Tag Archives: race

The chasm between tolerance and acceptance

I am struggling to express my thoughts about how we have to move from a world of tolerance, to one of acceptance.

When I listen to this reflection by Trevor Noah:

I understand the challenge of living on different sides of a social contract that does not measure the treatment of people equally, while still expecting the social contract to continue.

When I read these words by Barack Obama:

“It’s natural to wish for life “to just get back to normal” as a pandemic and economic crisis upend everything around us. But we have to remember that for millions of Americans, being treated differently on account of race is tragically, painfully, maddeningly “normal” – whether it’s while dealing with the health care system, or interacting with the criminal justice system, or jogging down the street, or just watching birds in a park.
This shouldn’t be “normal” in 2020 America. It can’t be “normal.” If we want our children to grow up in a nation that lives up to its highest ideals, we can and must be better.”

I think about my bias regarding what “normal” looks like. I also think of how easy it is to put everyone’s experiences into dichotomous polarities, and miss the nuances of a spectrum of perspectives, and a spectrum of human experiences.

I learned a long time ago how I can be biased to my own privilege, but that didn’t make my privilege disappear. Actually, it heightened my understanding of just how privileged I am. We tend not to see our privilege, and we tend to misunderstand how privilege breeds tolerance rather than acceptance. Privilege blinds us to how someone else’s experience could be so much different than our own.

In January, I shared a Martin Luther King quote from his “Letter From a Birmingham Jail“. I said,

The last two sentences chill me,

“Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

I think about how few extremists there are in the world, despite how much media coverage they get. Beyond the news, most people are not exposed to extremists. We are all exposed to moderates. So, in the day to day living of most people, hate is not something we see, however shallow understanding is.

In many places there is tolerance masquerading as acceptance. This to me is what slows down progress. It’s not the wing-nuts on the extremes spewing dogmatism… Although their stance plays a role in allowing others to justify their tolerance as acceptance, since that tolerance can be justified as moderate. But it’s the complacent, shallow, (lukewarm) moderates that hinder genuine acceptance… because this population is huge. This population is blind or ignorant to their own prejudice; this population performs daily interactions that infringe on the true acceptance of ‘others’, without knowing it.

As long as the conversation is about tolerance, it will not ever get to acceptance. The chasm between the two isn’t just large, it is impossible to traverse.

First we must accept that the human condition for some is unimaginably different than ours.

Next we must accept that privilege is also a human condition. It is not earned, it is bestowed whether we want it or not.

Then things get nuanced. Privilege is not something to be blamed for having, but it is something that warrants us to recognize, accept, and be humbled by. It carries authority, power, and status, which need to be consciously and intentionally recognized. From here we can accept that others are less privileged than us. I do not worry about where my next meal will come from. I do not worry that I might not be able to afford a hospital visit. I do not worry about someone misunderstanding or judging me because of my accent. I do not think about the colour of my skin when I must face someone with authority over me in a stressful situation.

If I have less privilege, I am sometimes/often forced to be concerned about tolerance. I hope for acceptance, but I come across those that are privileged that expect me to see the world through their eyes, their ‘struggles’, and their willingness to tolerate our differences, while calling it acceptance. What I see is that others have ‘supremacy’. That word carries a powerful charge with it. That word can change the conversation. But that word is no different than what I’ve already said. Just a paragraph ago I said of privilege, “It carries authority, power, and status, which need to be consciously and intentionally recognized.” The very definition of supremacy is ‘the state or condition of being superior to all others in authority, power, or status’.

Again the chasm runs deep and wide.

“Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.” ~Martin Luther King

Who are the people of good will? What can they do to go beyond shallow acceptance?

The challenge is that uprisings and protest, while sadly necessary, confuse or even anger many with privilege. The privileged don’t understand the social contract was broken before the unrest (as shared in the Trevor Noah video above). They don’t see that it is only happening because society is not living up to its highest ideals and that ‘we can and must do better’ (as shared by Barack Obama above). They/we do not see that our acceptance is just lukewarm, tolerance masquerading as acceptance. Instead privilege permits us to cringe at terms like ‘white supremacy culture’ and point the finger outwards to more extreme views and say, “That term belongs over there, not with me!” Instead there are conversations of being ‘colorblind’, of ‘not seeing race’, and of denying privilege because ‘I have struggles too’.

