 | I am not my hair It's sorta humorous that I would pick India.Arie's song, "I am not my hair" as a song that I really relate to. Superficially, I guess it would have made sense for my brother back in his fro days. My hair is hardly noteworthy, and so while this song is mainly about a young black woman and the relationship between the appearance of her hair and her identity, this song really speaks to me on a spiritual level that doesn't care that I'm a white male with short hair. Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending her show in DC. I had great seats thanks to Natalie and her mom. India came out on stage kinda diva like and I was pretty surprised just based on who I know her to be from her music. She had a swagger and was all dressed up in these different scarves, ponchos, and all these accessories I don't know about and her hair was all done up. Anyhow, the music came up and as she was getting ready to start singing, she starts taking off all the frilly accessories and fancy colors. She concluded with the removal of her weave leaving her on stage in a simple white outfit and shaved hair that ironically looks similar to mine as she closes her eyes and starts to sing, "I am not my hair". It was a very spiritual and freeing moment to see such a strong black woman sharing her freedom and personal peace that she has found with all of us. She has risen above all the classifications, generalizations and assumptions people ascribe to her, and she is finally free to be who she was created to be. What a peaceful place to be. For me, part of accepting my belovedness as a child of God is accepting my whiteness. From the start, my experiences in Philly and my understanding of the kingdom of God in my neighborhood, has been highly tempered by my whiteness. In many ways, this is a tremendous privilege, but it certainly has been fatiguing. So often when I walk my sidewalks, I can't help but assume that people only see me as a white guy in a 98% black neighborhood. That my skin is all they see and because of it, they won't give me the opportunity to share my heart with them. Expectations have grown so heavy to bear sometimes that I often feel like cussing people out, crying or belting out this song to people who pre-judge me. I am not your expectations, no! The past several years have been a journey of learning and lamenting as I have gone deeper in my pursuit of what it means to be a white male and a Christian in this nation (empire). I thought before moving to philly I had dealt with a lot of my emotions, mainly anger and shame, but I quickly realized that I had a lot more work to do. Now as I look back, I feel such more freedom than when I first moved in, enough to share honestly where I am now, without feeling ashamed. When I moved here, I knew that any racial comments were more directed to people's previous encounters or emotions towards white people than personal to me. Though I am a minority in my neighborhood, I am still privileged, I still have a tremendous amount of power and I could leave at any time and not be directly affected by what goes on. The first time that I was called officer was modestly amusing, but after a while it really pissed me off and developed into an arrogant superiority that I was here to be a blessing and "these people" have the nerve to insult me, how pathetic I'll go to the suburbs and get my high paying engineering job, forget you. I kinda enjoyed funny nicknames like being referred to as the cast of Dawson's Creek or the Real World, but little girls calling me, "Cracker" really hurt me. I don't even know where cracker comes from, but it is just sad b/c I know some people use it b/c it's the word with the most power to hurt me. Months after moving here, some women in hospital scrubs asked me as I was hustling to get to the Sal, fresh out the shower in flip flops and a thrift store t, if I was an undercover cop. I can't tell you how many rumors about us being "undies" we had to deal with. First of all, do I look like it, really look at me and how I'm dressed, and second of all I sure as heck wouldn't say anything to you if I were so why would you ask me such a dumb question. Lots of people, young and old really speculated that we were undercover officers and this was extremely painful to me, but I understood it when moving in right next to the projects. Miss Linda caught some kids talking about us one time and she said, "They aren't police officers, they are my friends and they are special to me. You talk about my friends, you talk about my family, and I don't tolerate that." It was incredibly humbling to experience her advocating on my behalf. I was walking across the street once and someone said, "Get out of the way you dumb white mother fucker". After calming down, my thoughts were that this person was so pathetic to say something so ignorant and that I'm too educated that if I thought that, I'd at least have the decency not to say it, and I was glad to be me and not so uninformed. I had and still have a lot of ugly thoughts. I pretty much assume that people respond to me based on my whiteness. I remember some