White Like Me

So I’m in front of my class, and the mood is light, and things seem to be moving along--until one question and then another suggest that we may be back at square one after all. To catch their attention and diffuse my frustration I let my explanation out--again--- in an exaggerated, teasing, tumble that's far from my usual teacher talk.

"Wow," says a voice from the back row, amazed. "You sound just like a white girl."

“Did you ever notice,” I say, “that I am a white girl?”

And they all laugh, partly at me calling myself "girl," but partly at the thought of me being white. It’s not that there’s any question about my ethnicity, it’s just that they don’t lump me in with most of the white people in their lives. I’m the trusted English teacher they've known in fact or by reputation for years, the one who has helped them decipher traffic tickets and leases, buy lunch, pass Algebra, and understand the United States (a real chore in recent years). In their eyes, those actions don’t make me a credit to White People, they separate me (and anyone else who has treated them well) from the White People. "We forget," another Mexican student says, "that you're not one of us." I take that as a compliment, but given the impression that basic human kindness makes, it doesn't say much for the White People. Nonetheless, these kids aren't the only ones who cling to their stereotypes and prejudices and make exceptions one individual at a time.


Take someone who, at least on appearances, my students would quickly judge as a really White Guy. Joe Biden's description of Barack Obama as the “first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy,'' may be last week's news, but it still boggles my mind. It's hard to believe that thirty years in public life has not taught Biden to think before he speaks, but, then again, should it really take an extra effort to not say that? Only, perhaps, if he perceives Obama to be different than most African-American men. Or, in other words, not really black. Given Obama's popularity, I'd hazard a guess that it's a not uncommon sentiment, a notion that Leonard Pitts (whose newspaper, hallelujah, does not keep him behind a pay-per-read firewall) discussed in a recent column.

"Meantime," Pitts concludes, "I've got two words of advice for those folks who are surprised to learn Barack Obama is black:
Eye. Doctor."

Can't really argue with that, except that it's not really that simple. Too often, one first notices the skin color, and then one judges the actions. When they don't fit the stereotyped mold, our first impulse doesn't seem to be to break the mold but to build a new one. We're more comfortable putting people into groups than admitting that those groups may be flawed or, heaven forbid, unnecessary. Those habits, dear reader of undetermined race or ethnicity, don't exactly fill me with hope. On the other hand, the senior senator from the great state of Delaware has something important in common with a bunch of Mexican teenagers in Missouri. Maybe in some strange way we're all more integrated than we know.