Shallow understanding. Shallow acceptance. Shallowness is the enemy of progress. Shallowness prevents us from identifying systemic wrongdoing, identifying underlying injustices, and being positively responsive to cultural differences. Shallowness creates a difference in perception as it relates to authority, power, and status in the eyes of those with and without privilege, such that each are blind to the other.

“I don’t know what your problem is?”

“I don’t know how you can’t see that you are part of the problem?”

Tolerance helps us get along until the contracts are visibly broken (again, again, and again). Acceptance is not about accepting others, it’s about accepting our own privilege. Accepting that we must see justice from the eyes of those that live in an unjust world. We must accept that if we do not venture into the deep, and speak out on injustice, then we shall remain in the shallows of an intolerant world pretending to be tolerant.

Acceptance isn’t someone else’s work, it is ours… all of ours, but especially the work of anyone who was born with, or gifted with, any form of privilege.

Blind to My Privilege

Part 1. “You silenced my voice.”

It was the summer of 2006 and I was spending five weeks in Eugene, Oregon, completing my Master’s degree. I was there with a cohort of teachers from Coquitlam, BC, Canada, and we had many classes together. A colleague Christine and I had every class together, including a Statistics class we had where there was also a larger cohort of new Oregon teachers who were much younger than us.

These early to mid-20 year olds were in a program where students did a masters right after their teaching practicum. I think at the time the US ‘No Child Left Behind’ policy demanded teachers have so much additional education within the first few years of teaching, beyond their teaching degree, that moving to your masters level before starting teaching made more sense than starting teaching then adding credentials while you taught.

It was the last week of school, in this Stats class, that I learned a valuable lesson about my privilege. The class was being taught by the Teaching Assistant, who we knew because she was also our program faculty advisor. The lesson centered around research done in a school. The data was tracked by race among other variables. I don’t remember why, almost 14 years later, but the data was interesting and the fact that race mattered was relevant to the lesson.

After the lesson one of us, Christine or I, had a question and since we were living one floor apart in the same complex and walked to and from class together, we waited together to speak to the Teaching Assistant. In front of us, a younger, female, (*I assume) Chinese-descent American student was talking to the Teaching Assistant. This student was saying that she thought it was not appropriate to bring up race in the example given in class. I don’t remember if Christine or I interjected first, but we joined the conversation. We didn’t see things the same way as this student. We couldn’t figure out what we were missing? After that conversation was over we finished up with the Teaching Assistant and headed for the door. Before leaving the class, the Chinese American student came up to us and said, “You silenced my voice.”

We asked for clarification, and she explained that she had an issue around race that she was trying to address with the teaching assistant and we interjected and silenced her. We dismissed her concerns and she felt hurt that we had done this to her.

We apologized.

We insisted it wasn’t intentional. She told us this wasn’t about our intentions, it was about how we made her feel. She had a concern, and we dismissed it, we silenced her.

We apologized again.

The walk home was solemn. Christine and I felt awful. We both shed more than one tear. We tried to rationalize our participation in the conversation, but no matter the reason, we could only see that we caused hurt. Our words had power, and that power usurped the power from someone who felt less privileged than us. Our reasons didn’t matter. We were two older, white people who were dismissing the ideas of a younger minority.

Part 2. Rationalizing my blindness

I will preface this rationale with an important clarification: This is not a justification of any kind, it is in fact evidence of my blindness to my own privilege.

My family: My wife describes me as ‘a Chinese Jew from Barbados’. My grandmother on my dad’s side is full Chinese. I have many cousins and second cousins who are full, half, and quarter Chinese. Those that are mixed have mostly white, but also black, and East Indian parents.

