In (Slight) Defense of Chris Matthews

Chris Matthews’ blunder following President Obama’s State of the Union Address is by now common knowledge to political junkies. But for those that missed it, Matthews was so enamored with Obama’s speech that, well, he “forgot [the President] was black for an hour:”

It's interesting: he is post-racial, by all appearances. I forgot he was black tonight for an hour. You know, he's gone a long way to become a leader of this country, and past so much history, in just a year or two. I mean, it's something we don't even think about. I was watching, I said, wait a minute, he's an African American guy in front of a bunch of other white people. And here he is president of the United States and we've completely forgotten that tonight -- completely forgotten it.

For Matthews, Obama’s speech was significant because, for that moment in time, he was stripped of his “blackness.” Obama wasn’t race-less, per se, but instead no longer black. The faux pas falls under the heading of colorblind ideology—i.e. the idea that racial inequality and division will disappear if we just stop obsessing over racial differences. According to the ideology’s adherents, adopting a “colorblind” outlook—pretending we don’t notice differences in skin pigment—is the pathway to a more equal, democratic civil society.

The problem with this framework in general, and Matthews’ comment in particular, is the effective whitewashing and subsuming of different cultures. In other words, the colorblind rhetoric can only be realized if all races, creeds and colors simply adopt and are assimilated into the dominant white discourse. The ideology of colorblindness doesn’t call for a new, radical framework of, say, American racial identity. No, by contrast, colorblind ideology accepts whiteness as a given from which “others” must assimilate. As Ta-Nehisi Coates argues, echoed by G.D. in Postbourgie’s recent Podcast, this failure to investigate whiteness is deeply problematic. Colorblind ideology obfuscates the intersection of race, power, and privilege by accepting the dominant racial identity as the standard from which all other races must acclimate. To accept a “colorblind” framework, therefore, is to accept the superiority and dominance of a singular racial identity.

Still, to defend Matthews ever-so-slightly, I do think his heart was in the right place. Look, the guy never thought he’d see an African-American leading the free world. For Matthews and plenty others of his generation, the idea of a black president was—until last year—unfathomable. So, in some respects, the intent of Matthews comment was to laud the normalization of a black man in a position of power. Which, in all fairness, is pretty remarkable. Just because Chris Matthews failed to introspectively challenge his own entrenched racial identity—no small task, if you ask me—doesn’t mean we should dismiss his astute observation wholesale.

Was Matthews’ commentary racist? Maybe—but only if we accept the sophisticated critique of colorblind ideology. Yet the average white American doesn’t exactly think about racial identity like this on a day-to-day basis. And, perhaps, it is this widespread pattern—not Matthews’ individual blunder—that lies at the root of the problem.

He’s Assertive; She’s a Bitch

A while back, I wrote about the racial privilege associated with speaking forcefully and having your message heard. I argued—and continue to believe—that folks of color are more susceptible to racially charged interpretations of their tone of voice. In other words, a black guy offering the same message as me would, more often than not, be painted as “angry” or “militant,” while I would, more often than not, be seen as “passionate” or “engaging.” When I get into an impassioned rant, my audience—particularly white audiences—may think I’m a bit over the top; I’ll concede that. But my words and tone aren’t going to trigger the racialized stereotype of black male hyper-masculinity and irrational anger, since, of course, I’m a white guy.

A few of our thoughtful (and sharp) readers suggested that the racial privilege I wrote about was also gendered—meaning that women are not afforded the same privilege to speak forcefully without fear of negative stereotyping.

I have to admit, this was a pretty egregious oversight on my part. Given the current political climate—from Hilary Clinton to Sonia Sotomayor to Michelle Obama—it's clear that strong, prominent women haven’t exactly received the most positive national news coverage. Clinton’s been called “shrill,” Sotomayor’s been called a “bully,” and conservative blogger Michelle Malkin begins each post on Michelle Obama with a picture of the First Lady scowling or frowning—a racially charged attempt to depict her as excessively scary and militant.

Such instances are not simply relegated to high profile women; it’s a safe bet that most of our (assertive, thoughtful, vocal) female readers can relate to this pervasive stereotype. Moreover, this isn’t simply an example of a “double standard;” rather, it’s male privilege in action. If I bang my finger on the table during a rant in a seminar here at Harvard, no one’s going to call me “shrill” or “domineering.” These are words used to describe folks that defy stereotypes and resist domination or subservience. These are words used to put them in their place, to remind them they’re not white; they’re not men. These are words that evoke, employ, and perpetuate privilege.

While I can't really speak from personal experience, dating a woman in corporate America has helped make these gendered stereotypes salient. Big business—a male dominated field predicated on assertiveness and team-based problem solving—is probably one of the better examples to illustrate male privilege and the gendered interpretation of tone. Consider a corporate team planning a company’s new investment strategy. The team leader is, statistically speaking, most likely a white man. He’s leading the group in a brainstorming session, and invites input from the team. The majority of the team is, statistically speaking, most likely white and male. Everyone is generally cordial and polite considering they're working together toward a common goal. But when male and female team members assert their respective dominance, they prompt two very different responses.

See, when a male team member speaks out of turn, interrupting the flow of conversation to interject his brilliant idea, he’s a valuable asset to the company. He’s being a good team member. He’s assertive. But when a female team member tries to compete, simply asserting her equality and intellectual evenness with her male counterparts, she’s excessively domineering. She’s overstepping authority, displaying improper professional etiquette. She’s a bitch.

Ultimately, these stereotypes may—perhaps, obviously—fall most severely on the shoulders of black women. Black women that forcefully assert intellectual or physical equality with men are doubly susceptible to negative stereotyping as “ghetto,” “shrill,” or a combination of the two. Privilege isn’t an either/or phenomenon; multiple social identities create multiple structures of privilege, and black women find themselves at the bottom of this stratified order.

Look, this (admittedly oversimplified) example is not meant as an indictment of corporate America, nor is it indicative of every woman’s professional or personal experience. But it most certainly reflects decades of social science research on the perceptions of women in positions of power. And, more importantly, it most certainly underscores an underappreciated mechanism influencing social inequality.

The problem here is when privilege translates into material winners and losers; when privilege affords job promotions, favorable peer evaluations, and wage premiums, and lack thereof results in economic, political, or social ceilings. Privilege is a very real—and pernicious—component of inequality. The measures needed to correct these racist, sexist, and generally misguided notions are, of course, debatable. But the privilege is real, and it carries a material impact. Exposing and recognizing it is a necessary first step toward greater equality.

Reflections on Privilege, Guilt, and Identity

This post is slightly different from my usual contributions to Social Science Lite. Nonetheless, this post is as real as the others. I receive versions of the comments anyone posts on our blog via email whether the comment is for Jeremy’s post or my own. His recent posts on white privilege/white guilt (“This is Where White Guilt Comes From”/"The White Privilege of Anti-White Activists") sparked me to write this “reply post” instead of individual comments on each post so as to explain my position and think about the larger issues at play. I think Jeremy’s comments are honest, well reasoned, and well-argued. I think that activists and scholars like Tim Wise can learn something from Jeremy as he relays his personal experiences and effectively places them in a larger context rather than going for sound bites that, to be colloquial for a minute, grinds people’s gears.

My thoughts on the recent posts on white privilege/white guilt are in part agreement with Jeremy. Let me elaborate and be more specific on what Jeremy has alluded to with respect to my comments on being Black and my (learned) reluctance to “argue” my point with “passion” and also the guilt that sometimes ensues from such inactivity on my behalf. I must say that I do not speak to the experiences of all Blacks, let alone all minorities, but do believe that what follows holds some familiarity with many people of color. To put it simply, I can’t show passion for it will be taken as aggression. I always have to hold back and (try to) be the cool, calm, and collected co-participant in debates or even casual conversations otherwise I am painted as the one who shows emotion with physically expressed enthusiasm about my theoretical findings or just my plain old opinion about the most mundane, quotidian things that populate out lives. For reasons rooted in vicious stereotypes, menacing prejudices, and negative external definitions of Blacks (especially Black males), people equate my bark with my bite. I think this is what Jeremy was getting at when he mentioned the conversations we had backstage about me feeling unable or my hesitance to articulate responses when racist comments are made.

But, sometimes, thankfully, I am more than my race. I will be the first to say that I occupy different social spheres of social dominance and subornation. I too feel a guilt of sorts when around other minorities (and sometimes whites) when racist comments are made. When my friend told me about the “Puerto Rican shower,” referencing when one tries to hide the smell of weed with Axe cologne, I knew the comments that followed could not be good. I am male so when I don’t stand up against sexist comments made against males or females, even when made by women, I feel a little twinge in the pit of my stomach. Though more spiritual than religious, when people make prejudiced statements about those from other religions, I feel that pain as well. I actually felt guilty when I didn’t say anything when Nick Cannon, in his zeal to be savior of all those dark and female, inadvisable and deleteriously employs the female gender as a tool to ridicule Eminem by calling him “Miss.” I am heterosexual and insidious, homophobic comments simply piss me off.

The underlying thing that we get out of talking about privilege and guilt is this false bifurcated world between those with and those without, as I have mentioned before. I think we need to be conscious of the multiple identities which make up who were are. Patriarchy is, in many ways, as dangerous as racism, sexism as dangerous as homophobia, depending on the person (or people in question) and especially the ways in which these prejudices as reinforced by structural factors via the job market, housing, and the like.

However, I recognize that this reality is only* in public. As I told my friends, the public Anthony is PC and docile compared to the more private Tony. And with that said, I argue that the private sphere offers a more complex realm of interactions, both real and symbolic.

I say that the private sphere is more complicated because it usually serves as a safe space where things are said without the worry of being held up to public scrutiny. As we used to say back home, one is not held susceptible to social crucifixion. This is for all races, sexes, creed, classes, and colors. Where I believe the differences are purged is the unique experience of certain populations in this country. Some individuals, because of their phenotypic construction, chromosomal make-up, sexual orientation, know the true meaning behind the old saying, “You got to laugh to keep from crying.” The pains of being Black in America, a woman in America, a non-white, non-middle class, non-male… to be an “other” in America is painful and sometimes we laugh at and make jokes about instances that cause us pain in the public sphere when we retreat to the private sphere just to make it to the next day. A close friend of mine in our cohort talked to me about why she considers drug use as a mental health and not a criminal justice problem for inner city Blacks, for instance. I think about Ntozake Shange's insightful play, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf. I think about what does it mean when life becomes such a battle that it forces Sam Cooke to say that “It’s been too hard living but I’m afraid to die, Cause I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky”? I think back to that prolific prophet Malcolm X when he responds to Plato and says, “the examined life is painful.” And who else is under the panoptical gaze of society more than those considered “other”?

This is why it is hard for me to talk about guilt: the private sphere and the public sphere; what is said and where; what is said and why. I appreciate those who attempt to outline the ways in which privilege works to continue the subordination of others but caution us all not to focus on one variable, one component of who were are. It is important that honest, open, and more comprehensive conversations be had.

The White Privilege of Anti-White Privilege Activists

The feedback from my post on white guilt has been both empowering and depressing—empowering because it seems to have touched many folks in a very positive way, but also depressing because so many people seem to find themselves in similar situations. The post has spawned some great conversations, for which I am thankful.

It may come as a surprise that I had a lot of trouble writing the post. Each word I typed brought up memories of that moment of injustice. Each sentence reminded me of my own silence that night in Ohio. And each paragraph reinforced my anger—anger directed at the racial arrogance of others, and anger directed at myself. I even had a physical reaction as I wrote: My shoulders tensed up, my jaw clenched, and my right leg started bouncing up and down. I was fired up.

