Regarding Privilege, Empathy, and Voice
By Vaughn Roycroft | June 15, 2020 |
What a month! Seems like I’ve started just about every post here lately with a similar exclamation, but the impact of the current moment just keeps growing. WU Editorial Director Therese Walsh wrote a piece to start the month in which she reminded us that we are witnessing history. She made the case that “history is written by the writers,” which I fully embrace.
As someone who identifies first and foremost as a writer, I feel I have a responsibility to use my voice—to express my perspective, my concerns, my hopes and fears. I don’t know how anyone who’s paying attention can remain unmoved. The outpouring sparked by the murder of George Floyd on a Minneapolis street, in the full view of the world, feels like nothing short of a national reckoning; a moment from which there can be no looking away, no turning back.
Although I feel the responsibility to use my voice, I also feel it’s important to recognize that I am a middle-aged white male. Demographically, I sit squarely within the group that has historically remained the biggest obstruction to real societal change in the form of inclusion and equal justice.
Acknowledging My Privilege
I had a typical suburban upbringing, fairly detached and sheltered. We were walking-distance to our elementary school and a huge bucolic park, for little league baseball and winter sledding. Our fridge was always well-stocked, and we were served a healthy breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.
I was never drafted nor called to serve my country in war. I was given a car to drive on my sixteenth birthday, and another to drive to college. My parents paid my college tuition and helped out with my rent throughout my years there.
Of my dozen-or-so encounters with law enforcement, most entailed me being pulled over for traffic violations. During these incidents I have felt several things: incredulous, chagrined, and even confused (as in, “what was I doing wrong, officer?”).
But never once was I afraid.
The worst I ever expected was a ticket. I never once felt the need to keep my hands in plain view (to assure that I wasn’t reaching for a weapon or hiding something). Never once did I imagine that I might encounter excessive force. Let alone that my life might be in danger if I made the wrong move, said the wrong thing.
I’m embarrassed to admit that it was fairly late in life that I even began to recognize that, in their encounters with law enforcement, far too many of my fellow Americans don’t share the luxury of this lack of concern or fear.
I relay all of this because I think it’s vital to acknowledge where each of us is starting from before we can even begin to seek our true selves. I also feel it’s only through seeking my true self that can I responsibly use my voice.
The Necessity of Empathy
I’ve written here before about the empathy that’s naturally bestowed by the writing life. In this post from 2017, I even refer to it as a gift. Not that my stance has changed. But I’ve come to see empathy as being beyond a natural byproduct of the venture, and more as a necessary acquisition—a needed skill for finding our way to our best work. I see empathy not just as a virtue to passively accumulate, but one for which we should strive and work to strengthen.
The pursuit helps me to better appreciate the name of this community. To commit ourselves to this journey is to commit ourselves to seeking constant growth. I see striving for greater empathy as a vital component of that. If we are seeking to unbox ourselves, we are always striving for new and broader perspective.
After all, isn’t that what empathy is—seeing from another’s perspective? Isn’t that at the very core of what we do, and aspire to do better and better—to put ourselves, and then our readers, into the shoes of others?
Empathy is the difference between bemoaning the disturbance and property damage of an uprising and seeking to understand the outrage that led to it. Empathy is the difference between finding ways to excuse or belittle past harm done and seeking ways to redress it, as well as solutions to keeping it from recurring.
In one respect, I feel lucky that I write historical epic fantasy. It’s offered ample opportunity for me to work on my empathy. I have already included the lives of oppressed people, as well as those who oppress them, in my storytelling. I have explored the divisions that arise from misperceiving people who are different, cultures that are different, and how those divisions become the source of entrenched conflict and tragedy.
But I know I can do better. I know I can improve. It’s absolutely incumbent on me to try.
I can seek to make such elements more than mere plot points or world-building. They can and must be the source of character emotions and motivations and transformation.
