Straight White Boys Love Me

Post date: Apr 18, 2017 8:51:15 PM

Written by Jonnea Herman at Wednesday, April 5, 2017 11:28:52 PM

Last Edited:Wednesday, April 5, 2017 11:29:49 PM

Straight white boys love me. Cis straight able-bodied economically and overwhelmingly privileged straight white boys, more specifically, love me. It’s a phenomenon that has defined my college experience in upstate New York and has even crossed the Atlantic, from my time studying abroad in Europe, that white boys love me. We get along really well. They’re always kind to me, ask me questions, engage in dialogue, and overall are my good friends.Of course my experiences with white boys aren’t always rewarding, but the number of times that I have had positive outcomes, even surprise me..

I, for one, am not a straight white boy. I’m essentially the complete opposite. I am a biracial (black and puerto rican), masculine presenting, bald lesbian with she/him pronouns and facial piercings. I have a lot of shit going on and my very existence meets several diversity quotas whenever I walk into a room. I’m involved in several activist spaces where I spend hours discussing how to survive and actively resist/deconstruct the white man’s world. Yet I always find myself interacting with white boys, discussing either the latest Kanye or politics.

I’m approached with caution when discussing politics. My identity becomes overwhelmingly obvious and our differences are underlined. They’ll tell me stories of witnessing discrimination or being accused of it, hesitant to ask me questions. I know for many, interacting with someone like myself is the first time that’s ever happened. I’m not someone they tend to hit on, or I someone that challenges them. The performance of masculinity and upkeep of whiteness is disengaged, in their approach. Perhaps my difference neutralizes their act, and allows us to find common ground. I’m always hyper aware and hyper visible, taking note of the underlying power dynamic. They dance around difference, while I’m the first to bring it up - open it with a joke that they’ll nervously laugh at, knowing that not laughing could be socially awkward while laughing means they understand the difference.

A posh British boy laughs at my joke about ‘safe space’ and I tell him that him saying the joke is different than when I do. He laughs again, and soon later he starts to confide with me about when he was accused of culturally appropriate. Or the other time, when another white boy who told me about the time he saw his co workers making fun of a non-passing transwoman. They express discomfort and an inability to find words to accurately describe the uneasiness they felt being safe. They almost look to me as someone who can make sense of it all. And according to Standpoint theory and Patricia Hill Collins - they’re right. Both say that my overlapping identities give me access to knowledge that those of the dominant culture don’t know about, and it becomes painfully aware in these interactions their lack of knowledge.

Navigating white spaces is a condition that those who identify as the “other” has learned to live with. This constant negotiation has led to heaps of knowledge gathered by those living on the edges, that those in power have systematically shunned or ignored -yet they need it most. From From our tailored facebook timelines to our liberal college bubbles, there’s a need to communicate. Now, I know my experience can be harmful to others, and in no way should there be an obligation for the oppressed to educate the oppressors while simultaneously being oppressed. But I do encourage is sharing stories. Whether by joke or song or poem, etc. with the goal of creating empathy. There’s a cloud of fear surrounding what we individually see as different,whether it’s someone like me or someone who wears salmon shorts. My standpoint in life gives me unique insight that my fellow white boy has no idea exists. Speaking from the I, I feel compelled in some respects to help my fellow white boy to be better, to share my stories with him so that maybe he could get a bit of a clue. So, take up space, be loud. Let yourself be heard. Be unapologetic with your body and your experience, it might shake a white boy up and he may never be the same (for the better).