I Don't Hate White People: I Hate Whiteness and White Supremacy

I recently published a blog on the Huffington Post about my experiences with racism on my campus as I complete my PhD in Educational Studies and Research.  As a result, I received numerous emails regarding said post.  Some from other Latinas/os who have and are experiencing similar situations on their respective campuses and some from other Latinas/os thanking me for sharing my counter-narrative.  Some from white friends and family who were very supportive.  However, many of the emails and correspondences were from angry and annoyed white people. Some of these emails directed me to get over my "entitlement attitude," to "stop being a pussy," and to "give my nonsense a rest."  Now, since I am an educator in a teacher preparation program, which is overwhelmingly white and middle-class, I am completely accustomed to these types of responses from white people when talking about race, racism, and white supremacy.  However, I did have a conversation that lingered with me and that I feel I need to address.

I received a message from a former colleague that I worked with before I began working in education.  I should preface by saying that she and I always had wonderful debates that were civil despite us almost never agreeing.  Needless to say I was happy to receive her message.  In her message she plainly stated, "I would like to see you write about solutions someday. I think in your passion you can also be divisive...Not all of us our vicious racists, and many are just ignorant...it's important to not pigeon hole "white" people."  I was not surprised with her analysis of my experience with racism.  In my response I told her that I do indeed have a solution and that I was not completely sure said solution will accomplish what she hopes; to promote less divisiveness around racism.  I told her that my writing about racism gets to the cause and not the symptom.  Racism is a symptom of a larger societal and institutional issue...white supremacy.  Essentially, racism is a white people problem.

Because I study, teach, and write about race, racism, and white supremacy, most people who read my work or take my classes initially think that I don't like white people, in fact that I hate them.  This is insane. My wife is white, my two boys are half white, I have white family members, tios, close friends, and colleagues who are white. Trust me when I say that I love them dearly. I love me some white people. What I hate is whiteness and white supremacy.  These two systems of oppression are distinctly different than white people although largely made up and upheld by white people.  I think to end racism we have to stop whiteness and white supremacy.  And that cannot and should not be the sole responsibility of those most affected by these oppressive systems.  It is important to note that you can have people of color adopt whiteness ideologies (see Dr. Ben Carson, Marco Rubio, Allen West, or Ted Cruz) and whiteness can manifest without the presence of white people, just like patriarchy can be present without the presence of men.

Nevertheless, as we finished the conversation I conveyed to her
that we must all fight together to end systemic white supremacy.  However whites must actively work against their own unearned privilege to make this happen.  Many might find that radical but my fight to stop this shameless and oppressive institution comes from a deep place of love. And while I hate these oppressive systems I still love the people who uphold them.

¡Adelante!

“Were you in prison?”: Exposing Assumptions of Incarceration While in a Doctoral Program

Given what is happening on college campuses across the country I feel compelled to write and share some of my own experiences regarding racism on college campuses.  I should start by saying that I stand with Jonathan Butler and the brave students working for a more racially inclusive and equitable campus environment at the University of Missouri and other institutions of higher learning across the country. I am so moved by your spirit, and encouraged by your continued political participation that I feel a responsibility to share a racist experience (one of many) on my own campus.  What follows is the encounter... 

It is hard for me to articulate the excitement I felt when I was accepted into my doctoral program.  As I read the email, my thoughts immediately went to my childhood and the barrios of Albuquerque, New Mexico.  I thought of all the struggles, the gangs, the poverty, and the low expectations. But I also thought of all the support, mentoring, and coaching that got me to that point...to that email. Needless to say, I was beaming. By no means am I trying to say that my happiness was more palpable than any other newly accepted doctoral student.  Yet, as a poor Chicano from the ‘West Side’, I knew that my acceptance was uncommon.  I felt invincible. Sadly, this euphoria was short lived. I was quickly reminded that I was an outsider, and this alienation began my first day on campus. 

I vividly remember my first day.  Simply getting ready for class was no easy feat. I remember agonizing over what to wear. Asking myself, do I wear a suit? Business casual? Jacket and tie? Jacket no tie?  What kind of impression do I want to make? Do I want to be perceived as professional or real?  Nonetheless, I decided on a suit as I recalled some advice that I received from my one professor of color during my undergraduate experience.  I remember her warning me, “We [people of color] are not afforded the benefit of casual dress because they [white folks] will make assumptions”. 

So off I go, suited up and headed to class.  I get there early and decide to get a drink from the lobby coffee shop.  As I am waiting for class I strike up a casual conversation with a young white man.  We make small talk, discussing weather, traffic, and sports scores.  He then proceeds to inquire about where I am from and where I am headed “all dressed up”.  I tell him that I am originally from New Mexico and that I am headed to class.  Not unkindly he asks “what program?” I tell him that I am starting my PhD.  Without hesitation he responds “were you in prison?”  The question stupefied me. I immediately thought ‘Dude, I have never even received more than parking ticket, what would make you think I was in prison?’  It’s not like I have visible tattoos, as if that is some guarantee of previous incarceration. Yet, inherently, I knew he was referring to my pigmentation and perceived cultural background.  I responded with a resounding ‘No!’ My anger was visible and he tried to clarify and backtrack by saying “I’m totally kidding. I’m not racist. I just think it’s great so many people are continuing their education under those circumstances...seriously some of the smartest people I’ve met have spent time in prison and were minorities.”  