Regardless of genre, we can all strive to do better. We can all unmask bullies. We can all find ways to expose the mechanisms of oppression. We can all utilize story to unbox society at large; to lay bare the fact that we are all human beings, with a thousand times more ways we are the same than the pittance of petty fabrications we devise for the sake of keeping us divided.
And we need only to pursue empathy to begin.
Using my Voice
As I say, I feel it is incumbent on me to continue to try. Part of trying is seeking understanding. It’s not up to the black members of my writing community to educate me. It’s on me. I have to educate myself. And I have to speak. That’s part of trying, too.
As the events unfolded in the wake of the tragic murder of George Floyd, as the marches grew and the issues we’d long avoided confronting as a nation became unavoidable, I saw that my day to post on WU approached. And I knew that I couldn’t avoid writing about a topic that had become such a powerful and moving presence in my life as a writer. Nor did I want to. But I must confess that it makes me nervous.
As I say—yes, I am privileged. I’m a middle-aged white male writing about race in America. It causes me some discomfort. But can you think of anything that’s worth taking on that doesn’t cause some form of discomfort? Are there any of your worthwhile achievements that haven’t pushed you out of your comfort zone? How can we call ourselves writers if we are unwilling to write about challenging topics and issues? Especially those that are essential to our times, intrinsic to our progress?
So yes, I acknowledge my privilege. No, I don’t have many answers, but I am committed to seeking them. As a writer, I see using my voice not just as a responsibility, but as the means of seeking answers and of conveying what I glean.
In doing so, I will strive for greater empathy. I will continue to seek better understanding. Because until we all have the empathy to fully understand how our black fellow Americans feel when they are singled-out, prejudged, targeted, harassed and harried—until we instantly feel the same outrage they feel when a member of their community is senselessly murdered—our voices will not be powerful enough to effect real and lasting change.
I recognize that by speaking, I will make mistakes. But my silence serves nothing but an entrenched status quo. I will seek to use my voice, never to build or to reinforce societal barriers, but only to tear them down; to seek to reveal the pettiness of the fabrications the few devise to keep the many divided; to reinforce the thousand times more ways we are as one. Whether it’s in my fiction, an essay, a letter, or a tweet.
The Benefits of the Endeavor
For those of us willing to undertake the endeavor, there are benefits. For me, speaking truth maintains my hope.
Just in the attempt to use our voices, we can only get better. That gives me hope, too.
I don’t have many answers, but I’m sure of one thing. Everything I describe above in the context of race relations in American in 2020: the acknowledgement of self and a starting point; the striving for empathy, for an unboxed perspective; the discomfort in putting ourselves out there; the willingness to make mistakes in an effort to improve—they are all bound to make us better storytellers.
If we all continue to seek a challenging and enlightening course forward, better books are bound to come of it.
And the ultimate benefit of better books is that they make for better human beings. I may not have many answers, but I remain certain that story lifts us up and makes us better.
How are you doing WU? Are you still striving for greater empathy? Speaking your truth? Maintaining your hope?
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
This. So much this: “It’s not up to the black members of my writing community to educate me. It’s on me.”
Now, that doesn’t mean white folks like you and me don’t need to listen, as well, but yeah, you nailed it. As Attica Locke (a black crime fiction author) recently tweeted:
“I’m not going to do the work for you. I’m just not. I’m not gon’ be on a panel. I’m not writing an essay. Y’all are sentient human beings with access to books and high speed internet access. It’s lazy to ask me to explain my humanity to you or to ask me to help you find yours.”
I love Attica Locke, and I loved this piece, Vaughn. Compassionate and bold. Thanks for facing your fear/nerves over writing it and writing it anyway. I believe that’s called bravery.
Respect, good sir.
-gl
Hey Greg – Wow, now I love Attica Locke, too. I totally get how ridiculous the panel invitations must feel.
I very much appreciate your voice here today, and yes, I see your bravery on a regular basis over on Twitter. The respect is not just appreciated but mutual.
