When Talking About Race Upsets Your White Mother
'And then I wonder, how did we get here?'
By Diana Emiko | Originally Published at Medium. Culture Club. April 26, 2015
My mom has the cheery demeanor, moral sensibilities and lingo of a Leave It To Beaver episode.
“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” she scolds. “Have you ever smoked a doobie?” she inquires. “Oh, that is just terrific!” she exclaims. My mom is what I’d like to affectionately call, a super white lady from Palo Alto. We’ve had our share of differences, from the dramatic middle school years to spats sprinkled here and there, but overall our relationship is solidly loving. And while everyone has their own set of quirky conflicts with their parents, mine is that my mother and I are sometimes at odds when it comes to race.
She’s been married to my dad, who’s Japanese American, for over twenty years and I came to identify as Asian. Primarily because I look it, but also because of who influenced me. My Japanese sister, the friends I grew up with and my family history have shaped my worldview to identify more with people of color while I recognize my own mixed-race privilege. Yet my mom has had trouble separating how I can be part white, not exactly embracing of it and simultaneously condemn racism. Chalk it up to getting older, feeling misunderstood, or that American race relations have tangibly taken center stage as of late, but she has a quick-to-anger tendency on behalf of all the good white folk out there.
In the aftermath of the violence — from Michael Brown and Eric Garner to Officers Wenjian Liu and Rafael Ramo — we tip-toe around trying to make sense of this crazy world together, in a potentially fruitful exchange of ideas. If the news is on we both watch it in heavy silence, as if subjects fraught with race are an emotional minefield between us. But at some point, she baits me with questions: Did you get stuck in the subway because of those protests?Have you heard of Blue Light Week? (It’s a Facebook-driven campaign encouraging people to switch out their porch lights for blue ones to show support for the police). I tell her I haven’t heard of this but a quick perusal over the Blue Light Week Facebook page reveals who’s primarily participating: white people in the suburbs. She explains she’s supporting this because, “Bless their hearts, the police protect us, god damnit.” Her explanation of why she’s on the hunt for a blue light is laced with such defensiveness that I hold my tongue to keep any residual tension from seeping into our holiday family time.
And then I wonder, how did we get here?
Perhaps some of her weariness is rooted in the years of having to explain our relationship. When I was still in a stroller, people would ask if I was adopted empathyeducates - When Talking About Race Upsets Your White Mother:
