Introduction to the Series
“O look,” I thought, “I have a new message on Instagram.”
“Non-white? Love the divisiveness. Would’ve offered as a firefighter and a nurse.”
Uh oh! My repost was misinterpreted and by a guy I thought was super cute — we met on Hinge.
We never did go out because after going on a string of bad dates, I realized I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to date at the time, so we remained friends on Instagram, where we chatted intermittently there and via text.
He was always so supportive of me. For example, he voted for me almost every day when I was part of the Miss Jetset competition and without me having to ask.
He even read the Rosary: A Lover’s Prayer, a poem for two voices, out loud with me to get a sense of whether or not the male and female voice sounded good together.
So I considered him to be supportive, encouraging, and an all-around good guy.
Surely, he would understand this post was about ensuring there were just as many people of color, women, and non-binary people represented at the career fair as there were white men.
People of color, women, non-binary, and other underrepresented students need to see people who look like them in all professions so they can see what is possible for them to achieve.
If we don’t see it, then it doesn’t exist in our personal world.
I Wanted Him So Badly to Understand Me.
He seemed like such a good guy; I was a little shocked he didn’t already understand why representation matters.
I responded via Instagram,
I think [my friend who wrote the original post] only put that because not enough black and brown people signed up. So, it’s not to say white people don’t sign up. She means, Black and brown people; please sign up because you are underrepresented. She works at a predominately white school, and it’s an attempt at making sure the students of color see people who look like them.
I noticed he didn’t read it right away. While I waited, I figured I would clarify the Instagram story to others like him.
My friend was doing a fantastic thing by being inclusive, and I didn’t want anyone else to see this beautiful act in the same way he did.
The Unfollowing
After posting the disclaimer, I noticed he didn’t watch it — and he watches all of my stories — every single one of them and usually as soon as I post it.
Yes, I know it’s a bit much, but I keep track of those things. Whenever I have data available to me, I overanalyze it, and that includes, but is not limited to, my Instagram stories and post statistics.
Then I noticed I lost one Instagram follower — yes, I keep track of those things too.
I was right. I clicked followers, searched his name, and noticed he wasn’t there anymore.
“Hm…” I thought
I didn’t want to be known as someone divisive, mainly because I am not. Also, I wanted him to understand that inclusivity is a good thing, and I wanted to let him know he was not excluded.
And I wanted to preserve the friendship while also sharing why representation matters for everyone, especially for people who look like me.
Should We Lose Faith in People, Specifically White Men?
“Let me at him,” my friend who had written the original post wrote to me on Instagram after I told her what happened.
She saw the disclaimer I posted and wondered why it was needed.
I knew if I gave her his Instagram handle, she would tear him a new one, but I didn’t want that.
I told her I reached out via text. I was hoping he would understand what she meant in the post, admit to misinterpreting the post, that he would apologize, and that all would be well.
Unlike Most of My Friends, I Still Have Faith in People
Faith that if you give people a chance, they will listen, try to understand, put their egos aside to better help their communities, and respond well if you approach them with an open heart and kind intentions.
Since I wasn’t sure if I was blocked or not — Turns out I wasn’t yet — I reached out via text, with the same message I’d sent through Instagram that he didn’t read, ending this time with, “Anywho, I wish you would’ve understood and wish you the best.”
He responded:
No worries. Just sick and tired of reading or hearing how it’s not acceptable or wrong to be a white male in today’s world. The post was written in a terribly insensitive way, in my opinion. If she wanted more brown/black people, then say that. And explain why. It’s written as “non-white, non-male.” Comes across as divisive. And not something I wish to see on my social media.
I read the response and was a bit more than irritated.
My friend highlighted a need, and part of the need was to ensure that engineers of different races and genders, in a profession primarily white and male, were represented.
I clarified that to him twice.
Terribly insensitive way? Is he trying to shift the blame from himself to my friend instead of holding himself accountable for misinterpreting it and for acting on his misinterpretation?
If she wanted more brown/black people, then say that. But she did say that.
Explain why. He should know why. And even if he didn’t know immediately, I explained it twice.
And no, no, no, no, no. Do not turn your lack of understanding and awareness surrounding inclusivity and turn it on me, my friend.
How in 2021 could we have someone who was romantically interested in me, a Black woman (let me clarify, A Black woman history teacher with a Master’s Degree in Teaching History and BA in Political Studies and African American Studies who takes students on civil rights history field trips to Georgia and Alabama), not know about inclusivity and representation?
And then unfollow me for their lack of understanding, even after I clarified twice.
Was This Wasted Energy?
“Jehan,” two close friends of mine said after I told them the story, “why are you wasting your time? He’s an idiot.”
But I, a believer in people, maybe even to my detriment, don’t want to believe he is an idiot.
Was he an idiot? Or someone who has not yet fully learned to reflect on their own experiences and how that impacts his world, someone who doesn’t know how to apologize when he is wrong, someone who doesn’t know how to empathize?
Reflecting, apologizing, and empathizing are some of the hardest skills we have to learn as humans, and we all gain those skills at different points in our lives — some of us, like him, later in life.
The Baggage We Bring to the Table
He was carrying some baggage into his reading of the post. I call it baggage because nowhere in the post did my friend, or did I say that in my responses to him.
It is important to note that we all bring our own baggage in the form of identities and past experiences with us whenever we interpret material. Still, he highlighted his own when he said, “I am sick and tired of reading or hearing how it’s not acceptable or wrong to be a white male in today’s world.”
I hear him saying that he, as a white man, feels like he is constantly being told it is unacceptable, or wrong, to be him.