girls giggling at me at the library and I went up and said something about how it's rude to laugh at someone and what did they have against white people and they just said that they thought I had pretty eyes. I remember the first time that I went to the park to play basketball I told my two roommates I didn't want them joining me, basically b/c they sucked and I didn't want to be brought down by stereotypical white basketball players because it was going to be tough enough for me on my own. I remember running some pick up games and being picked after kids half my size, hearing generic white insults and being extremely disrespected. It often made me go into a beast out mode where I was determined to completely take over the game if I could and show them that I wasn't a white boy to be messed with and I could take them so I would destroy them and show them. For the first time in my neighborhood I had some power, and that made me feel comfortable. Draining a step back three in a 6' 3'' black man's face was incredibly addictive to me, to hear the ooh's and aah's and laughing from the other players and for me to smugly do it three or four more times before the game ended as I strutted off. Yet, every time I stepped on the court, I felt that my reputation and whiteness was on the line. I had to be on, or I would feel inferior. Now, to be at the point where I can have a poor shooting game and smile and shrug it off is a huge peace for me. Once at work, two of my peers, counselors continued playing basketball after the whistle had blown and we had been specifically instructed to set examples for the kids by putting the balls up right at the whistle. I calmly reminded them of this and encouraged them to stop, I did this several times and got no response, they just kept playing. I started to get pretty upset and just grabbed the ball after they shot it and one of the guys walked up to me and got in my face and I started arguing with him and wasn't backing down. He got mad and walked out. Some of the kids saw this and said they had my back and that some black people were ignorant and they were sorry. Pastor Shawn wanted to talk w/ the three of us, but the other two guys stepped out and so I shared w/ him that I felt completely ignored and that I felt bad, but had to consider that it was because I was white, how in so many of my interactions, it creeps into my head that maybe I'm being treated differently because of my skin. Pastor Shawn really calmed me and when the guys came in I was able to share and the guy that really disrespected me apologized for how he acted and made sure I knew that he had my back in our hood. My friendship with him really deepened because I was able to share with him that fear that I have of being treated differently b/c of my skin. When I left to catch the bus for DC to get to the concert, Tyree told me, "Stay Black, Pete." Pastor Shawn used to call me Puerto Rican, comments like those are somewhat common to me, and for a long time, I took some pride in feeling as if I had transcended my whiteness to be seen as a minority or person of color. This feeling quickly turned to pain and feeling like people were telling me that my ultimate social goal is to come as close as possible to escape being white. Ironically, this is the exact opposite notion that most people of color feel in being forced to assimilate to whiteness to be successful in the workplace or politics.
I am white, I want to be proud of that, I want to be comfortable in it and I don't want it to be always a bad thing. More than being white, black, latino, asian, or any other race or ethnicity, I want people to see my soul and know me as I am. I do strongly believe that this can't just happen in an immediate colorblind society. I don't know a whole lot of things, I still struggle with a lot of things about race, but I have never been at such peace with being white, feeling privileged to live in my neighborhood and share who I am with people around me who might never get the chance to know someone from my background. I don't need to wear fancy clothes, have all this baggage, a fancy hair style or strut around, I am free to be me because I am loved by God. My true friends recognize this within me and love me the same. I am white, but I am this soul within. God has made me beautiful and I love who I am.
It excites me to have the opportunity to be one of two white people in my neighborhood. I am not defined by my skin, my basketball skills, the way I talk, what I listen to or how I dress. This doesn't mean I don't fall into those thought patterns sometimes, but I have a peace that only comes from God. Daily, I am so thankful he has called me to be a part of his Kingdom in my neighborhood that I find myself singing in the shower, as I walk down the street, through the projects or while I'm working at the Salvation Army. It reminds me of the end of Blue Like Jazz, what song will your soul sing when it gets set free? I'm finding my song and offering it to God and sharing it with my neighbors. |
Saturday, October 14, 2006
I am Not My Hair
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