Post by robeiae on Nov 13, 2017 9:30:52 GMT -5
A thoughtful op-d by law professor Ekow Yankah at the NYT: Can My Children Be Friends With White People?
There's a lot to chew on here, I think, so read the whole thing. A good chunk of the piece is polemical, as it springs from hardcore anti-Trumpism. Still, the underlying issue of the relationship between friendship and politics made me think, especially with regard to how pov impacts that relationship.
Yankah argues that Trump's election has, for all intents and purposes, broken a trust that had developed/been developing across racial lines in America. Whether or not one buys that argument, I think Yankah makes it particularly well, especially when he says the following:
For the record, I don't buy his argument, but again I understand it and think it's quite well-reasoned.
But one of the reasons I don't buy it is that he also says this:
And this:
It seems to me that if there is a trust, so to speak, that is being broken, Mr. Yankah's approach is contributory, at best. At worst, it's purposefully widening the breach. Even allowing that my own pov is substantially different from his, I simply can't come to terms with what's behind the above ideas, that I should need to discuss with my children how they should deal with different "races," as if generalities in that regard were a) valid and b) a sound basis for how one should treat individuals. More later, as I continue to chew...
Your thoughts?
There's a lot to chew on here, I think, so read the whole thing. A good chunk of the piece is polemical, as it springs from hardcore anti-Trumpism. Still, the underlying issue of the relationship between friendship and politics made me think, especially with regard to how pov impacts that relationship.
Yankah argues that Trump's election has, for all intents and purposes, broken a trust that had developed/been developing across racial lines in America. Whether or not one buys that argument, I think Yankah makes it particularly well, especially when he says the following:
It is not Mr. Trump himself who has done this. Were it not for our reverence for money, Mr. Trump would be easily recognized as the simple-minded, vulgar, bigoted blowhard he is. It is certainly not the neo-Nazis marching on Charlottesville; we have seen their type before. Rather, what has truly broken my heart are the ranks of Mr. Trump’s many allies and apologists.
Mr. Trump’s supporters are practiced at purposeful blindness. That his political life started with denying, without evidence, that Barack Obama is American — that this black man could truly be the legitimate president — is simply ignored. So, too, is his history of housing discrimination, his casual conflation of Muslims with terrorists, his reducing Mexican-Americans to murderers and rapists. All along, his allies have watched racial pornography, describing black America as pathological. Yet they deny that there is any malice whatsoever in his words and actions. And they dismiss any attempt to recognize the danger of his wide-ranging animus as political correctness.
But the deepest rift is with the apologists, the “good” Trump voters, the white people who understand that Mr. Trump says “unfortunate” things but support him because they like what he says on jobs and taxes. They bristle at the accusation that they supported racism, insisting they had to ignore Mr. Trump’s ugliness. Relying on everyday decency as a shield, they are befuddled at the chill that now separates them from black people in their offices and social circles. They protest: Have they ever said anything racist? Don’t they shovel the sidewalk of the new black neighbors? Surely, they say, politics — a single vote — does not mean we can’t be friends.
Mr. Trump’s supporters are practiced at purposeful blindness. That his political life started with denying, without evidence, that Barack Obama is American — that this black man could truly be the legitimate president — is simply ignored. So, too, is his history of housing discrimination, his casual conflation of Muslims with terrorists, his reducing Mexican-Americans to murderers and rapists. All along, his allies have watched racial pornography, describing black America as pathological. Yet they deny that there is any malice whatsoever in his words and actions. And they dismiss any attempt to recognize the danger of his wide-ranging animus as political correctness.
But the deepest rift is with the apologists, the “good” Trump voters, the white people who understand that Mr. Trump says “unfortunate” things but support him because they like what he says on jobs and taxes. They bristle at the accusation that they supported racism, insisting they had to ignore Mr. Trump’s ugliness. Relying on everyday decency as a shield, they are befuddled at the chill that now separates them from black people in their offices and social circles. They protest: Have they ever said anything racist? Don’t they shovel the sidewalk of the new black neighbors? Surely, they say, politics — a single vote — does not mean we can’t be friends.
But one of the reasons I don't buy it is that he also says this:
It is impossible to convey the mixture of heartbreak and fear I feel for him. Donald Trump’s election has made it clear that I will teach my boys the lesson generations old, one that I for the most part nearly escaped. I will teach them to be cautious, I will teach them suspicion, and I will teach them distrust. Much sooner than I thought I would, I will have to discuss with my boys whether they can truly be friends with white people.
As against our gauzy national hopes, I will teach my boys to have profound doubts that friendship with white people is possible. When they ask, I will teach my sons that their beautiful hue is a fault line. Spare me platitudes of how we are all the same on the inside. I first have to keep my boys safe, and so I will teach them before the world shows them this particular brand of rending, violent, often fatal betrayal.
Your thoughts?