Being white like me
Six years ago, my son and I went to Washington, D.C. Ever on the lookout for a bargain, I booked rooms in a motel that was reasonably priced and reasonably close to attractions. We arrived after dark.
The next morning, we decided to have breakfast at an IHOP just across the parking lot from the motel. A black hostess walked us to our table. After being seated, I looked around the crowded pancake house. I saw not one white face. Our waiter arrived – a friendly, polite young black man who I imagine must have been in his early 20s, as was my son. He took our order and, as we awaited our food, I said to my son, “Now you know how it feels to be a minority.”
Of course, I was only partially correct. Our stint as a minority lasted roughly 48 hours, after which we returned to Pittsburgh. Temporary minority status really can’t compare to spending a lifetime as a member of any minority – be it based on your race, politics, religion or sexual orientation. But, on the whole, the experience was similar to one I had in 1999, when I attended a conference in the Philippines – and suddenly became acutely aware I am a white guy.
Racial awareness is in the news, first with the deaths of black men in close proximity to white police officers, and most recently with what, in the spirit of “Ripley’s Believe It or Not,” I’ll call “The Strange Case of Rachel Dolezal.”
Dolezal stepped down last week as head of the Spokane, Wash., chapter of the NAACP after she was “outed” as being white by a reporter looking into Dolezal’s claims she received written racial threats. Whether the claims were justified still has yet to be determined. Much depends on how you view the woman and, perhaps more important, on how she views herself. Dolezal said she “identifies as black.” Dolezal’s parents said their daughter is white, as are they. In many ways, she’s pulling a reverse Michael Jackson, who underwent skin bleaching and drastic plastic surgery that resulted in his becoming a bizarre, off-white hybrid of Diana Ross and Skeletor.
History abounds with instances of people trying to be white. In addition to Jackson, there’s Harry Belafonte, who used to be black but now is described as “Caribbean-American.” Early in his career, Sammy Davis Jr. allowed himself to be the butt of racially based jokes offered by his Rat Pack cohorts who, while clearly white, also could have been characterized as two Wops, a Limey and a Kike.
But no matter with which color Rachel Dolezal identifies, the true irony of her situation is this: She was forced to resign from the NAACP, an organization that exists, according to its mission statement, “to ensure the political, educational, social and economic equality of rights of all persons and to eliminate race-based discrimination,” primarily because she is white.
In the John Waters musical “Hairspray,” plump white girl Tracy wants nothing more than to be a featured dancer on the local teen dance party TV show. Once she lands the position, however, she agitates to integrate the dancers.
“Oh, Link,” Tracy tells her boyfriend, “I wish I had dark skin.”
“Tracy,” Link responds, “our souls are black, though our skin is white.”
That’s Dolezal in a nutshell.