The Weight of Racialized Narratives
As I write this, the United States is in a state of extreme unrest following the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and countless other Black men, women, and children in police custody. As protestors line the streets chanting “Black Lives Matter,” I find myself in the Western suburbs of Minneapolis, trying to remember the last time I saw someone of a different race than myself. I have been staying with family in a primarily white suburb until I find an apartment in the cities, and have learned a lot about competing narratives surrounding race in the United States during this time. As I watch and read more about racial inequality and the current protests, I am also hearing and reading an alternative view on racial inequality, which critiques what people should and should not be doing to confront the obvious injustice that George Floyd and too many others have suffered. Perhaps most importantly, I have heard the competing narratives that rest on centuries of racial inequality without an awareness of what the commentary taps into, what it overlooks, and without an awareness of who has constructed these ideals and to what end. This commentary and current unrest goes much deeper than today’s police brutality—it is the result of racist ideology that is malleable and transforms to fit what is deemed “appropriate” for the times (for example, by becoming more covert and unconscious), but is never actually confronted and dismantled. This weighted history that accepts the narratives of the past that place different value on different lives has become especially difficult to deconstruct precisely because it can be so covert and can happen even amidst the best intentions today. However, the foundations of these seemingly “race-neutral” decisions and comments rest on a narrative that that has deemed certain bodies as “lesser than” since the founding of this country, and it is this narrative and every form of its manifestation that needs to be uncovered, addressed, and deconstructed if we are going to find any way forward beyond the divided stories of the present.
The Weight of Narratives
We frame our lives, our contexts, and our decisions about the future in terms of narratives. Research on narrative theory shows storytelling is how we make connections and categorize our experiences—narratives allow us to frame our world and understand our place within it. [1] When we encounter a person or situation, we are already taken up in the process of ongoing interpretation and narration as we place this situation in the context of past experiences, making connections and judgments automatically. This is a dialogical process between our past narratives and current interpretation, and not only impacts how we approach a current situation, that situation also has the power to transform how we move forward in a new way. [2] For example, when I am in a fight with my sister, I understand our current fight through the lens of our past fights, as well as through the whole of our relationship: past, present, and future. I know from the past that we need to take space and cool off because we both got this wonderful trait from our dad that makes it so we have to have the last word; I know from the present what is going on in each of our lives and what else is weighing on us and on our relationship; and I know that no matter what I do not want to lose our future relationship (no matter how wrong I think she is). This information about our specific relationship is also informed by the wider narrative of what being “sisters” means, and what it means to be “family”—ideals that can change and take on different meanings across cultures, and that have been built up across history. Here I immediately think about phrases I have heard over the years: “Sisters fight. That’s just how it is;” “family first;” “family is everything;” “your sister is your first best friend;” “your sister will always be there.” These quotes come together with one message: you will always need each other; you will be there for each other when no one else will; you do not end relationships with family, no matter what you’re fighting about. Of course, I am not explicitly thinking about all of this when we are in the middle of a fight, but the narrative of our relationship—and the wider narrative of sisterhood and family—are still influencing the situation. No matter what, I know there is a line that is not to be crossed—there is no hint of ending our relationship no matter what we are fighting about—and while much of this resolve does come from our specific relationship, that relationship in itself is a narrative that is further influenced by the wider narratives at work in our society.
This narrative process not only impacts how we approach a current situation, the current situation also has the power to transform how we move forward—that is, if we are willing to sit in discomfort and ambiguity long enough, listening and learning, to imagine new ways forward. I can continue to accept the narratives of fights with my sister that have dominated our past—fight until we are both blue in the face or admit I am wrong just so she will let it go—or I can look for a new way forward where we wait until we both cool off and then learn to talk calmly about our differences, allowing our relationship to evolve and allowing us to learn how to handle conflict in healthier ways. If narratives are so central to something as simple as an argument between my sister and I, and unconsciously impact how I approach and react to it, we can imagine how much they influence our other interactions as well, and the structures of our society as a whole. For example, when I interact with a man in his 20’s who is wearing boat shoes and pastel clothing, I have a certain narrative framework that is triggered about what his background might be, what he does with his free time, and how he feels about certain political issues (yes, I know, this is possibly the whitest example I could give). I say this as an example because we are often afraid to admit that we come into situations with prejudices for fear of being labeled as prejudiced or racist, but these stereotypes and prejudices are present in every new interaction, and if we refuse to acknowledge them, they continue to go unchecked and unchallenged.
