Looking Inward Via Toni Morrison

Today, Toni Morrison died.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/toni-morrison-nobel-laureate-who-transfigured-american-literature-dies-at-88/2019/08/06/49cd4d46-b84d-11e9-a091-6a96e67d9cce_story.html?noredirect=on

Morrison’s presence is extremely important in literature and society, and I have a personal story to share. Take this as you will, but know I am sharing this from a place of love and openness, and I hope it can help promote Morrison’s lifelong pursuits of education and equality.

I grew up in a very small town with a nearly homogeneous population. Still, if you go there, you will find mostly German descendants. Each family probably attends one of the seven churches in town, and while the town is strong together, like most Midwestern towns, it is also divided.

As a person who grew up in a white Midwestern town like this, I was rarely exposed to people different from myself. While I may not have been outwardly taught that people with a different skin color, religious beliefs, sexual orientation, or language were “less than” me, I guess I made inferences of this anyway. Jokes, slang words, and whispers were basically my only real education about people and life outside of my hometown. I even participated in this kind of language because it was “normal” and “acceptable” and “cool”.

And I didn’t feel bad about it. I felt pretty damn good about myself; I was a devout Christian. I helped people in need. I was doing everything right. I was going to Heaven. This was just the way it was.

Until it wasn’t.

I recall sitting in a social studies class in high school. I, along with the other white kids I had known since I was five, was talking about Chinese people. I don’t remember exactly how, but our conversation evolved into racist rhetoric about Asians. We probably talked about the standard stereotypes; I don’t exactly remember what was discussed. I don't think any of us had any awareness of what we were doing or saying, but thinking and writing about it now, I am cringing. HARD.

What I do remember about this experience is sitting at my desk, after we were done talking, and thinking to myself that Asian people are stupid. It was a fleeting thought, but my mind kept working, and I started asking myself some important questions: “Why do I think Asians are stupid?” “How can I think Asians are stupid if the continent of Asia produces some of the world’s most intelligent goods, companies, and ideas?” “Why do I think Asian people sound stupid?” “If white Americans are making jokes about Asians, what are they saying about us?” My analysis of my own speech and thinking didn’t make sense.

Then, it dawned on me: “I am racist.”

It wasn’t an easy idea for me to swallow. I immediately felt denial, then guilt. I realized that I had engaged in racist discourse which perpetuated the ideas that people other than white Americans are “less than”. I felt sick.

Then, I started noticing all of the stuff I was saying that was extremely narrow-minded. I said “retarded” frequently. I said something was “gay” if it wasn’t cool. I even laughed at racist jokes, thinking that as long as I wasn’t saying them, I was good.

I wasn’t good.

When I decided to enroll in a small liberal arts college, several people warned me about just how scary and liberal this school actually was. It was pretty racially diverse, accepting of religions besides Christianity, and it was even known as “the gay school”. I was discouraged to go by friends and even acquaintances I barely knew, but by the time I was a senior in high school, I was able to take a step outside of myself and realize that in order for me to work on myself and my own racist ideas, I had to get out of my hometown.

Throughout my four years at college, I took philosophy, anthropology, sociology, psychology, and even religion classes. I made friends with people with skin colors, religions, sexual orientations, and home countries different from my own. I wanted to learn the truth about the world, and I wanted to rid myself of the prejudice I had been raised around. It wasn’t easy. At times, I caught myself using the same narrow-minded language I was used to, and I still found myself looking down on people from outside the United States. This prejudice, I learned, was called ethnocentrism, and it was a huge problem for many Americans.

When I reflect on how much I grew as a person while at that small liberal arts school, I think I spent all four years reversing what I was indoctrinated to believe in my hometown. Through education, I completely changed my views and developed my core philosophies.

I thought I did, anyway.

I enrolled at a larger school in the Midwest to get my teaching license, and I took several literature classes. In one course, I read a short story called “Recitatif” by Toni Morrison.

Mind blown.

The story, which was ingeniously crafted, is basically a tool to trigger readers to recognize their own racial biases. The two main characters are Twyla and Roberta, and you know at the beginning that one of them is black, and one of them is white. Never in the story, though, does Morrison reveal which is white and which is black.

Morrison’s manipulation worked wonders on me. When I read this story, I was amazed that I didn’t even notice how my brain had sneakily labeled each of the characters based on my own prejudices. As a person who thought she had been cleansed of racism, I still hadn’t, and I continue to work on it.

I still use this story often with upper-level high school students, and I like to turn it into discussions (though they obviously need to be controlled). Every time I have taught this, I see wheels turning in students’ minds, wondering where those racial biases had been hiding, and if they will ever be eradicated.

I’m telling you these stories for a few reasons. First, I am putting myself out there because I know there are many, many people like me. When I lived in my hometown, I was a product of the environment. I wasn’t directly taught the hate speech I was engaging in was wrong. I honestly was unaware, but I was still racist. I never would have admitted to it, but I was. I think it's because I assumed that racism had to be overt or violent, but it doesn't.

In a society divided by political beliefs and discrimination, it can be difficult to see the truth, but the truth is that the majority of us are, like I was, perpetuating the problems in our society. Even if you’re not telling the jokes, but you’re laughing at them, you’re part of the problem. Even if you’re not posting discriminatory stuff on social media, but you’re liking other people’s posts, you’re part of the problem. Even if you’re not chanting to send immigrants out of the country, but you’re voting for politicians who are, you’re part of the problem.

Subconscious discrimination is something of which I've made myself hyper-aware, and I've found duty in teaching young people to look inside themselves, use empathy, and understand how prejudice affects others. In this society, with a background like mine, I think I will probably struggle my whole life with correcting my assumptions and outsmarting my brain. I know discrimination is evil. I hate it. In no way did I write this post to communicate that "it's okay to be racist because I was too". NO. It's not okay, but I think it's important to be honest with one another and discuss its challenges rather than reducing or rejecting change.

Finally, I think I need to pay homage to Toni Morrison for her profound intelligence, talent, and influence. She wrote in her book, Beloved, “Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined.”

Thank you, Ms. Morrison.