I’m grateful for your kind praise, though I must admit, these words feel like the very least I can do. I can only hope the piece speaks to someone who needs to hear it.
Here’s to striving to do better together. Have a productive, and brave, writing week.
Thanks, Greg, for bringing in the listening aspect. And then turning it once again to Attica Locke’s view.
One thing has become quite clear to me in this last turning of the gears in this miserable legacy of slavery. The segment of well-meaning privileged people (of which I am one) begging the oppressed for help in understanding what oppression is, well, that is more of the same, placing the burden on the oppressed to make our jobs easier, to help us get comfortable. It’s not quite as bad as ‘touch my robe and we’ll be in union,’ but I am finally beginning to appreciate being slapped into awake.
Good additions, Tom, thanks. I love the enhancement of the conversation here today. Hope you’re well, and hanging on to your hope.
What Vaughn said. What Greg Levin said. What Attica Locke said.
Thank you.
Thank you, Barbara. I appreciate you!
Vaughn, thanks for sharing these thoughts. I believe there is much to be done before we as a nation achieve racial justice and equal justice under the law for all. As a white male, I struggle with how to express my support for equal justice without coming off as patronizing or simply echoing the thoughts and words of others. From the law enforcement perspective, clearly recruitment, training, and culture need to be addressed. But it goes beyond that. There is a racist element in this country that has been given voice and power by the occupant of the White House. This is not who we are as a nation. We need to remind our citizens of the ideals on which our democracy rests: equal justice and equal opportunity. And, as you point out, we must show true empathy, which is in short supply today in our national dialogue. I truly hope the tragic shootings will galvanize our citizens to pursue real reforms. Thank you for this post!
Hey Chris – You’re so right, that lately so many moments have felt like a perfect storm. And yet the storm just keeps gaining intensity. I’m so glad you see–as I do–the need to inject empathy into our national discourse.
Thanks for your kind praise, your self-awareness, and your willingness to strive for progress.
When we speak of change, we usually cry that others and institutions must change. If only we had a different leader! If only we had different laws! If only…if only…if only someone or something else would change!
But social change begins in human hearts, mine, yours, and in the hundreds of small decisions we make every day. Those are as important as our donations, votes or protests. Those are real. They bring change back to each of us individually.
For fiction writers, that also means decisions that we see reflected on the pages of stories. Are we falling into easy tropes and stereotypes? Is the story’s presumption of right versus wrong one that preserves the status quo? Are we playing it safe?
Empathy is seeing others, as you say Vaughn, but it also means honesty with ourselves, a hard look at who we are, what our actions really do, and what our stories really say.
Thank you for this post and as Therese is wont to say, write on.
Hey Benjamin – Your point about being honest with ourselves is an excellent one. I can see that it’s a pursuit that requires our constant reevaluation and re-calibration.
I think I’ve finally reached the point in my writing journey where I not only recognize, but (usually) appreciate the fact that it’s just that–a journey. There’s no finish line, no easing off, no point at which we can stop striving for growth. It’s an evolution. It requires not just persistence but ongoing effort.
It’s something you’ve often helped me to appreciate. Thanks for that, and for this excellent enhancement of the conversation.
