Acid Tongue. That was my nickname in college. But it likely wouldn't have been if I weren't white.
Don’t know what I’m talking about? Essentially, when they called me by this name, those closest to me were letting me know that my words were sharp and critical. Although given in jest, acid tongue spoke a truth about how my friends perceived me. It described how others experienced me.
The name brings to mind memories of cherished friendships and feeling seen and accepted, despite my flaws. However, this nickname also carries some shame. I'm not particularly proud of the actions I took or the qualities I displayed to earn it. I'm fairly certain that fighting fire with fire, or burning in response to a burn, isn’t the best or most effective approach. At least, it's not the way I prefer to be. Ever since my friends helped me see it, I've been trying to tame my acid tongue.
It feels like an automatic response - I simply cannot keep my big mouth quiet. For a long time, this was my go-to reply and I’m pretty sure my whiteness and racial socialization affirm this part of me. If my skin weren’t white, would this reaction be acceptable? Would my friends have given me a lighthearted nickname for it?
This is how race affects my life - whiteness grants me privileges that are not available to people of color. Due to my skin color and the dynamics of race in my country, I have access to certain benefits and experiences that are simply not available to black and brown people. I’m certain that my actions and way of being would be perceived differently if my skin weren’t white. One thing is clear: whiteness acts as a protective shield that insulates white people from the consequences of our poor behavior and affords us the freedom to simply exist.
Knowing exactly how to confront whiteness in myself and others remains a challenge for me. As a white person, my experience of race in the US created a blind spot. Despite my efforts to dismantle it, my strong connection to whiteness often makes it difficult to recognize its influence on me. For this reason, I need to be accountable and open. Just as my college friends did when they nicknamed me acid tongue, I need trusted individuals to help me see how others experience me, especially when it comes to race.
Shaming and using harmful language to disparage individuals and groups, creating division and hierarchy, are characteristics of whiteness. Unfortunately, I’ve witnessed well-meaning white folks engaging in these behaviors in their equity work. As a person with white skin, I can’t help but wonder how I may also continue the violence and harm of whiteness without even realizing it. This is an ongoing struggle for me to distinguish the parts of myself, my behavior, and my story that are not entangled with or influenced by whiteness. Perhaps there are none.
I believe that, by working together, we can dismantle injustice and end racial inequity. But, I’ve also seen how whiteness can get in the way. And so, being committed to addressing inequity entails eliminating the ways in which I embody the destructive traits of whiteness. As a white person working to undo racial injustice, I must examine whether my efforts inadvertently perpetuate whiteness and remain open to opportunities when others to help me recognize that I’m doing so.
This is an ongoing process, and I’ll experience growing pains along the way. However, it's crucial for me to differentiate the struggle of doing something new from feelings of guilt or shame because I’m unsure how to address issues of race. I recognize that whiteness taught me to prioritize my own comfort, and I'm particularly skilled at this. I can't allow my discomfort to be a reason for ignoring the problem of inequity, as I've done in the past. When I engage with race in the same old way, using the techniques whiteness has taught me, I'm simply being the kind of white person that I'm trying to un-become.
Choosing to do things and act in ways that I learned from whiteness conflicts with my beliefs and values, making things worse. Whiteness taught me to use tools that harm and maintain white dominance. I learned to shut down people and conversations that I deemed unwanted, even when it meant denying the truth. Unfortunately, my acid tongue is good at achieving these things. At times, it feels as though I’m working with the very thing I seek to change. Instead of fostering connection, which I desire, I create distance between myself and others. I’m imperfectly examining why I do the things that I do in order to better flourish and stay true to my beliefs and values.
To be clear, I’m not an expert on dismantling racism. It’s also unrealistic and counterproductive to expect perfection from myself or anyone else. The reality is that my tendency towards an acid tongue, doing what whiteness taught me to do, and being how whiteness taught me to be, means I’ll likely make mistakes. But,I learn from my errors, make amends, and continue on. I used to feel alone in my journey and now I share it here because I’ve realized that we’re all in this together, whether we acknowledge it or not.
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