In retrospect, and as I type this, I still get irate thinking about the interaction. And I recall that it took everything within myself not to lose it and I simply walked away. Despite my wrath, adrenaline, and skyrocketing heart rate, I remember feeling  tired. Tired of lifetime of having to overcome ignorant stereotypes, slurs, microaggressions, and subordination. Little did I know was that this lobby conversation was just the beginning of many exhausting racist interactions during my first two years as a doctoral student. This is why the conversations that are being had around race, racism, and white supremacy on campuses across the nation are tantamount for our nation to move beyond color-blind ideologies and fight against the notion that our society is post-racial. 

An Open Letter to the Queer Kid I Bullied in High School

              This past week the internet and social media were abuzz with Jimmy Fallon’s “Saved By The Bell” reunion.  Like so many others who grew up in the 90’s, seeing the Bayside High gang back together was gloriously nostalgic. I can recall countless days sprinting home after the bus dropped us off to catch the show and hear that equal parts wonderful and God awful theme song.  As a young Chicano from the barrios of Albuquerque, New Mexico it was a big deal to see Mario Lopez on television.  And his character, Albert Clifford (AC) Slater was my hero and I emulated my high school persona after him (curly mullet and all).  To this day, many of my close friends still call me AC and post pictures of me side by side with Slater (see below).

In high school, being a football player, wrestler, jock, and “man” was such an integral part of my identity. I felt incredible pressure to be this person at all costs.  This hyper-masculinity was ubiquitous at my high school.  Whether you were a jock, gangbanger, tagger, or rocker, displays of manliness, heteropatriarchy, and machismo were normative and almost always celebrated. 

After watching the recent Jimmy Fallon sketch, I wanted to find an old picture of me with this legendary mullet to show my fellow doctoral students.  Ironically, the evening before the sketch aired I happened to bring up how AC Slater epistemologically informed so much of my identity as an adolescent.  As I was searching the internet I found out that Classmates.com (yes that site still exists) actually has scanned in many high school yearbooks.  I was excited because sadly I lost my over-priced “tome of nostalgia” years ago in my many moves.  Nevertheless, as I was searching for my best AC Slater mullet pic, I began to browse the senior pictures section.  I went page by page looking at all my old friends who I swore I would “K.I.T.” with, which didn’t happen…

As I clicked on the next page I saw “his” face.  My stomach fell out from under me.  I was looking into the eyes of the only openly queer kid that I can recall at the “Mecca of machismo” we called high school. As I stared at his face, I was bathed in embarrassment, guilt, and sadness.  I remembered all the times I tormented and bullied this kid. Having my other jock “friends” shove me into him, knocking his books out his hand as I whispered “pick them up fag.” Shooting spitballs in his face as we sat waiting for the bell to ring after lunch.

I remembered all the times my actions eroded at my soul. 

In retrospect, I did not pick on this young man because I hated his lifestyle, truthfully I really did not have reservations about his sexuality. I did these atrocious acts because I was afraid and jealous of him.  In a sea of pubescent wanderers, he seemed to be one of the few who actually had a grip on who they were.  I was jealous of his confidence.  I was nowhere near having an understanding of who I was or really wanted to be.  Even though I was an above average athlete I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I could not play at the highest levels.  Despite this, I hung on to that delusional pursuit, declaring that with hard work in the weight room and off season I could defy the odds. He seemed to have none of these doubts and disgracefully I hated it.

Looking back I remember being jealous of how alive he was.  How vibrant and sure of himself he seemed.  There was an honesty that exuded from him despite incredible risk.  And ultimatley that is what I was trying to take from him. In my shameful attempt to be a “man” and make him less honest, alive, and human, I proceeded to lose own humanity. 

In writing this letter to this brave young man, I want and deserve no congratulations, for I am a coward.  A coward for subjecting him to such torment and for having not truly admitted it before.  Far too many of our young LGBTQIA familia are taking their own lives because of behavior and actions similar to my own.  I can never fully understand the pain and suffering I subjected this young man to.  And I deserve to live with the shame and guilt that I feel on a daily basis.  Much of the work I do now focuses on social justice issues, and yet, I cannot truly commit to this work unless I come clean regarding my own oppressive and hateful history.

To my brave fellow high school colleague, I want you to know that I can never fully apologize enough for my actions and behaviors during our times in those halls.  You were and still are a far better human than I am. But I want you to know that I am fully committed to doing everything I can to combat hatred, patriarchy, heteronormativity, and bigotry, and my three children will know of your bravery and the cowardice of their father.

As I write this letter I re-watched the Jimmy Fallon sketch and perhaps it is fitting that AC Slater traded in his wrestling singlet for a leotard. My hope is that just maybe he too is trading in this faux machismo for a more artistic and inclusive persona. I know I am.

Roberto