If we overlook the way narratives frame our world, we run the risk of accepting the dichotomous narratives constructed by those with an interest in keeping things as they are. For example, when you hear the word “refugee,” there are narratives that are instantly triggered: “from narratives of terrorism and nationalism to narratives of solidarity.” [3] In the narratives surrounding racial inequality, there are similar dichotomies that dominate, and these narratives more often than not can be traced to political leaders and commentators with the money and platforms to construct and perpetuate them. For example, we are fed this narrative that you are either racist or you are not, and there is no space to recognize that we all come into interactions with prejudiced narratives, and to admit that we hold these prejudices is the only way to dismantle them and find a new way forward. For example, when we lay claim to a “color-blind” narrative (“I am not racist; I don’t see color”), the inevitable prejudices and narratives we carry with us linger under the surface and continue to influence how we react. Anyone who has been in therapy knows that pretending something is not there usually leads to it coming out in unconscious, harmful ways, and these reactions are then given a justification that is often considered more palatable than the uncomfortable, often dark, corners of our psyche would show. [4]
In addition to the damaging, and, at times, deadly effects, these racialized narratives have on our immediate interactions, failing to acknowledge narratives for the history they have of being constructed also delimits a new way forward, “for example, when cultural narratives perpetuate stereotypical notions of what is possible for a person of a particular social status, gender, age, ethnicity, and so on,” [5] and the only way to change these is to intentionally uncover and deconstruct them. My goal here in giving a brief history of the horrors of racial inequality in the United States (although I don’t have nearly enough space to do it justice), is to show how narratives are continually reconstructed and remade in ways that reinforce inequality and dichotomies, and to highlight how these narratives continue to frame interactions today, often in unconscious ways and even amidst the best intentions. My aim is also to help us remain critical of where these narratives came from and who benefits from dichotomous framing of racial inequality today—one that takes an either/or approach to interactions between police and Black men, women, and children and then fails to leave space for a conversation moving forward. The roots of these narratives that try to place people in rigid categories (all cops are intentionally racist vs. all Black people are “thugs” who need to be policed) can be quickly traced back to commentators and politicians with the resources, time, and public platforms that allow them to construct and perpetuate these narratives. To relate this back to my example with my sister, when I tell the story of my fight with my sister, it is not the same as the one she tells, and each story casts the people involved in a certain light. [6] If I have easier access to our family—by living with them, by having the time to discuss the situation with them, by having a louder voice—my version will prevail. If I am in my family’s face with my version and my sister is too busy to answer their calls, or does not have the argumentative vigor I can exhibit, whose narrative frames the conversation? Mine. On a larger scale, it is easy to imagine that the narratives that receive the most traction are those told with the possibility to do so, are told from a certain perspective, and are not neutral, they cast people and situations in a certain light. It is only through recognizing the constructedness and perpetuation of these narratives that we can begin to question how they manifest today, and work toward cultivating an awareness of and dismantling them.
A Weighted History
To recognize the roles that racialized narratives play in our interactions is to recognize there is a very real, heavy, and unjust history that continues to inform the present. This is a history where colonizers justified their treatment of Native Americans by depicting them as “savages;” where European settlers constructed and perpetuated the myth that Africans were “less than fully human,” lacking souls and the ability to learn in order to justify their enslavement; where even after the Civil War and Emancipation Proclamation, fears that former slaves would revolt and attack whites, especially white women, led to Black men being construed as violent and untrustworthy; and where economic fears following emancipation led to a harsh period of backlash in the form of sharecropping, Jim Crow laws, convict leasing, and lynching.