Excellent post. As a middle-aged white woman I’ve had my share of white privilege, too. Sure I’ve been treated as lesser than because I’m woman, like an object that can be touched at will because, hey, it’s a compliment to be desired, right? But I also distinctly remember being a rebellious teen and give crap to a summer cop in my town simply because he was a cop and then, if you can imagine, I hit him. Sure, I was arrested for assaulting an officer and ended up in court, but never once was I was worried for my safety. Never once did I think I would be beaten, tased, sat on, choked, or anything else because cops don’t do that to white girls, even stupid drunk ones. But if I was black…well, it would’ve been a whole different story. I might not even be here now telling it. And yet, even as a woman who has experienced being treated as lesser than, it still took me a lot of years to realize just how bad it was for people of color in this country, probably around the time my sister adopted my niece who was born in Ethiopia. My sister educated herself before the adoption, and then started educating the rest of the family. Now I’m pissed, probably as angry as I was as a teen, but good God, look how long it took me to get this place! To get all those older white men to SEE may not be possible in their lifetime, especially for those entrenched in ‘the way things are’ mentality. But I’m going to keep reading the books to help me be a better ally and I’m going to use to my voice where I can, my words on paper, and try to identify my own biases, cuz I know I’ve got ‘m, whether I want them or not. And I may steal your words about empathy: “Empathy is the difference between bemoaning the disturbance and property damage of an uprising and seeking to understand the outrage that led to it.” Oh, yeah, and I’m going to vote and pray that we can get rid of the orange baby that thinks it’s all about him.
Really great post. Thanks.
Hey Marcy – Your comment is such a wonderful addition to the conversation because, yes, there’s a whole other issue regarding treatment of women (again, my demographic has been the biggest obstruction to change on that front, as well). And yes, it can take SO long for so many of us to really come around. For me, part of my journey to better awareness includes having two black nephews. Their genetic makeup is exactly the same in relation to mine as my white nephews. And yet, I find myself worrying about them in a whole new way. And that just plain sucks.
When I mentioned my encounters with law enforcement, I streamlined a bit. I omitted that I was once stopped for weaving in my college town, on the way home from the bar. I blew a breathalizer test that revealed that I was too intoxicated to drive–same as Rashard Brooks was last Friday night in Atlanta. A big difference: he was sleeping it off in his car. I was driving down the damn road… A busy road. Endangering others. What happened to me? I was driven home and scolded. Had to walk a few miles the next morning to get my car back. Granted, this was the early 80s. But, no ticket, no nothing. A warning. Given with an avuncular wink and a smile.
What happened to Rashard? He’s dead. Murdered for the crime of being terrified and fleeing. Yeah, it pisses me off. It should outrage everyone.
Thanks much for weighing in, and for your kind praise.
My adopted son was born in Ethiopia. His adopted sister was born in South Africa. #BlackLivesMatter is not theoretical for us.
As adoptive parents to kids with trauma backgrounds, many issues–nutritional, medical, attachment and so on–got in line ahead of being black in America, but of course eventually it got real. One day our frustrated son demanded, “Mom…Dad…why CAN’T I hear my hoodie up??”
Our kids, now teens, for now live in our family bubble. Except for school, they are never in public without their white parents. Their challenges (and triumphs) have not been racial in nature but due to the disadvantages of their starts.
However, there will be a day when they are on their own, walking down a city street somewhere, without white mom or dad with them. I am terrified of that day. I am furious that I have to be terrified.
The movement does not need my white voice mouthing words that sound empty, so I only say this: our system is not benign and “reform” is white wash. Racism is built into America, in ways obvious as a knee and as abstract as zip codes.
It must change. We must change. All of us. Now. We may not feel that we are racist but our country is.
Enough.
Amen, Don. Thanks for being there, for them and for us.
Vaughn, I appreciate the openness and seeking for understanding in the post. It is incumbent upon all of us to try to understand (and resist) the cruelties of the racist structures that have been—my god in heaven—native to American life for 400 years.
I’m of the older, suburban white guy ain’t-my-lawn-the-greenest-on-the-block tribe too, so there’s much to learn. (Though I’ve had some more “intriguing” encounters with the cops (and with jail) than you, which I may write about here.)
These are, I hope, historic times in which to listen, to learn and to take a stand. Thanks for being here.
Hey Tom – These days, having something to look forward to is nothing to sneeze at. And I SO look forward to that post. See? Now you *must* write it.
I must admit, my dad had one of the greenest damn lawns on the block. But I’m lucky. He was a wonderful example when it came to seeking to be fairminded and inclusive–particularly for a guy from his generation. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn much from his example, lawn-wise. My motto in that regard is, as long as it’s green, it’s good (weeds and all). He’d be disappointed in that, but I’m sure he’d have approved of this post.
