The Weird Hell of Honorary Whiteness

The great thing about talking about race on the internet is that people feel so much more free to express their true opinions. Of course, it's also this same thing that brings all kinds of horrifying words and ideas to the surface, and the reason why great sites like Rachel's Tavern have so many creepy trolls. It's a challenging subject, but ultimately very rewarding.

When I was young, dealing with racism threatened to dominate my life. How often have I talked about it since? Not very much. Only with a few family members and close friends... though not my father or mother. I haven't lived much around other Asian-Americans but I certainly haven't avoided them either. My best friend when I first went to an out-of-state school was Filipina. We didn't talk about it on any level other than the most superficial: "I had to deal with some stupid crap in school". "Yeah, me too." Part of it was getting the message pounded into me from all sides that it wasn't a subject anyone wanted to talk about. The rest of it was simply not wanting to appear weak or show any vulnerability.

Therefore, I'm glad I can discuss it here on my blog. I've wanted to do a continuation of my "Handling Racism as a Child" post for a while, because although I did a good job on that post, I need to take it further, relate it to the experience of others and explore some of the fallout.

I was motivated partly by a great, intensely introspective post I read at the Heart, Mind and Seoul about the author's experiences with "indirect" racism, and her thoughts on the phrase "just as good as white". The author lists many examples. Among the more indirect were jokes in her presence about black people. Some less indirect ones...

When I was in 8th grade, I was at a friend's birthday party. One girl named Julie was talking about a group of Chinese boys and ended her rant with "Freakin' chinks - what do they know?" A few people immediately looked at me, trying to gauge my reaction. Julie stammered a bit and finally said, "Ohmygosh, Paula. I didn't mean you, I mean you're not even Chinese are you? I hope you're not upset. I was totally NOT talking about you."

My experience was different. I didn't get the indirect stuff. When other kids ching-chonged and pulled their eyes, they were doing it right to my face.

At an early age, I never felt the ambiguity or nebulous fear that Paula describes in her piece. I just knew everyone was out to get me, because they were. There were some exceptions, but sometimes kids I trusted not to mess with me started hanging out with the kids who did, and then they changed.

I had the feeling from the very beginning that kids who were different, who were vulnerable like me, could be trusted more. Unfortunately it didn't work out that way. Getting abuse from black and Hispanic kids... well, I'll have to save that for another interesting but very depressing post.

When I started getting older, and especially when I went to college, it was almost like stepping into the light from a dark tunnel. Random racist abuse levels dropped from daily to yearly! Wow! I knew things could get better. I'd been going to a great summer school with a lot of international students, so I'd already had a glimpse. I just didn't know it would get better so fast.

By that time I was already pretty conscious about racial issues. I didn't talk about them much, but I read and studied what I could.

And this is really where Paula's post hit home for me, because it was also the point I realized people weren't treating me that much differently from other white people. Was that good, or bad? Both, really... it was definitely confusing. Like I said, I had a "people of color" consciousness from a very early age. I'd always felt like the social world was made up of white people, and everyone else, and I was in the everyone else. Definitely a different path than some of the more common alternatives: a) not understanding why I wasn't white from an early age b) transitioning from a culture where I grew up among the majority.

Had the world really changed, or was this new acceptance a dangerous mirage? How should I think of myself now? Where was I?

Here's a figurative description of what it felt like:

Being an "honorary white" is like not receiving a formal invitation to the party, but at the last minute, another invitee says you might as well tag along.

You show up at the party and stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame. You have a drink. You'll have a great time, you tell yourself.

You notice that in the center of the room, people are dancing and having a really good time. You think about getting up moving further inside, but that might draw too much attention to yourself. Maybe they'd figure out that you don't really belong.

People walk up and talk to you. Normal, normal, normal.

You notice there are some people outside the party who can't come in, and they're glaring at your back. It makes you nervous. Maybe you should give up on the party and go outside and talk to them instead. Some of them look like nice people. But it doesn't look like they want to talk to you. And if the people inside see you talking to the people outside, they might slam the door on you.

Then someone inside the party slams the door shut on you anyway, with no warning. Damn, that hurt. Your fingers got mashed. You're outside now. CHING CHONG!

Then someone opens the door again, and you resume leaning against the doorframe, nursing your bruised fingers. You mention that someone slammed the door on you, but no one wants to talk about it.

The party continues. You're sick of it by now. But you can't just walk away... it's your job/school/life.

It's a really extreme example of how I felt about the situation. I wasn't that passive, and not even that tormented and confused, because after a certain point I made myself stop analyzing it. I had a lot of things on my mind and being in this hyper-aware state about my racial identity didn't help. After some point you just have to decide what's right and wrong, live by that, and walk away from the rest. By walking away I absolutely don't mean abdicating responsibility for social change. But it's not my responsibility to define exactly who I am and exactly where I stand at any given moment, no matter how much I myself might feel the need for that level of certainty.

That's why I like talking about these extremely uncomfortable and painful subjects. Ultimately, I find they lead to increased resolve about the need for a better and more honest future.