I don’t believe that, and my friend who wrote the original post does not think that either.
The baggage that he brought, which he has probably not unpacked for himself in a positive self-reflective manner, kept him from seeing that post for what it was or trying to understand my clarifications.
His baggage led him to believe “non-white, non-male” meant “no white, no men” allowed.
No Worries?
His “no worries” response prompted a “no, duh!” response. Of course, there shouldn’t be any worries on his account.
I am the one who should be worried that someone I liked and who liked me was unwilling to try and understand something as simple as representation.
I responded:
No worries? This is very worrisome. I’m worried. In 2021 most people are already aware of the underrepresentation of people of color, women, non-binary, etc., people in certain fields. The fact you couldn’t see that from that post is worrisome. So maybe you’re not worried, but as a Black woman, I’m worried. And I’m so glad I have a friend (a white woman scientist who is an underrepresented person in her field) who makes sure every group is represented so kids of different backgrounds can see themselves. You are projecting all of your stuff, your baggage, onto this really great thing she’s doing. And that’s sad. But it’s for the best for me. You’re not an ally because you’re too concerned with yourself.
He responded:
My baggage?? Nope, don’t have any. And not an ally?? Wow Yeah, it’s for the best. Because I would’ve offered my time to help. But I was excluded because of the color of my skin. Forget a great example I could send or the message I could share. It’s automatically invalidated because it’s assumed the students wouldn’t identify with me because I’m white. I’ve spoken at schools before for friends that are teachers in areas of Brooklyn where it was majority black/brown students. I sat with students after, who came up to ME, telling them more in-depth how to go about filing for the fire department exam, how to navigate nursing school. They seemed to identify. Maybe it’s assumed a white person couldn’t send a hopeful message that EVERYONE could do these jobs.
Then He Blocked Me
There is so much to unpack in his response. Aside from the fact that his response didn’t address any of what I mentioned before but it highlights a misunderstanding, and lack of knowledge, about the importance of representation for underrepresented groups.
Maybe it’s assumed a white person couldn’t send a hopeful message that everyone could do these jobs.
For one, I don’t know who he believes would be assuming a white person couldn’t send a hopeful message.
Personally, I had no doubt he would make a good speaker to children in my mind. I liked him and thought he was great — the way most people see people in the beginning stages of getting to know someone.
My friend, who wrote the original post, probably wouldn’t have doubted his ability either.
So this assumption was one of his own imagination, but important to note because it details how he is feeling, and it’s probably representative of what many white men are feeling now.
So for all intents and purposes let’s assume he was an awesome guest speaker. He participated in career day, and he enamored students, but everyone else the students encountered looked exactly like him.
We must remember, we unconsciously look for ourselves in other people, and when there is an absence, we see it.
When we don’t see people like ourselves, we, those in underrepresented groups, begin to ask ourselves:
- Why aren’t people who look like me there?
- If I join that profession, will I be able to fit in?
- Will I be welcomed?
- Can I be my whole self there?
- Will I be heard in that environment?
In a sea of white, able-bodied, men, women begin to question whether or not they will fit in; people with disabilities begin to wonder if there will be accessibility issues for them; people of color begin to question whether they will be accepted or tokenized, or whether cultural differences will be considered.
And we, the people in underrepresented groups, are not the only people noticing the absence either.
Everyone else begins to notice and may think (using white people as the represented group and Black people as the underrepresented group as an example):
- Only the people represented exist in that field
- Black people do not belong in that field
- Black people don’t want to be in that field
- Black people are not qualified to be in that field
And those who are represented may begin to see themselves as those who have power and preference in that field.
You may immediately think those are silly thoughts to have, but there have been a few times in my teaching career when I have done my best to include people from underrepresented groups from which I do not belong and students have said, thank you so much for including me, and that should tell you that this is very much real.
Is White Allyship Useless?
“Jehan,” another friend said to me in response to my talking this situation over with him, “white allyship doesn’t work. It’s dumb, useless, and safe. And those who do try are not usually white men.”
“This is just another example of how white people assume they are right in each and every space.”
I think part of the reason why it doesn’t work is because many white allies believe they are good allies when they are not.
This man was a prime example of this.
He tried, multiple times, to tell a Black woman whom he believes he is an ally to, that he was being a good ally, rather than showing his allyship with actions, which is, for lack of better words, exercising his privilege as a white man.
His case is not unique.
In a 2020 study, Lean In found that over 80% of White employees see themselves as allies at work, but Black women and Latinas disagree.
And so what do we do with this discrepancy?
So Give Up on Him on a Personal Level? Definitely. As a Human Being? Definitely Not
As far as he and I, it became clear to both of us that we were not a good match for each other, and while I am glad this became apparent sooner rather than later, I do not want to give up on him as a human being in the long term.
I want to believe, whether or not it actually is true, that by my attempting to explain this to him I will be one voice of many who over time will help him to understand the experiences of underrepresented groups.
It is my hope that in his lifetime he will understand that representation matters and that when people ask for people of color, women, and non-binary people to be included that they’re not excluding white men from the table, they’re just asking that the table be big enough for all of them.
It is important to note that it is not the responsibility of underrepresented groups to explain, overexplain, their experiences as I did. I don’t always mind doing that because part of my life’s purpose is to fulfill the role of educator. And as an educator, it is part of my job to have some faith in people, and so this is my attempt at not losing faith in people, specifically White men — a series of essays to follow in the upcoming months on representation using this discussion as a launching pad.
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Previously Published on medium
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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