Thanks much for weighing in, and–in advance–for that post you’re pondering. Be well and stay safe, my friend.
Beautifully stated. Thanks for sharing, Vaughn!
Thanks for the shout-out, Yuvi! Means a lot.
A comedian was recognized by the cop who pulled him over and let off with a warning. That same cop shot John Crawford III the next day in a Walmart which prompted the comedian to say: “I shouldn’t have to be Dave Chappelle to survive police encounters.”
Empathy is the ability to understand the feelings of another and being that I am part of the white middle class can I say I have the ability to understand institutional racism? I’d say no.
I do have the ability to build relationships. My roommate in the Marine Corps was an ex-Blood from the Bronx which is close to being a total opposite to my rural farm boy upbringing. We became best friends.
There was a horrific episode towards the end of our enlistment. Another former gang member who lived in our barracks went home on leave and was shunned by his old cohorts for joining the military. This tormented him so much that he caused a ruckus at a convenience store, waited for the cops to show up and shot at them, killing one, and died walking towards a line of SWAT officers.
After we found out about it, I went to my friend and told him I didn’t understand why it happened. He told me that I never would. Sympathy is the feeling of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune, and I am capable of that.
Vaughn, I think your heart is in the right place. I think we all can work together to write stories that can make a difference. I hope they won’t sound hollow when I write them.
`
Hey James – Wow, horrific story, indeed. You’ve offered a lot of worthy perspective here. And I agree, there are limits to our empathy. Not that the existence of those limits are any reason not to strive to strengthen our own.
And, you’re right, sympathy is a worthy addition to the conversation. We are capable of that even when we are unable to completely understand.
Thanks for your insightful additions to the conversation, James.
Hi Vaughn Hi James,
I’m late to this conversation and I almost didn’t post it makes me that uncomfortable. But in a conversation as one of the white members of my predominantly brown and black family I have promised to speak out, albeit with a quaking voice. I’m empathetic, I’m not racist, but it’s not enough. I must be ACTIVELY anti-racist. Words are good. Multicultural characters are important. But as we both fear James, it rings hollow if that is our only involvement. We need to be aware, who are our local judges, DA’s and police? What are the platforms of not only our national candidates but our local ones? Do they help to dismantle systemic racism, or go with the status quo? We need to be informed and aware. We need to listen, we need to speak up, and we can’t opt for comfort over justice. We need to be ACTIVE in the fight against systemic racism. Only then will our words matter. And we need to VOTE, VOTE, VOTE. For candidates that are actively anti-racist. Then, we become not only writers recording history, but writer/activists who are helping to change the world.
Well said, Bernadette.
I’m hoping my WIP (that I’m waiting to hear back from my agent on) is a wake up call. There was a presidential order from over a year ago that directed government agencies to ramp up their implementation of Artificial Intelligence. That coupled with a massive recession (that I figured would happen at some point, but not this soon), will start a wildfire of cost cutting that’ll burn down many of our civil liberties. My WIP looks at justice because it’s the obvious example but social security, Medicare, housing, etc. could look very different in a few years and not for the better.
That’s the conversation I want to start.
Thank you Vaughn, and everyone who raised a voice here today. Everything you say helps me. We are having deep uncomfortable conversations in my house, especially with the young ones. About privilege. About humanity. About skin color and heart. About what our country has been and the question of what it could be. The hard looks back at the lies I accepted in my upbringing without really questioning them. For me, any kind of comfort zone is now obsolete. They are destructive places to hang out, for writers, especially, but for all of us in general. We need to ‘sit chilly” (see Steven Pressfield on Turning Pro). Never complacent, always watching out for the temptation to ease up on ourselves. I’ve been crying a lot, sometimes out of rage, but the last few days out of a wild hope that we are going to do this thing of becoming luminous. No color. Just light. You all make me believe it.