As an undergraduate, I was known for speaking my mind in class. Sometimes this won me new friends, while other times it elicited a few dirty looks. In graduate school, one of my professors has even nicknamed me “the polemicist”—a title that apparently means “a person that puts forth controversial views” (I had to look it up). I’m not sure if this is intended as an insult or not, but even if it is, he’s right: If I feel strongly about a topic, you’ll know. I don’t—and I won’t—hold back.

My girlfriend refers to my angry rants as “passion”—passion for my work, passion for my studies, and passion for social justice. I just get caught up in he heat of the moment, letting myself go. It’s actually quite similar to the scene in Old School when Will Farrell’s character debates James Carville. Something just clicks in Ferrell, and he launches into a tremendously coherent, eloquent, and forceful position. He wins the debate by a landslide, turns to his teammates and asks, “What happened? I blacked out.” Now, I don’t exactly blackout during my diatribes, but you get the idea.

In part, I model my irreverence after some of my favorite progressive activists. Anti-racist activist Tim Wise, for example, is a fiery speaker. David Simon, creator of The Wire, is probably one of the most charismatic—and hilariously insolent—people I have ever heard speak. Both are tremendous educators on privilege and systemic inequality, both relay their messages with incredible ferocity, and both happen to be white. The connection between their race and the forceful tone in their tirades is not coincidental; they are allowed to be outspoken, angry, and polemic because of white privilege.

See, when I launch into a tirade against inequality in the criminal justice system or discriminatory land-use policies, my audience doesn’t really feel uncomfortable or scared. I can be loud without being threatening. When I get into my rants, my audience probably just thinks I’m passionate. As long as I’m not yelling, and my message is clear, people will listen. No one will write me off, make any negative assumptions about my background, or fear physical harm just because my tone was forceful or condemnatory.

Yet a person of color is not afforded the same privilege. Indeed, a black man with similar credentials and intellect would undoubtedly be viewed differently if he spoke in a domineering tone. Even if they are among friends, there is a fear—a fear I do not share—of being labeled “angry” and fulfilling centuries-old stereotypes of black masculinity. I will never suspect that people are afraid of me as a person; the thought won’t even cross my mind. As whites, we’re far less likely to be labeled “erratic,” “crazy,” or “out of control” than folks of color who relay the very same messages in the very same powerful tone. I never worry about fulfilling stereotypes of being loud, angry, or “ghetto”—stereotypes that might cause my audience to misinterpret or ignore my message. And that’s white privilege.

This isn’t really an abstract concept to grasp—just think back to the months leading up to Barack Obama’s election. Folks on the Right desperately tried to paint Barack and his wife Michelle as “angry” black separatists, while his campaign managers desperately tried to mitigate these stereotypical images. The attacks on Michelle Obama were particularly viscous, and particularly racially charged. Put simply, those same stereotypes of erratic, irrational anger do not apply to me. But the question is not whether all whites enjoy some degree of racial privilege (we do). Instead, we need to ask ourselves, is this a bad thing? Or, better yet, how can we use this for good?

I discussed this issue with shani_o, one of Postbourgie’s many excellent bloggers. She offered some great advice: “I think the key is being loud about the right things, acknowledging privilege, and not getting too far away from the people you're talking about.” There was something about those words that just spoke to me in a way I desperately needed to be spoken to.

Ironically, it is the most virulent, outspoken critics of white privilege that successfully employ that very same privilege they hold with such contempt. But if we follow shani_o’s advice—acknowledging our privilege, getting loud when we need to, keeping the folks we talk about close—there’s no reason to feel guilty. I’m privileged, and there’s not much I can do about it. Nor should I, as long as I use my privilege to educate others and promote a progressive agenda.

Environmentalism is Political White Privilege

PBS ran a special on suburban sprawl last week entitled “Blueprint America: Road to the Future.” The special profiled three U.S. cities—Denver, Portland and New York City—taking three very different approaches to metropolitan transit.

