Code-talk and the Unfading Color-line
By: Molly Secours
Tennessee Tribune
Originally posted 10/17/2005
W.E.B. Dubois said the greatest challenge of the 20th century will be the color line. Lately I've been reminded--repeatedly it seems--just how relevant his words remain in 2005.
The first color to challenge me in this tale is blue. Because of a recent snag in paper work, what should have been a simple transaction--switching Blue Cross insurance policies from my former employer to an independent Blue Cross policy--became a nightmare.
To make matters worse I was heavily blanketed in bed with the flu upon discovering I was uncovered by insurance.
The young woman at the doctor's office gave me the bad news and insisted it could not be resolved by phone. Being forced to gather paperwork from my doctor's office to expedite the process only escalated my fever.
To make things worse, the woman on the phone was rude, abrupt, and in my mind, unhelpful. At the time it escaped me that maybe my attitude and annoyance at being told I was "no exception" might have had something to do with it. I was told if I was going to resolve this immediately, I would have to get out of my bed.
After a nauseating drive across town, I was greeted by a distracted, elder, pale-faced woman at the front desk who informed me my medical records wouldn't be released for 72 hours "That's the policy--no exceptions" she said.
So I huffed and I puffed and pled my case.
In dramatic fashion, I described my travails of sickness and mentioned just how unforgivably curt the woman on the phone had been--forgetting to mention that I was rather brusque myself.
Somehow the words spoken to the woman behind glass took on a magic quality.
Suddenly softening and becoming interested in my plight she said "Do you by any chance remember her name?" When I replied that I didn't she leaned in and asked: "Could you tell if she was Black?"--emphasizing and whispering the word 'black'.
As a white woman, I am familiar with hushed tones when referring to race. And I replied simply that I had no idea what 'color' she was.
As if playing a Vegas hunch, she punched a phone number and within seconds was recounting my situation to someone on the other end of the phone.
Her nod assured me her suspicions about who the rude person was were accurate. And although she insisted I be dealt with immediately, the person on the receiving end of her demands was apparently unimpressed and unconvinced.
As she plopped the phone back onto the cradle, the woman behind glass, my ally, said with exasperation: "black people"--as if this explained everything.
I had been swept into something I wanted no part of. But it was too late. Her arched eyebrows and matching tone suggested that she and I were in this together. Yes, we were the victims of an angry black woman.
I could now feel another color rising--it was red. I was ashamed that I had allowed myself to be snared into this conspiracy and I was angry that this woman thought we shared an opinion that was distasteful and absurd--not to mention blatently racist.
At that moment I was aware that my whiteness had now spilled out and was dripping all over the front desk.
The degree of comfort this woman felt colluding with me--and all that it implies--heightened my nauseous condition.
I was reminded again how often when whites are challenged by non-whites who assert authority over them in a particular situation or even just disagree with them that the response is often a combination of indignence and disbelief.
In toxic matters like these, I have learned that immediate and direct confrontation are required. I leaned across the desk and politely, but firmly stated that the young black woman’s response had nothing to do with her being black and suggested that "maybe she is having a bad day--just like me".
And what I neglected to say was how stressful it must be dealing with people who--like myself that day--behave as though procedures and rules are meant for "others" and who expect special treatment.
It was then that I saw her color change. She appeared flush with embarrassment--or was it indignation that I had broken the code of conspiracy?
The woman then became hyper-efficient and formal. It seems a disturbing nerve was struck and our relationship shifted from comrades to strangers.
I couldn't help but wonder just how many times I have made someone else's job harder or unpleasant--regardless of their race. How many times my insistence on "having things my way" has caused someone further alienation because of my impatience, self-righteousness and deluded perception that I deserved special dispensation.
And then it struck me how these qualities were the same ones I have railed against and abhorred in our current administration's foreign policies.
In these lucid moments the ever-widening gap between races and classes is painfully evident. And even more clarifying are the deeply racist precepts that greet us fresh out of the womb, and unless challenged, will mature over a lifetime and then suddenly erupt, bursting our self-righteous bubble of delusion.
We are not really who we think we are--and it is deeply unsettling.
To most people classified as white, the notion that any one characteristic like arrogance or rudeness could be attributed to all whites is absurd and unfair. And yet this how people of color are labeled all the time.
Most whites I know would be insulted and indignant if lumped into an group or judged because of someone else's actions.
No, it's not just a 'white thing'. Everyone does it. But because racism = prejudice + power, the effects are felt more severally when done by the dominant majority group.
At the end of the day the color I am most challenged by is 'whiteness'.
Feeling compelled to make amends, I called the doctor's office to apologize to the young black woman for my rudeness.
Unfortunately, since I had never bothered to inquire, I couldn't ask for the young woman by name. And as fate would have it, the elder woman at the front counter recognized my voice and intercepted the call. I never accomplished my mission.
Unable to garner a quick fix and escape feeling bad, I was forced to think about the situation and my participation in what happened and how many times I had played a conspiratorial role in the past.
When I think about W.E.B. Dubois and how right he was about the greatest challenge in 20th Century America, I wonder if he meant the 21st Century as well.
Molly Secours is a writer/filmmaker/speaker and frequent co-host on "Behind the Headlines" on WFSK 88.1 FM. She can be reached at: mollmaud@comcast.net or www.mollysecours.com
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