Identity in Racial Discourse: Rethinking How We Talk about Race in Hastings

By Avanthi Chen - Contributing Writer

While attending the Kids 4 Justice Walk in town the other day, I was standing behind the speakers and heard someone say something like, “as a white person I don’t have the right to speak.” And I understood what she meant: rather than talking about issues of race from a white perspective, she was turning her platform over to me and my friends, students of color who can talk about these issues as people of color (POC). But that statement continued to bug me, even after the rally was over and we were thanked countless times for our powerful and inspirational words. Why do I “have the right to speak,” and she doesn’t?

While talking to my good friend and fellow student of color Amanda Escotto, she explained to me the same authority she felt she gained from others by starting a sentence with, “as a person of color…” while discussing race with her white friends. After starting a conversation with that statement, she described a feeling of “being put on a pedestal,” and feeling like there was an extra weight to her words. When she finished, the conversation ended with comments like, ‘thank you for sharing,’ and ‘that was very insightful, thank you.’

This was something I could relate to. When processing the Race Issue of the Buzzer my junior year in English class, I remember being one of two or three people who participated in that conversation, all of us students of color. Our experiences were listened to and our opinions went unchallenged. We had complete control over the conversation. I could feel the power dynamics in the classroom shifting uncomfortably as I came to a daunting realization. As one of the few people of color in that room and here in Hastings, this was a topic I could not be challenged on.

“I know they feel like they can’t disagree with me,” Amanda told me. As thankful as she was for that support, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the idea of her word taken as fact just because she was a person of color.

Some may argue that this isn’t an issue. In fact, my first instinct was to ask, “well, what right do white people have to question the experience of POC?” It’s not their experience, so maybe it’s best they just sit back and listen. Share their platform. However, as I think back to that day in English class and the response from my white peers, I remember feeling so stranded. Like I was delivering a monologue to an audience of blank faces. What good is having a voice if no one’s responding?

Throughout the past two weeks we’ve all watched the news in horror and grieved the death of George Floyd and countless others. We’ve watched as people by the millions protested these unjust killings and demanded a change that’s hundreds of years overdue. No one can go on social media or the news without having to face the horrible reality of systemic racism in America, pushing our town deeper into urgent calls: “So do something about it.” “Lend your privilege.” “Share up your platform.” Staying silent on issues of race is clearly not okay anymore. Leaders in our community have stated explicitly the importance of these difficult conversations and speaking up about race even when it’s uncomfortable. It is the difference between being “not racist” vs. “anti-racist,” or being complicit vs. being an ally. Being able to engage with issues of race is imperative right now, so what’s stopping us from having meaningful racial discourse?

As Ms. Mateo-Toledo put it in her speech at the “Our Generation Will Do Better” Rally on Sunday, Hastings has a tendency to “begin the work, move forward, then it stalls.” For me, this articulated exactly the problem with putting people of color on a pedestal in racial discourse. We share, and you listen, but the conversation rarely goes deeper than that, because it’s not actually a conversation. That’s why things stall.

I understand that white people want to listen and learn from POC, but I wonder if they are not fully engaging in these conversations because they choose to listen out of respect or deference, or if it’s due to anxiety triggered by racial discomfort.

In her book, White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism, Robin DiAngelo explores this question. She describes the many institutional and societal mechanisms that protect white people from having to engage on issues of racism. She argues that predominantly white and affluent communities are largely insulated from communities of color and, thus, the possibility of racial discomfort. Their residents never have to learn how to navigate difficult conversations and instead respond with “behaviors such as argumentation, silence, and withdrawal from the stress-inducing situation.”

In speaking with some white students here in Hastings, I discovered that this “silence and withdrawal” often comes from anxiety and fear of saying something wrong “that could be in any way interpreted poorly,” said one white student. So, if this withdrawal is a result of anxiety, then where does that leave POC trying to engage in racial discourse?

Every student of color at HHS can appreciate being given a platform to speak about our experiences. But this authority that is granted to students of color forces us to carry conversations on race both in the classroom and among peers. We often become spokespeople for issues of race and racism in Hastings, which not only places a ton of pressure on us, but also, to some extent, equates our experience with that of an entire demographic.

In his book The Lies that Bind: Rethinking Identity, Kwame Anthony Appiah analyzes the impact of this authority on racial discourse. He acknowledges that it is often important to identify oneself “as an African-American,” or “as a lesbian,” or “as white woman,” but feels that to boil down your identity to a simple label is to do yourself and others around you a disservice. He describes the “as a…” statement as “an assertion of authority,” and a way of communicating: “As a member of this or that social group, I have experiences that lend my remarks special weight. The experiences, being representative of that group, might even qualify me to represent that group.”

I do not represent the entire Asian-American experience, much like my black friends do not represent the entire African American experience. In fact, many students of color expressed to me that growing up in Hastings, they didn’t know if their experience was truly that different from their white peers. “Our experiences aren’t completely different,” Mina tells me. “There’s not much difference between you and me and a white kid in Hastings.”

Amanda even described her hesitation to identify as a person of color at all since, growing up in Hastings, she had been mostly cut off from her cultural community and didn’t feel like she had faced explicit racism. However, as one of the few POC in most of her classes, people often look to her for her opinion and experience, and whether or not she wanted to, she ends up taking on that responsibility and bearing the weight of most of those conversations. Ben Halperin described how he often becomes the “default voice in the room” when it comes to those topics, even though he doesn’t necessarily know more about them than his white peers. Mina also expressed to me how much difficulty she still has talking about race, even as a student of color. “The problem is none of us here are taught how to talk about it. I don’t even know how to talk about it, but I do try.”

In fact, many POC have a similar experience to whites in Hastings when talking about race with those of darker skin or less sheltered experiences. “When I’m around other POC I try to just listen as much as possible,” Amanda tells me. This idea is similar to how the majority of white students try to talk about race, the key difference being that she is still able to fully engage in racial discourse with other POC, even from a place of privilege. “I’m afraid of being shut down for the same reasons white people are,” says Mina. “But I still participate even if it’s uncomfortable.”

Does this mean we should stop giving added value to the experiences of POC? No, but I do think we need to reexamine how the experiences of POC are regarded in our community. That starts by understanding that the label of “person of color” doesn’t innately qualify anyone, but instead signifies an experience that everyone can learn to understand. In order to navigate racial discourse more sustainably we must start by defining identities not by exclusive clubs, but by understanding identity through a spectrum of experiences. We are comfortable talking about race issues with people of our own labels and experiences, but don’t have the trust to engage in these difficult conversations with those who are different. But this can change. This has to change. We can only demystify the experiences of others by truly engaging with one another. Isolating ourselves from racial discomfort is no longer acceptable. Already, Hastings community members are taking steps to break the silence on these conversations.

During our town hall meetings, I and fellow students of color have shared our experiences, explaining how our education and Hastings’ lack of dialogue has failed us in so many ways. In an email to the entire district, Mr. A spoke of how disheartened he felt by the experiences of POC in Hastings, pledging himself and our administration to possibly incorporating racial literacy into the required curriculum at HHS. Students of color will no longer be the only ones engaging in these conversations and bearing the impacts of our white peers’ inability to do so. Instead, I have faith that it will become a conversation every student at Hastings will have the tools to navigate. Racial literacy is important to everyone, not just black people and people of color. With how depressing the news is right now, it’s hard to believe that progress is possible. But already, I feel a deep shift in the way people are thinking and talking about racism, even in our little town of Hastings.