The special began with Denver and local political battles over a nearly complete highway enclosing the region. Opponents of the highway suggested that it contributes to sprawl and is decimating the environment, while proponents made the groundbreaking observation “Our population is increasing, and they have to live somewhere!” Basically, metro-Denver residents are dependent on their cars due to greedy real estate developers, federal subsidies for suburban development, and a general American “car culture.” And this dependency has had dramatic effects on the area’s quality of life and air quality. Thirty-minute rush hour commutes now take upwards of two hours, meaning more carbon emissions and more pollution.

Portland was profiled next as a region bucking the trend of suburban sprawl. When the city was offered federal dollars for highway construction in the 1970s, city officials instead invested in light rails and other public transit systems. White, middle class families were followed with cameras as they rode their bikes to the local grocery store and then to a neighborhood playground. Under Mayor Bloomberg, New York City—already very “green” by emissions standards—is following Portland and also making environmental sustainability a civic priority.

The common thread throughout the entire special was twofold: Sprawl has dramatically negative effects the environment, and better transit is necessary if we want to be a “green,” eco-friendly nation. White, middle-class families in Portland were quoted in the special gleefully recounting how they can ride their bikes to work, instead of driving. But what about folks that don’t even have cars? What about folks who live in neighborhoods spatially disconnected from job opportunities? These controversies over public transportation are uncomfortably whitewashed, and the only people we hear from are middle class individuals with the privilege to choose environmentally friendly lifestyles. Here we are, debating the best way to commute to work, when black male unemployment is 17.2%.

This discussion brings up the idea of framing—how we talk about social issues. The Obama Administration’s head of The Department of Transportation was quoted in the PBS special saying, “We’re thinking about transit more than ever before.” But how are they thinking about it? Are they thinking about it as a political move, a way to garner support from “green loving” liberals? Or is the conversation more altruistic—a way to help the country recover from the economic crisis? Or—and here’s where things get interesting—can it be positioned as a social justice, a social need for already marginalized urban communities?

In Lone Pursuit, Sandra Susan Smith—a brilliant sociologist at UC-Berkeley—discusses black joblessness in southeast Michigan, carefully analyzing job referral reluctance among poor African Americans. A cycle of distrust proliferates among the black poor in “Southeast County,” Michigan, thwarting the dissemination of job information through informal networks. She posits that a weak job referral structure at the individual level in Southeast County helps explain low employment levels for blacks at the group level.

Throughout the book, however, her respondents also noted the trials and tribulations associated with mass transit. Indeed, this is a hot topic in Southeast Michigan. Currently, state officials are split on plans to build a commuter rail from “Southeast County” (Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti) to either Detroit or Grand Rapids. Representatives from Grand Rapids are seeking to make their city the “center” of the state, whereas Detroit representatives are simply trying to keep their city alive. And, of course, poor folks just want a job, and a way to get there.

This is also a nationwide problem; social scientists term it “spatial mismatch.” The idea is that the place of employment is divorced from a group or individual’s place of residence. In metropolitan America, work has “disappeared” to the suburbs via de-centralization, while poor, predominantly black city residents remain constrained to residence within city limits. See, this is what’s missing from conversations about transportation policy, environmental sustainability and suburban sprawl. Poor people, particularly in marginalized communities of color, need jobs and a reliable way to get to them. Lofty goals of “going green” are well and good, but we also need better public transit for the employment opportunities of the public.

In the aftermath of the financial crisis, a plethora of media outlets have profiled newly unemployed whites from corporate America. Coupled with the conversations of environmentalism and mass transit, it appears that the public conception of the economy has been effectively whitewashed. The effects of sprawl are more than simply environmental, and the need for mass transit is bigger than the quality of life for middle-class whites in Portland. We can’t allow our privilege to get in the way of seeing who really needs public transit, and why they need it.