Hey, Susan – The WU community has a heartening bunch of souls, doesn’t it? Yours included. I like Pressfield’s notion of sitting chilly for this issue. You’re right, there can be no comfort zone – not anymore. Not if we’re going to advance now that we’ve gotten here.
I’m with you – I feel like my eyes fill with tears about six times a day these days. But, particularly in the last few days, it’s often been because of how beautiful and brave so many have been in the midst of these horrors. I see the young folks out there, and I’m just in awe. They make me believe again. We might just make it, after all.
I always love having your heart-filling observations and insight, my friend. Thank you for being you, and for being here, speaking alongside me.
We can all utilize story to unbox society at large; to lay bare the fact that we are all human beings, with a thousand times more ways we are the same than the pittance of petty fabrications we devise for the sake of keeping us divided.
Beautifully said. This post and the amazing responses will stay with me. Thanks, Vaughn.
Aw shucks, Beth, that means a lot to me. Thanks so much. Hope you guys are still well and staying safe.
It may not be my place as a non-American to say this, but it always strikes me as weird that Americans are so proud of their country being built on the premise that “all men are created equal”.
It wasn’t. Sure, those were the words on the page, but the lived meaning of those words in the lives of those who wrote it – and so many of those who came after them – was “all people like us are equal”. White people are equal. Male people are equal.
“All people are created equal, endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights,” is a great place to build a nation from, but it seems to me that the US isn’t there yet; has never been there.
In the words of George Floyd’s niece Brooke Williams, “Someone said ‘Make America Great Again’, but when has America ever been great?” As Nelson Mandela said, “A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens but its lowest ones.”
Deborah, I do believe America is a great nation. It’s the best country I’ve lived in because the people are not afraid to change. They abolished slavery. They put laws into place to stop discrimination. But racism is alive and well and we have to examine our own hearts, as Benjamin said above. I think of how dangerous it is for the black baby in the womb–nearly 50% don’t make it alive. This is the real killer. It’s genocide. And so I sing:
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!
And why I write. The Color of Skin is about race relations: https://cricketmedia.com/blog/compliments-are-free/ (you have to scroll down after the article on compliments).
And I pray, pray, pray that we may live the ideals in our constitution.
Vaughan, thank you for this post.
Hey Deborah – How can we possibly pursue empathy if we don’t invite the perspective of those from outside our circles? That would include our national circle. And I think the lack of a willingness to do that has led to some of our many problems of late (“American First,” anyone?).
I think the moment we decide we are not a work-in-progress, the day we Americans are no longer pursuing our higher ideals, is the day we fail as a nation. We are certainly a light dimmed. But when I witness the energy and the power of positivity in the young people out on these marches, I am heartened. It makes me believe that, dimmed as we may be, we are far from burned out.
Thanks much for your insight. The challenge of your perspective should be a welcome one to all hopeful Americans.
Well said. Needed to be said. Needs wider distribution (have already tweeted it). Listening + empathy + action + resolve = a possible way out of this morass. Thanks for posting this most eloquent statement.
Thanks much for your kind praise, and for sharing the piece, Christopher. Here’s to seeking the light!
We are living in a bubble too: A comfortable, expat-community bubble in The Netherlands. My kids go to an international school, where diversity is celebrated and skin colour is just one part of how you look like, not what you are. My kids have friends from all over the world, their skin and hair all shades imaginable. When they were small, they did not even know what racism meant. It was hard for me to see them learn, through newspaper articles and talks at the dinner table. – In The Netherlands, racism is less open, most of the time. People have always seen themselves as “tolerant” – which in a way is funny, because calling yourself tolerant means that there is something you would need to tolerate? Versus everyone is equal anyway? – I hope that when my boys are grown, they will keep remembering their friends of all shades, will keep that feeling of “us” instead of “we” and “they”. I hope they truly are “colour blind”. As for me, a white middle-aged woman, I am probably carrying around enough prejudice without even realising it. So I am trying to open my eyes. Look closely around me and inside me. Question reflexes. And keep on loving the parents of my kids’ friends, because they are my friends.
