See You, See Me
It was a bright and cool Saturday morning in East Sacramento. My family who owns a luxury picnic business was getting set up for a picnic at McClatchy Park, so I was at the nearby Safeway grabbing a couple of items we needed for our first client. The store is in a wealthy part of Sacramento known as the “Fabulous 40's.
I headed towards the drink aisle to grab some Perrier and as soon as I hit the corner, I came face to face with a middle aged, thin, tall, brunette, white woman wearing a cardigan, white blouse and pearls. We almost collided(I was in a bit of a rush). I immediately apologized and said, “Well Good morning!” She completely and totally ignored me. I looked back at her to make sure I had actually just crossed paths with a human being and not an invisible person. Yes, she was there in her own world, exuding the arrogance and privilege we have all come to associate with white women.
I felt embarrassed and angry. Not because of what she did that day, but because it was the fourth time that I’ve had that identical interaction with white women, in this particular neighborhood, in this particular store. I’ve noticed on several occasions that the white women who live in that neighborhood, and shop at that store, don’t make eye contact or return salutations to me or my family when we offer them.
And before ya’ll “Maybe she was having a bad day” me to death, let me remind you what happened two years ago in this very same neighborhood when community members peacefully protested the murder of Stephon Clark at the hands of the Sacramento Police Department. I was there with my then 5 year old son. I have never seen such a violently aggressive show of force from law enforcement, the fire department, Sheriffs, and Sac PD. They made it clear: Our laments were NOT welcomed in East Sacramento.Black women don’t often articulate how emotionally painful racism is when it has happened to us because we will be perceived as weak.
Even though it is hard for me, I believe it’s important to be honest, even if there are social consequences.
White people are notorious for wielding their white privilege to terrorize Black people into leaving spaces they don’t want us.
My first day at Jessup was a culture shock. I hadn’t experienced that level of invisibility before in my life. I cried so hard that I became inconsolable. I didn’t have the words to describe what was happening to me, but every fiber in my body was screaming, “RUN!” I begged and pleaded with my family to take me home, but in their understanding they told me that I made a commitment and needed to see it through.But what happens when they are the minority in a community? How do they show up? I have observed that they replace their discomfort and disdain with microaggressions.
White women in these spaces intentionally avoid eye contact to let you know that your presence is unwanted.
Some of the white teachers at the school I work at can only see each other. After school today two of them walked past me and instead of saying excuse me, they just brushed past me, narrowly missing by butt. They only talk to each other. They only make eye contact with each other. Which at times has made me feel invisible (because I’m a community driven person and a human who thrives on connectedness and love). The school is 95% Black and brown but there are no depictions of Blackness or browness inside any of the classrooms.
This is how white people maintain social order in the race class system. Even when they are outnumbered they still place themselves on top. Just by not acknowledging the existence of the other humans around them, and centering their own likeness. And that is what makes white women so dangerous. It’s how they position themselves. No matter what space they are in, they bring and center themselves and use the system to enforce it (meaning they will use money, power, white tears, whitelash, anger, threats) leaving the Black and brown people with no choice but to tiptoe around their fragility. Because if we speak up, if we call them out, if we demand change, there will always be consequences. And who suffers the most? The children.
They do this unconsciously and consciously to maintain power over who is worthy to exist and who is not. White people have been doing this for centuries. My mother who was born in 1947 in rural Georgia told me that if she was walking down the street and saw a white person on the same side as her she would have to cross the street and look down as she passed them.
Racism is generational.
Even though they are the minority at this school, they wield their presence in a way that reminds us of the exclusivity of whiteness. If they don’t deem you valuable, you do not exist. White women don’t start seeing me until I do something extraordinary because they love Black entertainment. This is just what I’ve noticed. I don’t crave the attention of white people and so it bothers them when I don’t participate in performative acts of service for their gaze. “Sing something for us!” — “Uh, pay me Jennifer.”
White people lack self-awareness and compassion so it is not unfathomable that they would behave in such a childish manner. I hate even using the word childish because it’s insulting to actual children. The concept of community is foreign to white people. They don’t know how to build community because whiteness is based on exclusion, not inclusion. They define themselves by what they are not. It’s literally the definition of whiteness — “We are not…/ no color/ no culture/ no spirituality/no seasoning in their food” (haha). In addition, They are raised thinking they have to compete with everyone else, so they end up seeing others as competition at best, enemies at the worst.
It makes me wonder how the little Black girls who are forced to share space with them feel –after all, it is the law that they must be in school. They are too young to have the words to articulate how the rejection makes them feel. Instead they are internalizing the experience and asking themselves, “What is wrong with me? Why am I not enough?” The shame of being Black starts very early and being in proximity to whiteness breeds this shame.
I am an adult who is loved, supported and seen by my community so the invisibility tactic is not as harmful to me as it Black and brown children. I know who I am and understand that being in radical Black spaces where radical love is practiced is imperative to my survival. These children don’t have those systems in place yet. There is no buffer between them and white supremacy. That’s why the classroom should be a place where liberation and freedom is reflected in the teaching pedagogy.
If you are white and you are reading this, say hello, good morning, smile back, look people in the eye. Call in your peers and encourage them to be more open. Bring awareness to self. That’s your work. You can’t see me because you can’t see you.
