What Many White People Don’t See

I’m white. For much of my life I’ve been oblivious to racism. I grew up in a Jewish suburban neighborhood in Studio City. I didn’t have friends of color until high school. I didn’t have a meaningful conversation about race with a black person until college. My family’s politics were left leaning. I followed suit.

During my sophomore year at UCLA, I joined an anti-apartheid student group. I participated in protests urging university divestment in South Africa. At the time, it struck me as odd that our student group included no people of color. The students who protested our protests were also exclusively white. In essence, white people battled white people concerning black people from another continent whom we didn’t know.

Mind you, this was 1985 when racism in Los Angeles was about to explode in citywide riots. We didn’t focus on the racism in front of us. This is because we didn’t see it. Most of us were from isolated suburbs far from the inner city. We were clueless. We wanted to do the right thing but were blind to the social injustice in our own backyard.

It wasn’t until I dated a black woman after college that my eyes began to open. We had many discussions about race. She told me stories about being stopped by police or followed by security guards through stores and supermarkets. I said she was a victim of her own belief system and only saw what she wanted to. This led to heated arguments and nearly derailed our relationship.

We stayed together and this lovely woman became my wife.

Looking back, I’m embarrassed at my ignorance. My wife opened her heart to me and shared her pain. I responded by saying her feelings and perceptions were biased and not valid. This implied my perceptions were objective and more accurate. Without knowing it, I exemplified the ugliness of white privilege.

In our early days of dating, I was shown momentary glimpses of racism. Police stopped us twice for minor driving infractions. (Once for tailgating, another time for idling one foot over the crosswalk at a red light.) In both cases, the officer demanded to see our licenses and then took more than 20 minutes to check for evidence of wrongdoing. We were let off with a warning both times. I can’t say for certain we were stopped because I was white and my wife was black. But this had never happened to me before.

Another time, we were shopping at a Nordstrom’s in a nice part of Woodland Hills. My wife was dressed well while I wore ratty jeans and a dirty t-shirt. While I searched the tennis shoe section in peace, a security guard closely followed my wife through the woman’s section. She ultimately asked me to accompany her at which point the security guard left us alone.

At restaurants we were often seated at a back table away from the masses as if we were being hidden from view. While dining at a cafe in Malibu, I noticed my wife looked uncomfortable. She later explained that patrons at a neighboring table were pointing and staring at her. This experience repeated itself at other restaurants. I learned to sit facing the nearby diners allowing my wife to sit with her back to the crowd so she had a semblance of peace.

In 2008 after Barack Obama was elected president, the racist jar around me was opened wide. I’ll never forget the day after the election. My neighbor, a white businessman, was retrieving his mail. After a few pleasantries, he asked if I’d heard about the changes coming to the White House. “They’re making the rose garden into a watermelon patch,” he said.

He knew my wife was black. He reasoned my white identity would take precedence over my black affiliation. “Do me a favor and keep your racist bullshit to yourself,” I told him. “I’m not racist,” he said. “I have two black employees.”

I joined a Jewish basketball league. One of the players on our team was black. (Black Jews exist.) Before tip-off, a player from the opposing team asked, “Who’s the Schvartze?” (A Yiddish derogatory slur for black people.) I told him I didn’t appreciate him using racist language. He said, “I’m just kidding around. I know there are plenty of good black people.” What shocked me was that this man was the president of his synagogue, a moral leader in the Jewish community. I’m not sure if I would’ve viewed his statement about “good black people” as racist when I was younger. But my worldview was changing.

My wife and I are both art teachers. One day I was helping her teach a class at a Beverly Hills recreation center. Midway through class, a 40-ish white female student realized she’d misplaced her iPhone. She panicked and asked the other students if they’d seen it. She left the room and returned with a white security guard. The guard approached my wife (the only black person in the room) and asked to search her purse. At that moment, the woman found her iPhone and order was restored. But the racism was laid bare for all to see.

Another time we taught at a memory care facility at a senior home. One of the residents was a 70-ish white woman from South Africa. She had advanced Alzheimer’s. When my wife tried to show her how to hold a paintbrush, she recoiled and yelled, “Get away from me.” She allowed me to help her without complaint whispering in my ear, “Tell that Kaffir to stay away.” I was astonished. Her dementia had wiped away most of her memories but somehow she held on to her racist beliefs.

I slowly learned about subtle covert bigotry known as micro aggressions. People of color encounter this often. A black woman enters a department store waiting to be served. Shortly afterward, a white woman enters. The salesperson helps the white woman first. If the black woman complains, she becomes the problem child who needs to get over herself.

Over the years, I’ve jotted down racist phrases I’ve heard from family, friends and workmates. I’ve filled a journal with these sentiments.

“We have a black president, how can this country be racist?”

“If we can’t use the N-word, they shouldn’t be able to use it either.”

“He’s very well spoken.”

“If they want us to help them, they should be more respectful.”

“There are plenty of successful black people. The people who complain just need to work harder.”

“I don’t see color.”

“Slavery ended 150 years ago. Get over it already.”

“All they do is protest when police kill black people. How come they don’t protest black on black crime?”

“I’ve had to overcome plenty of obstacles. Why can’t they overcome theirs?”

It’s easy to point out racism in others. The harder and more painful path is to delve into one’s own heart. When I ask myself if I have racist beliefs, the honest answer is yes. I’ve worked hard to let go of these ignorant notions.

I’ve made jokes where the punch line is “that’s so ghetto.” I’ve participated in sports debates where I credit white players for smarts and black players for athleticism. I’ve disparaged black conservatives like Ben Carson and Larry Elder as Uncle Toms instead of honoring their intellectual integrity to make their own political decisions.

When George Floyd was killed, I was bothered but not like my black friends. The incident hit them as if a family member had died. All had personal experiences where they felt threatened by white police officers, either physically or verbally. Every black person I know has been called the N-word multiple times going to back to childhood and continuing into adulthood. All of this happened in Los Angeles, a supposed bastion of progressive thinking.

During the pandemic when Black Lives Matters protests devolved into looting, my white neighbors voiced a popular refrain. “It’s terrible what the police did to that man but why do they have to destroy property?” I wished I could’ve heard someone say, “It’s terrible they’re destroying property but why did they have to kill that man?”

James Baldwin wrote, “To be a negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.” This was true in the 1960s and it’s true today. But it’s an impossible way to live. My wife and I have developed strategies to mitigate potential racist encounters. We eat out less often. We avoid discussions of politics and race. If someone asks a loaded question such as “What do you think about slavery reparations” we don’t take the bait and answer with humor such as, “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

Many of our friends are mixed-race couples. This wasn’t a conscious choice. It just happened. It does make it easier to discuss current events. When someone is involved with a person from another culture, their worldview expands and their empathy increases.