To recognize the weight of constructed narratives is to recognize that these narratives are often built and perpetuated by those with the resources and public platform to do so, and gives a demand that we ask what is going on beyond encapsulating narratives. It is to recognize that veils of racial “progress” often shield the very real and deadly backlash by those who have directly or indirectly benefited from the way our nation was built—that along with emancipation came sharecropping, where former slaves were able to rent land, machinery, and seed from plantation owners to be repaid at the end of the season with crops, which led to an unregulated system where plantation owners could calculate repayment without any regulation, keeping former slaves in debt and hindering them from achieving any significant socioeconomic or political mobility, [7] and also gave rise to “Black Codes,” which required former slaves to show proof of employment, which was nearly impossible to obtain outside of plantations, giving them little to no options outside of living within the unjust sharecropping practices. [8] It is to recognize that along with reconstruction came the KKK, lynching, and more vagrancy laws that limited former slaves to a choice between oppressive working conditions on a plantation or being arrested for the inability to prove employment. [9] To recognize the weight of constructed narratives is to recognize that a false narrative was perpetuated wherein African Americans were unable to handle freedom, [10] enabling officers to justify arresting them for the smallest infractions and then supply prisoners to be “leased out” [11] to steel and coal companies where they were raped, tortured, beaten, and killed. [12] It is to see, remember, and sit in the horror of lynchings that were attended and prayed over by religious leaders. It is to question how lynching continues to happen today under other names.
To pull back the veil and recognize the constructedness of these dominant narratives that label Black bodies as inherently different, and somehow deserving of unjust and brutal punishment, is a demand to dismantle the claim that racism is a thing of the past and call it out not only when it shows itself in videotaped police brutality, but also in our schools, neighborhoods, and our own predispositions. It is to interrogate the “neat and clean” narratives that line our history books. It is to see the very recent history where politicians made use of “color-blind” racism, using racially coded language to appeal to the lingering racist sentiments. [13] It is to uncover and dismantle their “color-blind” calls that made use of terms such as “welfare queens,” that focused on a racially stigmatized “war on drugs,” and began construing “poor as ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving.” [14] —these calls that are taken as normative and repeated by voters, especially white voters with lingering unconscious and conscious racial resentment. It is to recognize that instead of analyzing the racial inequality that led to so many African Americans being dependent on welfare, politicians depicted people of color as lazy, drug dealers, and “welfare cheats,” and blamed them for the demise of “law and order,” [15] and to see that these stereotypes continue to dictate conversations in the U.S. today.
To pull back the veil and dismantle these narratives that have been overtly and covertly constructed by people with the resources and platforms to do so is to unsettle and critique not only who we vote for and what happens within police departments—it is also to ask how this history of abhorrent inequality and abuse impacts interactions every single day. If these narratives serve as a framework that we filter our ongoing interpretation through as the research has shown, we are pushed to really look at the fact—and admit—that the initial thoughts we have in interactions with people of different races, ethnicities, socioeconomic backgrounds, and ages come with a weight of not only our past experiences—not just a discomfort, like, or dislike within is—but are informed by a much larger narrative framework that has been built and perpetuated by—and continues to benefit—certain people over others.
A History Weighing On
To pull back the veil on these narratives that have been constructed over centuries in the United States, and to acknowledge the very real presence of narratives in our lives, is to ask how this history continues to influence interactions today. It is to recognize that much like the history where notions of progress shielded racial inequality, the same can be said about contemporary claims to a “post-racial” or “color-blind” era. It is to see the current malleability of racist ideology and its ability to be shielded and overlooked—a malleability that enables whites to hold to their racist ideologies in the face of alternative narratives. It is also a malleability that encourages whites to point to the success of President Barack Obama and Oprah Winfrey as proof that anyone can make it in America, regardless of skin color,[16] while overlooking the complexity of racialized structures in the United States today and the research showing society is structured to benefit white Americans, even in situations where there are good intentions.
