Sunday, July 14, 2013

Racism

So the most frustrating thing about racism is that the burden of proof is on the disenfranchised.  Here is my favorite tiny example of that in my actual life:

When I was in a summer English class at UC Berkeley, I said "make an inference" two or three times within the course of a conversation with my friend.  I strive to be a very precise speaker, not from any fear of discrimination, but because I love the English language.  

A classmate turned around and said, "I think that you mean 'influence.'"  

Since then, I deliberately emphasize the counterintuitive syllable of the word.  The common American pronunciation, "IN-frence," becomes "in-FER-ence" for me.

Let me break down why this is a small but significant act of institutionalized racism.

1.  The assumption was that I mixed up my L and my R, despite the fact that saying "make an influence" makes no grammatical sense in any context.  I am Chinese-American, and I "look" Chinese, although I am also told that I look like I am of mixed racial descent.

2.  Institutional privilege means that my classmate was completely sure that she was correct.  She also had a good intention: she was trying to help me by correcting me (even though she was wrong).

3.  Institutional disenfranchisement means that I was placed into a frustrating position: she was wrong to assume that I had mispronounced the word, AND she was grammatically incorrect.  

4.  So, even though I had done nothing wrong, I was now placed into a position where I had to bear a triple burden.  I would have to explain that I did want to use the word "inference," that she had made a mistake, and, and this is the worst and most paralyzing burden, I would have to phrase my explanation in a way that she could accept.  

In other words, pointing out her racism was off the table because her privilege allows her to write off my annoyance as a "race thing," instead of as a legitimate complaint about her very real mistake.  

She had the freedom to make a assumption based on my physiognomy, but I could not defend against that part of the assumption. 

5.  This bears repeating: I did not make a mistake.  She made a mistake.  But I had to contend with not only the burden of response, but with the catch-22 of responding.  

If I did not respond, she won because she would think that she was correct in both her grammar mistake and her condescending views.

If I did respond, see #4.  She still wins unless I can depend on her to be immediately reflective, which is, I feel, too much to ask of any human being.  I respect the hell out of people who are able to immediately see that they are wrong instead of looking for ways to rationalize or justify their mistakes.  It is rare and superhuman; I certainly find myself incapable of doing that.

In either case, I am placed, against my will, in a position to represent my race.   If I do not speak up, am I being stereotypically passive?  If I do speak up, am I being a stereotypically irrational and HYSTERical Asian GIRL?  It even ceases to be about race and my gender enters, like an unwelcome spectator bent on schadenfreude.

6.   She could walk away from that incident unchanged.  I could not.  To protect myself, I had to make the change.  I repeat:  The common American pronunciation, "IN-frence," becomes "in-FER-ence" for me.

Seven years later, the grammarian instructor of my English curriculum and instruction course complimented me on my use of "make a inference" because he hated it when people use "inference" as a verb.  I told that story, and everyone was shocked.  I was simply happy that the universe is full of circles.

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