Hey J! Great to have your perspective here. That sounds like a pretty lovely bubble – and how wonderful for your children!
From my limited perspective, it seems The Netherlands has come a long way. Of course they were among those who stole, transported, and sold human beings as slaves in the New World. It seems Europe has been seeking atonement for much longer than the U.S. And of course, WW2 taught some very hard lessons about the sins of racism and xenophobia.
My mother’s family is very Dutch. Her parents immigrated when they were in their early 20s, sailing from Rotterdam around the turn of the 20th C. They settled in a very Dutch neighborhood in the city where I grew up (in West Michigan). My grandfather, a Dutch Reformed minister, talked a pretty good game about loving thy neighbor. But he was among the first to sell his house when African Americans bought in the neighborhood. The entire Dutch north side of town fell to white flight. The institutional racism that is so clear to me now kept that neighborhood impoverished, crime-ridden, and “red-lined” through most of my life. We were taught to never go there after nightfall. The large Dutch population of my mid-size hometown was quite clearly a part of the segregation and ongoing and entrenched racial division that has plagued it for generations. I’m not laying a specific charge here. Other ethnic groups have been just as insular and divisive. Just an observation regarding the deep roots of the problem.
Though my parents considered themselves progressive at the time (in the 60s and 70s), I can see that during my childhood I was taught to fear my fellow citizens. I still visit the city, and things are only just now beginning to change for those neighborhoods.
It’s great to hear that you’re keeping your eyes open, seeking to look both within yourself and at your surroundings. You’re helping to make for a better world. And your writing journey can be an asset in the pursuit.
Thanks much, as always, for your valuable insight, my friend.
The recent essay by Vaughn Roycraft entitled, “Privilege, Empathy and Voice”, was, for me, a big disappointment. Since this appears to be the week that white America has chosen to weigh in against racism, as a long-time (and supporting) member of the WU community and a person of color, I would have wanted from WU (and Roycraft, as co-editor of the blog) a statement condemning the structural racism that exists in the writing and publishing world and an outline of steps WU might make to better support writers of color. Instead, the essay basically affirmed the existence of Roycraft’s own privilege and empathy as an individual writer and that he planned to begin to educate himself to ‘speak truth’ and expand his empathy. The essay was self-affirming and safe. It was, also, very superficial. As reader, I learned nothing. I am unsure whether Roycraft truly understands how, within the writing world, white privilege works. And, how deeply systemic racism is ‘baked in’ and works to the disadvantage of Black writers on so many levels. And, why the status quo must change and how. For example, Twitter is abuzz over #PublishingPaidMe. Or, perhaps Roycraft has no idea?
I scrolled through the photos of the WU editorial staffs, contributors, and community and saw only a few individuals of color. As a start, some comment could be advanced about how that racial disparity might change.
These days, it is politically incorrect for me to explain just how structural racism works but I feel obligated because it appears WU (or, at least, Roycraft) is so far off the mark. So, I am writing to say that this essay did not do it. It is not enough. In the comment section of Therese Walsh’s article, “The Ourstory of Now”, there is Dale Murphy’s quote “If you’re a beneficiary of systemic racism, then you will not be able to dismantle it at no cost to yourself. You will have to put yourself at risk. It might not always result in being physically attacked, but it will require you to make yourself vulnerable.” I mention this because Roycraft’s essay skimmed the surface without even scratching it. Making oneself vulnerable is never a comfortable process and I totally empathize.
Hi Joanne, I can see that you’re right, that I played it safe and missed an opportunity, particularly when it comes to my failure to address the inequities in publishing.
You’ve given me a lot to reflect on, and a challenge to do better. Thank you for that, and for taking the time to provide a bit of education I know I don’t deserve.