To acknowledge how past narratives continue to weigh in on the present is to recognize that the history of denying home ownership to Black Americans continues to affect generational wealth and inequality today, leaving “nearly two-thirds of neighborhoods deemed ‘hazardous’ are inhabited by mostly minority residents, typically black and Latino” while, conversely, “91 percent of areas classified as ‘best’ in the 1930s remain middle-to-upper-income today, and 85 percent of them are still predominantly white,” [17] and that housing has a significant impact on the amount of funding delegated to the public schools in the area. [18]
It is to see that even in schools that are seemingly “successfully integrated,” there is still an achievement gap between Black and white students, primarily caused by the opportunities (social circles, resources, neighborhoods, and relationships) that make it easier for white families to navigate students’ discipline and studies. It is to see that Black students get “picked out for wrongdoing more often than their white colleagues, despite similar levels of misbehaving” and are given heavier discipline for similar behaviors. [19] It is to see that even when teachers have the best of intentions and are not actively working to target Black students, they are influenced by narratives that peg Black students, especially Black adolescent males, as “troublemakers,” which then leads many teachers to see minor instances of rule breaking as indicative of a pattern in Black students. [20] To recognize how racialized narratives continue to influence punishment today is to question how these disparities in discipline then lead to Black adolescents males being especially at risk of being taken up in the school-to-prison pipeline, [21] and why they are both more likely to be punished and the punishment is likely to be more severe, [22] despite the fact that “[t]here is no conclusive evidence that these findings are because African-American students engage in more school misconduct or violent behaviors.” [23] It is to see these narratives are primed and continue to influence interactions even when someone believes they are acting in an unbiased way. [24]
To draw the connections between what is happening today and the weight of narratives that contribute to ongoing racial inequality is recognize that absolutely nothing in George Floyd’s past justified his treatment, no matter how much media outlets and politicians try to find some justification so they don’t need to address the real problem that led to White officers’ audacity to murder this man in broad daylight while they knew they were being filmed—to behave in a way that rested on this narrative that has happened throughout our history in the United States where white people were able to publicly murder Black bodies without fear of repercussions. It is to take time look at the facts and figures surrounding treatment of Black bodies by police and ask why this is happening and how it connects to the racialized history many want to claim we have moved past. It is to look at statistics that show African Americans are more likely to be pulled over and ticketed, “are searched on the basis of less evidence than white drivers;” that from 2010-2014, African American men were 2.8 times more likely to be killed by police than their White counterparts; [26] that even though the gap between White and Black prisoners has lessened, “[i]n 2016, there were 1,608 black prisoners for every 100,000 black adults – more than five times the imprisonment rate for whites (274 per 100,000) and nearly double the rate for Hispanics (856 per 100,000).” [27] It is to see that just as we saw a disparity in the severity of punishment between Black and White students, The United States Sentencing Commission found “Black male offenders received sentences on average 20.4 percent longer than similarly situated White male offenders, accounting for violence in an offender’s past in fiscal year 2016.” [28] It is to recognize that we live in a culture where “black victims of fatal violence are presumed guilty of bringing their deaths upon themselves. Their white killers are given the benefit of the doubt.” [29] It is to refuse to accept politicians’ and commentators’ attempts to pick apart the life of the Black victim instead of questioning the biases that, for example, lead a white man to fatally shoot a Black teenager when she knocks on his front door to ask for help. [30]
Where do we go from here?
This can all feel overwhelming, especially if it is new information, but I want to encourage you to not get lost in the overwhelm and find ways to move forward. Here are some suggestions:
1. Recognize the dominant narratives in the United States today, especially those surrounding race, are constructed and performative, meaning that the voices heard more often than not are those with the money and public platform to push out their own narrative, often the one that benefits their position, and that these narratives have very real bearing on how we interact. Take time to question the narratives being pushed out that rest on either/or assumption, or that detract from the essential, uncomfortable conversations that need to be had in able to move forward. Question how “color-blind” narratives shield racism and inequality that has just evolved to fit the time.
2. Let go of the idea that racism is always overt and intentional and question how it shows up in everyday interactions. Give space to recognize and question the ways your initial reactions to certain people of different races, ethnicities, ages, socioeconomic statuses, etc. bring up an immediate response in your body. Ask where that instinct comes from and be willing to grow in your ability to recognize and question those often immediate and unconscious reactions you step into situations with.
3. Be willing to hear other perspectives and, before reacting, sit in the discomfort of new information that challenges your previously held beliefs. Research shows our confirmation bias is strong and steady—we cling to information that validates the way we “feel” instead of seeking out and really digesting information that clashes with the more comfortable alternatives.
4. Join me in asking yourself these questions: Do I benefit from looking the other way? How has my life been made easier by generational wealth (for example, being able to move into my parents’ house during a difficult time)? How often am I given the “benefit of the doubt” that others may not receive because of the cultural narratives surrounding skin color? What narratives do I carry with me and how can I cultivate better awareness to address and change them?
5. Learn and take action. There are countless resources available at your fingertips that can offer opportunities to volunteer, sign petitions, donate, and learn. Make use of these resources and take action now.
[1] Hanna Meretoja, The Ethics of Storytelling: Narrative Hermeneutics, History, and the Possible, 7.
[2] Ibid., 18-19
[3] Meretoja, 58.
