepare.  I thought, "Well, the place is busy, and maybe the kitchen isn't really big."
      That was when I saw the table with the two Black men receive their food--the ones I'd squeezed past on my way to the restroom.  It had only been15 minutes since they had placed their order.
      So yes, my brain went there.  I thought, "Oh my God, I think the staff is prioritizing the food orders of the Black patrons."
      I didn't say or do anything.  My husband and I were so hungry by that point that we wolfed down our food, paid, and left in under 20 minutes.  And I immediately decided I needed to process the experience in writing--so on to Part Two.



*Yes, I just described two of my favorite places.  No, I cannot afford to eat at the latter more than once every five years, unless someone else is buying.

**She said "bacon," and the bacon was the best part of my meal.

A Local Opportunity

      This is the second of these open community events.  I attended the first, and found it very grounding in a time when I felt emotionally adrift.  It was also partly what inspired me to start this blog.  Everyone is welcome!

When News Hits 1.1

      As more information about the murder of Paul O'Neal comes forward, people have - understandably - reacted with grief, and confusion, and anger.  They have also reacted with defensiveness, which is also understandable.  It's just also very sad.  When people feel defensive, they are the least likely to listen to others, or empathize, or learn.
      I just feel sick.  Over the weekend I was visiting extended family, watching the news, and when I saw the body camera videos being played I wanted to vomit.  I felt terribly sad for Mr. O'Neal and his family.  Imagine having a loved one killed, and then seeing a video of it broadcast all over the nation, showing the fear and chaos surrounding his death?  How can one possibly endure such a public horror?  The only thought that would keep me sane is if I believed that justice would ultimately be served.

I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to be in Briana Adam's place, and I pray that nobody else ever will be. Photo Source: http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/breaking/ct-fatal-police-shooting-video-of-paul-o-neal-released-photos-20160805-photogallery.html

      I think it's our duty as compassionate human beings to see that justice is served for all of these wrongful, clearly race-related deaths.
      I had a brief but interesting discussion with my family after the clips were played.  The officers behavior was roundly condemned, for several reasons, including a few I hadn't even thought of.  It was pointed out that when they opened fire at the car they were being reckless on several counts, including the risk of injuring the driver  and having him cause further damage with his vehicle, and also the idiocy given their positions, since the officers themselves were in the crossfire.  Then there's the question of whether the driver's actions justified being shot to begin with.  Even if he intentionally tried to hit an officer with the car, does that equate the use of lethal force?
      One item brought up was the necessity of identifying potential "hot heads" before admission into the police academy.  As a psychologist, I don't know if that's really possible, but it sure as hell sounds like a good idea to me--can we screen for racist bias, too?  How about propensity to develop racist bias?  How about vulnerability to peer pressure, spoken or otherwise?
      The one thing we did not discuss at length was how race played a part in Paul O'Neal's death.  I asked right out, "Would the officers have opened fire if the suspect was White?"  A few comments were muttered, and then the subject was dropped.  My assessment was that my family - who had come together to enjoy themselves, support one another, and feel the replenishment of togetherness - did not want to risk such a charged topic.  I didn't push it.  I feel a little disappointed in myself that I didn't have the courage and fortitude to press the matter.  At the time, however, I told myself that there would be future opportunities.
      And that's the sad, horrible truth.

When News Hits

      When perusing the newspaper last Sunday, I found a small article providing an update on an internal investigation regarding a police shooting in Chicago.  Briefly (and I am sure this is not a complete story): Chicago PD pulled over a Jaguar that had been reported stolen.  After being stopped, the suspect tried to drive away, sideswiping a police car and another parked vehicle, so the police opened fire.  The driver was hit, and pronounced dead at the hospital.  An autopsy result on Friday showed that the man had been shot in the back, and his death was ruled a homicide.
      The driver was a Black man--but you probably already guessed that.

Photo Credit: Jose M. Osorio, Chicago Tribune

      The article said that a third police officer involved with the shooting has been "relieved of his powers" while the death is investigated.  Of course, Chicago PD has been under some serious scrutiny about these very issues for the last...how many years now?  But one has to wonder just what that actually means--what it actually looks like.
      When I started to read this article, I noticed that I was holding my breath.  I was actually bracing myself, thinking: "Ok, here we go...again."  My anxiety went up.  And then when I was done reading it, several thoughts went through my mind.  I want to recount that thought process here as honestly as I can, first with my initial thoughts, and then my reflection on those thoughts after the fact.
      First Reaction: "Holy $#!t, what are these police officers thinking!?!"
      Follow-up Reflection: Given everything that's been in the news in the last few years, if I was a police officer right now, I would be so freaked out about even being ACCUSED of abusing my power - especially with a suspect of a different race - I wouldn't even pull my gun unless somebody had already starting shooting at me.  (Which means I would probably wind up dead--I would make a lousy police officer.)  But the point is, I want to give most police officers the benefit of the doubt.  I have worked with a lot of street kids, and I have met some wonderful cops who bent over backwards to try and help.  I have also seen some men and women in uniform who were, for lack of a better word, complete assholes.  Most of the officers I met were somewhere in between.  But I'm a therapist, and I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.  Still...incidents like this keep making it harder.
      Second Reaction: "And what the hell was that driver thinking?!  He's a Black man being pulled over by police officers in Chicago while driving a Jaguar!  Whether guilty or no, what made him think trying to drive away wouldn't increase his risk of getting shot?!"
      Follow-up Reflection: But then I realize, Maybe that's why he tried to drive away.  Maybe he panicked.  Maybe he thought he'd be shot if he got out of the car--and maybe he was right.  Then my thoughts spiral, as they often do: maybe he was under the influence of alcohol or some other drug so his thinking was already clouded, or on the flip side maybe the whole thing was a set up and he was murdered in cold blood, or maybe he was threatening police before he hit the gas, and back and forth and back and forth and let's face it there's no way I'll ever know because I wasn't there.
      Third - and maybe most important - I finally thought: "But all of that's beside the point, isn't it?  Because nobody should have to be afraid of the police because of the color of their skin.  And, even if the police acted in the best possible faith, what kind of training are they receiving that they think it's a good idea to shoot at somebody driving away from them?"
      Fourth, I thought: "And why the heck did it take me so long to reach those conclusions?  What does that say about me?"

I Googled "Introspection" and this sculpture by Frank Somma came up.  It really captures my feelings when I write in this blog.

      What can I learn about myself?  And how can I use what I learn?