My mother is white and my father was black. I am not alone in this. I grew up in the Bronx, New York City. Born in 1967. A relatively safe time and place for a brown girl of ambiguous ethnicity. As the mother of two little brown girls, I like to believe that race doesn't matter much. But the election of Barack Obama woke me up. Ignorance is everywhere. Race labels ring in my ears. They stick and they stain. Even when they fade. This is my rant, from “post-racial America”. Hoping to shed some light.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Rachel Dolezal Turns White Privilege On Its Booty

Rachel Dolezal has left the headlines, but she won't leave  my brain.

My family and I refer to her as "the white black lady." We would have believed her claim to blackness had we met her. We know women who look a lot like her: a mixed brown girl, like my daughters and myself.

When her story broke, I wondered along with everyone else, "Why on earth would a white woman from Montana work so hard to pass as black?" Her commitment to the Spokane, WA chapter of the NAACP was clear and authentic, her achievements commendable. But why the costume? What drove her to abandon her own heritage, in the cause of working within the black community?

The blogosphere was bubbling with commentary about Rachel Dolezal's delusional blackness. The haters made farcical comparisons to Caitlin Jenner, and decreed the general "foolishness" of identity reassignment. My own reaction was one of sympathy, for her seemingly desperate need to define herself. The big question looms: Is racial identity determined by oneself, or by public perception?

Press reports detail her evangelical upbringing, her parents adopting black children, even a pending lawsuit in which her biological brother is accused of sexually abusing the adopted siblings. Her legal guardianship of one of her younger brothers begs even more questions about the family dynamic.

Having a black child, a black spouse, and black colleagues doesn't make you black.
Wearing a frizzy hair weave makes you an impersonator.
Getting caught fooling an entire community makes you a loathsome fraud. A target of satire.
Until a hate-driven massacre re-alligns our sights.

"Passing" is part of our human heritage, but the general consensus is that Rachel Dolezal's choice is ass-backward. White folks just don't try to pass for black! Stupid woman has her transitioning directions reversed! Passing has always been about escaping the marginalized classes, in pursuit of a thing we used to call Freedom. Now it's White Privilege.

The basis of white privilege is not knowing that urge to escape; not knowing the feeling of wishing for blue eyes and peachy skin; not understanding the dehumanizing effect of car brands and sports franchises named for American Indian tribes. It's living free of the fear that a racist stranger might attack you or your children.

I have trouble with the idea of White Privilege. It's a concept put upon us by the media, with indefinite  parameters and scope. Somehow Rachel Dolezal's story gives it context.

White privilege is so powerful and so deep, we can't comprehend Rachel Dolezal's motivations.
We reject the possibility that a grown white woman can admire African-American culture so deeply that she reassigns herself into it. We label her a nut and a freak, and we get on with our lives.




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