[4] Jonathan Haidt’s research on moral intuition is beneficial for understanding how these moral frames and narratives are constructed. Haidt work emphasizes the unconscious nature of reasoning, along with the “post-hoc” nature of storytelling: much of our decision making is driven by our gut feelings—our intuition reacts and we justify our beliefs and choices after the fact. Haidt emphasizes how highly unconscious much of our decision making is, relying mostly on “instincts” while we reason to justify those instincts with “post-hoc fabrications” (Haidt 28).
[5] Meretoja, 50.
[6] Meretoja, 31.
[7] Edward Cary Royce, The Origins of Southern Sharecropping , Labor and Social Change (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993), 188.
[9] Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness (New York: The New Press, 2012), 28, Kindle.
[10] Blackmon, Douglas A. Slavery by Another Name: the Re-Enslavement of Black People in America from the Civil War to World War II . New York: Doubleday, 2008, 5.
[11] Blackmon, Douglas A. Slavery by Another Name: the Re-Enslavement of Black People in America from the Civil War to World War II . New York: Doubleday, 2008, 65.
[12] See Blackmon, Slavery by Another Name , 90-102.
[13] Fitzgerald, The Evangelicals , 312; Frank Brown, “Nixon's ‘Southern Strategy’ and Forces against Brown,” The Journal of Negro Educaiton 73, no. 3 (Summer, 2004):192; Noll, 146; see Alexander, The New Jim Crow , 44-57.
[14] Alexander, The New Jim Crow, 46.
[15] Alexander, The New Jim Crow, 46.
[16] Eduardo Bonilla-Silva and David Dietrich, “the Sweet Enchantment of Color-Blind Racism inObamerica,” The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 634, no. 1 (March 11, 2011): 198.
[17] Tracy Jan, “Redlining Was Banned 50 Years Ago. It’s Still Hurting Minorities Today.,” Washington Post , March 28, 2018, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2018/03/28/redlining-wasbanned-50-years-ago-its-still-hurting-minorities-today/?utm_term=.c38e986a826a .
[18] Public schools are funded by property taxes, and poorer neighborhoods have fewer homes, less expensive homes, and more apartments—resulting in less revenue from property taxes—the schools in these neighborhoods receive less funding.
[19] Lewis and Diamond, Despite the Best Intentions, 46.
[20] Okonofua and Eberhardt, “Two Strikes,” 620; Lewis and Diamond, Despite the Best Intentions, 12-14.
[21] See Ann Arnett Ferguson, Bad Boys: Public Schools in the Making of Black Masculinity (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000); Lewis and Diamond, Despite the Best Intentions ; Jason A. Okonofua and Jennifer L. Eberhardt, “Two Strikes,” Psychological Science 26, no. 5 (May 2015); Tamar Lewin, “Black Students Face More Discipline, Data Suggests,” New York Times , March 6, 2012, https://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/06/education/black-students-face-more-harsh-discipline-datashows.html.
[22] Tamar Lewin, “Black Students Face More Discipline, Data Suggests,” New York Times , March 6, 2012, https://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/06/education/black-students-face-more-harsh-discipline-datashows.html.
[23] Anne-Marie Iselin, “Research On School Suspension,” Center for Child and Family Policy Duke University, April 27, 2010, https://childandfamilypolicy.duke.edu/pdfs/familyimpact/2010/Suspension_
Research_Brief_2010-04-27.pdf.
[24] Lewis and Diamond, Despite the Best Intentions , 5-6.
[25] “Findings: the Results of Our Nationwide Analysis of Traffic Stops and Searches,” The Stanford Open Policing Project, accessed July 14, 2018, https://openpolicing.stanford.edu/findings/.
[26] James W. Buehler, “Racial/ethnic Disparities in the Use of Lethal Force by Us Police, 2010–2014,” American Journal of Public Health 107, no. 2 (February 2017): 296.
[27] John Gramlich, “The Gap between the Number of Blacks and Whites in Prison Is Shrinking,” Pew Research Center, January 12, 2018, http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2018/01/12/shrinking-gapbetween-number-of-blacks-and-whites-in-prison/.
[28] Glenn R. Schmitt, Louis Reedt, and Kevin Blackwell, Demographic Differences in Sentencing: an Update to the 2012 Booker Report (2017), https://www.ussc.gov/sites/default/files/pdf/research-andpublications/research-publications/2017/20171114_Demographics.pdf.
[29] Douglas, Stand Your Ground, location 1076.
[30] Ibid., location 1076-1085.