Joanne, thank you for pointing out some ways that WU can do better. You are right — we can, and much of that falls on me as the editorial director. I should have issued an official WU statement along with my personal post, and I’ll work on amending our Disclosures page. I will look for ways to better highlight Black initiatives, especially through our social media channels. And while nurturing diversity here at WU has long been my goal, I know there is room for betterment, so I’ll work on that, too. Just know that I’m very open to featuring more Black voices on WU.
Vulnerability may not be comfortable, but it’s key to making progress as a society. I appreciate your vulnerability in leaving this comment, as I’m sure it will lead to positive change.
Vaughn, I also appreciate these reflections on the moment coming from your perspective. I had a long comment drafted up the other day, stepped away for a bit to let it develop in my mind, and then when I came back, WordPress had eaten it for lunch. The gist of it: You said that “empathy is…seeing from another’s perspective,” and I gave that a spin. Empathy is being able to imagine a thing, tunnel into the life-body of another person, and feel it. And I think we can imagine a lot of things, but maybe something we white people have a hard time imagining is a lifetime of suppression. Because it’s not just that a situation in isolation may be different, and we can swap ourselves out and feel it; it’s that the entire setting, the worldview, the cause-effect dynamic, the right and wrong of everything as expressed through justice or a grave lack thereof… all if it is different. Can we really imagine that? Do we want to build a world up in our mind that’s like ours but so horribly different, and then visit it frequently to try to understand? That’s even more uncomfortable than being vulnerable, I think.
We talk a lot about the greatest pains here, and I imagine lifelong discrimination is always right there, as the lens through which everything else is viewed for Black Americans. I think this is why it’s so very important that we read widely–more widely than ever before–to be able to pick up on the lifetime notes, so we can begin to fill our imaginations in with something approaching reality. Which will even further develop our empathy. At least I hope this is the right track. I’ll be reading, a lot, and watching, and reflecting, and adjusting as time goes on. I have new books on the way, and I urge everyone to look for #BlackoutBestsellerlist for book ideas on Twitter.
I’m so appreciative of this post, and your comment, Joanne. You’ve both made me think.
Just popping back in to add some context to my note on things we would be hard-pressed to imagine. “Banking While Black” in the New York Times discusses how Black Americans can be racially profiled while banking, sometimes not even being able to access their own accounts. This is so very wtf, and makes me realize the enormous disparity between the races in this country. I know this isn’t writing-related, but it is point-related, so I’m leaving the link here, fwiw: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/18/business/banks-black-customers-racism.html
History is not written by the writers. They merely record it. History is written by the activists who dare to change its accepted path. The activists who are not always as trendy and popular as they are now, thankfully, in this time of need. The activists are the trailblazers who dare to envision a better world and set the current world on fire for their visions. In the end when the dust settles and the brave new world arises from the ashes of the old, the reborn writers of the new world tell tales that make these activists the stuff of legends. This is so often a respect that was not given to them when they were alive and sacrificed for that vision. Think of MLK, Ghandi, Crazy Horse.. Most of us writers are not those visionaries, we are the recorders of their vision, and the history tellers.
Hey B! I can’t dispute a thing you’ve said here, not in the slightest. Thank goodness for the activists! As you say, they’ve been leading the charge for millennia–inspiring the next generation time and again.
I miss you! I hope your writing is going well. Hope you and your beautiful family are well. Stay safe and carry on, my friend.
Miss you too, V! Thank you for writing this important post. And thanks to T and WU for not shying away from holding these heartfelt and much needed discussions.
The change needed in our world starts with talking about it.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts about the changes that need to take place. I’d add, from the point of view of a person who is more of a reader than a writer, that I believe empathy is a gift of reading widely, too.
Hey Deb – This is such a great addition to the conversation. I firmly believe that if we would all commit ourselves not just to reading more, but to reading more broadly, this country and the world would become a better place. And swiftly!
Thanks much for weighing in with a vital point.