When I described the minority student who we silenced, I described her as “(*I assume) Chinese-descent American student“. It’s an assumption because I didn’t ask. What informed my guess was that she didn’t look like another kind of Asian, she looked like family. She had the look of one of my mixed cousins who are mostly Chinese. She wasn’t ‘other’, she was ‘like me and my family’.

That said, I don’t look a lot like that part of the family. Despite my 1/2 Chinese father and my predominantly Ashkenazi Jewish roots, I have a look that Italians mistake for Greek, and Greeks mistake for Italian. I am neither. I’m used to not fitting into any box. In fact, whenever I have to fill out a survey that asked my race, I never check ‘white’. I always choose ‘Other’.

So when I saw this student, I saw family, someone like me. She didn’t see a likeness. She didn’t even see an ‘other’. She saw a white guy… An older white guy and an older white woman, both taking away her minority voice, on the topic of race in a classroom.

My context: I was in a school of higher learning. I was in the last week of a 2-year program where I was invited on a regular basis to challenge the thinking of others. I was comfortable in this role with the Teaching Assistant, (our program advisor), and with Christine. With Christine the metaphorical gloves were always off. We fully engaged in challenging each other’s ideas.

Many a day leading up to that last week Christine and I, both educational nerds, would continue our classroom conversations all the way home. Often, we would arrive at the complex, where we would head our separate ways, but we would remain there for 10, 15, even 30 minutes continuing the conversation.

We saw discourse and disagreement as learning opportunities. We were comfortable with this. We were comfortable doing this with our advisor. But this other student was not part of our community where this was the norm. Besides that, the topic had a very specific charge for her, and we were totally ignorant to it. We were also blind and ignorant to the very different charge that our discourse had.

Part 3. I silenced her voice

I will reiterate: My rationalization above is not a justification of any kind, it is in fact evidence of my blindness to my own privilege. I lacked awareness of my privilege. I could not see it. But my lack of awareness does not negate my privilege.

It does not matter that I did not see her as a minority. It matters that she was one in her eyes.

It does not matter that I thought I was joining a learning conversation. It matters that by joining the conversation, I took away her ability to address a concern with her teacher.

It does not matter that it was not our intention to silence her. It matters that our interruption led to us diminishing her voice.

I am glad that she spoke up. I’m sorry because an apology didn’t feel like enough. I’m also sorry because I have to wonder, when have I done something similar and the person felt they couldn’t speak up?

I know how hard it is, I’ve heard slurs that impact my heritage, and I’ve had to choose when to and when not to say something. But even there I speak from a place of privilege. Those slurs were not directed at me, a person who looks like an ‘other’ to the slur. I don’t live in a sphere where I have to think about my race, and how others will perceive me on a regular basis.

Even in my years that I lived in Barbados and later in China, where I was an obvious minority, I was still in a privileged minority. I didn’t always feel that way, but my experiences that were positive far exceeded the negative. That is not the case for everyone.

If I’m in a conversation where someone will feel silenced, it likely will be me being the imposer, rather than the silenced. Even now, in my current job, I’m further put into that imposing position as a principal talking to students.

Part 4. Accountability

When I made the mistake of silencing this student’s voice I was blind to my privilege and did not see my error. I apologized. I cried. I learned a valuable lesson. I am more aware now of how my privilege can be unintentionally imposed on others.

This experience made me more aware of race and its impact on minorities. I’m bothered that while my heritage is mixed I don’t need to identify with any race, and other people need to; that my privilege gives me a pass that others don’t get.

But that pass does not excuse me from anything. In fact it makes me more responsible to recognize my privilege and to be aware that it can affect others. Being more aware and responsible doesn’t fix everything. I will still have blind spots. If we could see into our own blind spots, they wouldn’t actually be blind.

I will make mistakes. Some of those mistakes will be shared with me and I need to be accountable for how my words and deeds affect others. When the effect is negative, rationalizations are not what is needed, apologies and reparations are.

To ignore my privilege is to be doubly privileged. This is hurtful and arrogant.

If I am blind to my own privilege, it should not be because I have shut my eyes. It should only be because I was not aware… and when I am made aware, I need to be responsive and hold myself accountable. This can’t happen unless I recognize my own privilege.