Margaret Robinson - writer. researcher. activist - Toronto, Ontario, Canada
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Pass Me the White Crayon

This article appeared in Siren: irresistibly tempting for queer women, Diversity Issue, vol. 7 issue 5 (December/ January 2002), page 26-27.

In November of 2000 I attended the first Bent on Change conference for queer students. One of the presentations was about the "conflict" between queer and black identities. The presenter was a white man. Many people responded to his presentation, but the comments of one woman made a big impact on me. She asked the presenter why, if he was interested in the issue of sexuality and race, he hadn't bothered to examine his own racialization, and explore how it did (or why it did not) conflict with his sexuality. Taking her advice to heart, I'd like to say something about the conflict between queer identity and whiteness. And I'd like to say it the only way I can, as a biracial queer who experiences the world from within white skin. Since I get treated as white without being white, my references to whiteness in this piece vary from "we" to "they," depending on the context.

Queerness and whiteness probably conflict in many different ways, but I'd like to look at three specific ways: self-awareness, status, and viewpoint.

  1. Self-awareness. Straight people rarely reflect on their sexuality to the degree that queers do. Queers have to, because we're not the norm. Similarly, white people don't have to reflect on whiteness in a world which takes white as its "default setting." As a result, people who aren't white know a lot more about whiteness than white people generally know about it themselves. As a biracial woman with white skin privilege I grew up knowing that people treated me differently than they treated my darker relatives. Looking white, and being treated as if I were white, while knowing that I wasn't "really" white gave me a perspective on race that my white-skinned friends did not have. White queers are awkwardly positioned in terms of self-awareness: one aspect of their self-hood (sexuality) is explored in great depth, while their racialization generally remains invisible to them. The only people who usually reflect on whiteness as a race position are white supremacists, which is a problem. Maybe this is why suggesting that people need to be aware of their whiteness somehow sounds as if you are recommending they join the Heritage Front.
  2. Status. To be queer in society is to be devalued. Queers are seen as being "biassed" on issues of sexuality, while society refuses to see the bias inherent in its compulsory heterosexuality. Likewise, on issues of race, society sees non-white status as biassed and refuses to see whiteness as a race position at all, let alone a biassed one. The conflict for white-skin queers is that while we experience genuine oppression as queers, we receive privileges as white bodies. Not only is this privilege usually taken for granted, but we are encouraged by white society not to recognize that such privilege exists.
  3. Viewpoint. Queers are in an ideal position to see the difference between systemic heterosexism, and individual homophobia. We sigh with exasperation when straights frame homophobia as a problem limited to individuals, yet remain oblivious to social oppression. "I'm not homophobic," they say, "but I don't see why you have to make such a big deal about it." The "it" being the constant denial of equal rights for queers in society. Despite our ability to distinguish the personal from the social on queer issues, most white queers have trouble making the distinction between personal and systemic racism. Like our straight counterparts, we tend to locate racism in individuals instead of social structures. White queers see their organizations as organizations for all queers, while ignoring the fact that almost all GLBT groups are predominantly white. The problem of white domination, from the perspective of many white queers, is reduced to a problem of non-participation on the part of queers of colour. They rarely ask why white queers have not supported organizations started by queers of colour, or perhaps more importantly, why doubly oppressed people would want to fight their way into a white-dominated space in order to join an organization that began by excluding them.

Self-awareness, status and viewpoint. As queers we've got a useful set of experiences from which to develop political strategies. Yet this "experiential toolbox" remains unopened when it comes to issues of race, particularly on issues of race in the queer community. So what do we do? I have four suggestions.

  1. Foster self-awareness. That means becoming aware of the way society tells us what white looks like, how "white people" are supposed to act, and how they're "supposed" to be treated by others.
  2. Become aware of white skin privilege, even as we remain aware of our oppression as queers. Realize that some members of the community are trying to survive multiple oppressions.
  3. Become aware of the way we assign status based on race. Are we seeing bias where we should be seeing expertise?
  4. Look at social structures (including those in our own queer community), not just individuals.

If we try really hard we just might be able to move from "not being prejudiced" to actually being anti-racist.