Let me start off by saying that, as I write this, I still find myself going back and forth with this idea. When I started “homeplace," I truly wanted it to be a space where I could work out some of the tough questions circling in my mind as I take a more critical look at my work as an educator and leader of Color at my school. This question has truly been the hardest to grapple with.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard that “Black people can’t be racist.” In her book So You Want to Talk About Race, Ijeoma Oluo defines racism as “a prejudice against someone based on race, when those prejudices are reinforced by systems of power” (27). An example would be an employer choosing a white candidate over a person of color because they believe that People of Color tend to be late. On the other hand, Black people could be prejudiced against other races, but because we don’t hold the majority of power in society our actions could not be considered “racist.” And to be honest, this made a lot of sense to me. I can go around and say whatever I want or share how I feel about white people until I am blue in the face. At the end of the day, though, none of what I say and believe can or has had large-scale implications for the “health, wealth, and safety” (33) of white people in this country. One could argue that a Black employer could make a similar decision against a white candidate applying for a job, and that’s true.
But how many Black employers does this country actually have?
The majority of us don’t have tremendous wealth because anti-Black policies and beliefs have barred us from accumulating it. So since the rules and their impact are so different, why couldn’t the rules for racism be different also?
Then this summer I (along with thousands of others) read Dr. Ibram X. Kendi’s How to be an Antiracist and everything got flipped-turned upside down. First, Dr. Kendi asserts that the opposite of racism is anti-racism, which involves action. This means that a person, company, or organization can only be considered anti-racist if they are actively working to dismantle systems of oppression. This doesn’t mean that you’re automatically a racist if you are not doing those things, but if you recognize a racial injustice occurring and do nothing to stop it, you aren’t being anti-racist. This idea has had a tremendous influence on my school and I am excited to see the impact it has on our curricular and pedagogical practices moving forward.
Dr. Kendi also addresses our society’s ideas on who can and can’t be racist. He calls the belief that Black people can not be racist because we do not have power the “powerless defense” (140). According to him, the “powerless defense” can end up doing more harm than good. By believing we can’t be racist because we don’t have power, we run the risk of perpetuating racist policies and beliefs and fail to recognize the impact we have within our spheres of influence. For instance, we can name a number of examples of Black individuals in high-ranking government positions (re: Justice Clarence Thomas) who publicly share and support anti-Black policies and ideas. A Supreme Court Justice, regardless of race, has tremendous power. If a white Justice consistently did the same thing, wouldn’t we call them a racist? In this example, is their power actually different? What would this mean for President Obama? Did he not have power? What does this mean for V.P. candidate Sen. Kamala Harris? Will she not have any power?
If the answer to either of these questions is “yes”, then it follows that Black people can, in fact, be racist because they do have power. Of course, as Kendi asserts, this power is still “limited” (142). White power still controls our country, but if we fall into the trap of believing Black people have absolutely no power in this country, “we are falling under the sort of mind control that will, in fact, rob us of any power to resist” (142).
To put it a different way: as an academic dean who serves as an instructional coach to six teachers and oversees our middle school’s humanities curriculum, I have a certain level of power within my role. For example, I have the power to change a text our students are reading if I don’t feel it supports our goals of having a culturally relevant curriculum. On the flip side, if I don’t address a teacher who has put “They need to work harder” in the comments section of a student’s report card,(one who we know has 2 younger siblings and parents who work evenings) I am perpetuating a racist belief that Black people simply need to work harder in order to be successful in today’s world. Of course, hard work is a part of being successful, but such a comment is irresponsible and just not true when you consider the fact that BIPOC youth are not on an equal playing field. I have the POWER to help that teacher see the errors in this comment, but also to ensure that the student and their family receive feedback that is actually helpful and supportive.
Even with this new understanding, I still had a hard time fully accepting the fact that Black people could be racist. Part of me felt that if I accepted this as true, it would mean white people somehow had an “out.” That by saying BIPOC can be racist meant that white people acting out racist beliefs weren’t actually “that bad.” But I then realized that all of this went against everything I was learning about racism overall. You can be a “nice” or “good” person and still support racist policies and beliefs. This is the narrative about racism that we need to change. I am a “good teacher” and have done a lot for my BIPOC students over the last ten years, but when I told one of my female students that she could not be loud when conversing with her friends in the hallway because it “doesn’t look good,” I was tone-policing her, which is a racist act. I had internalized the racist belief that being Black and “loud” is inappropriate in certain spaces, and I felt it my duty to pass this idea on to her, a student I cared for deeply, because I thought it would help her be more successful.
Two years later, before she graduated and left for high school, I called her into my office to apologize. I named, explicitly, that it was not right for me, or anyone, to try and control how she and her friends expressed themselves when that expression was not causing any harm. She smiled and said that, back then, she knew it was coming from a good place because she knew I cared about her. And that made me realize why I have to be so careful. This student knew of my love, and therefore took on a racist belief I had shared with her. If we all don’t take a step back and recognize where our ideas stem from, how many others will we hurt in the process?
Here’s what I know: believing that Black people can be racist does not change the fact that anti-Black racism is systemic and responsible for the disenfranchisement of BIPOC’s in our society. It also doesn’t change the fact that white power runs this country and that, in order for it to change, white people will have to give up some of that power and wealth.
Here’s what I believe: I believe there is anti-Black racism and anti-white racism in which any individual of any race can participate. I also believe that the consequences of anti-Black racism far exceed any consequences that could come from anti-white racism. I also believe that Black people need to take a closer look at some of the ways in which we move and act in the world and ensure we are not supporting ideals that are actually harmful to our lives and spirits.
Instead of focusing on who can be racist, we should all just be focusing on how we can be anti-racist. This comes with taking a good look at our actions and making sure they align with the beliefs and ideas we hold within our hearts.
But as I said, I am still growing and (un)learning here. <3
Works Cited
Kendi, Ibram. How to Be an Antiracist. Bodley Head, 2019.
Oluo, Ijeoma. So You Want to Talk About Race. Seal Press, 2018.
Another very well done blog, truly the “Heart” of the matter👍🏾