Me & the White Supremacist

Since moving to Southern California, I’ve felt more at home than I have in more than a decade, mostly because it’s a far more diverse environment than Princeton, New Jersey, and the politics skew closer to my own. But I had an encounter with a white supremacist about a year ago, in February 2020. I was driving along the freeway in Los Angeles on my way to work, likely thinking about all the projects I would be digging into that day when, much to my shock, he passed me on his motorcycle and threw up the white supremacist hand sign at me for several moments before driving away.

It was jarring. Frightening. Surprising. I had come to feel so safe in LA, a reliably blue state filled with well-meaning progressives and plenty of rabble-rousers like myself. As it turned out, that same week, several white boys at my school had been engaging in “racial play,” trying out what the n-word felt like, tasted like, when rolling off their tongue. I addressed the incident through restorative justice practices and, as a community, we managed to heal and move forward. Still, it left a bad taste in my mouth. The fact that this incident directly preceded that moment with the white supremacist on the freeway felt like more than coincidence. It felt like something was brewing, something ugly, and it was getting comfortable being out in the open.

In part to process my own ragged emotions about these twin incidents, I gave the following talk at the predominantly white independent high school where I worked. My goal was to help students and some staff see how these episodes were related, to invite them into an uncomfortable conversation. I sought not to call out, but to call in my community. I wanted to engage them in a frank discussion about anti-Blackness and racism. Unbeknownst to us, these conversations presaged the protests against the state-sanctioned violence against Black Americans that would sweep the nation just a few months later.

I offer this reflection, this invitation, to fellow educators who seek ways to engage their students in conversation about white supremacy in our world, especially after the January 6th insurrection. I hope you might find it useful, productively uncomfortable, and ultimately transformative for your school communities. 

*** 

Good morning! I’m going to tell you a story today. Before I start, I want to say that, at times, it may be hard to hear this story, and you may even feel a little uncomfortable. If that happens, it’s completely normal. And I just want to encourage you to sit in that discomfort and, if you’re able, to ask yourself: What am I feeling? Why might I be feeling like this? Before I start, let’s all take a deep grounding breath. Now we can begin.

Last week, I was driving to work, on a stretch of highway connecting the 101 and the 110. I noticed I was being tailgated by a guy on a motorcycle (tailgating is when someone is following you a little too close). It didn’t really bother me because I’ve come to learn that LA drivers are erratic, to say the least. A few minutes later he passed me. As he did, he flipped me off. This also didn’t really bother me because, again, LA drivers are erratic, to say the least. But then he made another hand signal at me which I’d only seen on the news up until then. 

It was the white power signal. It’s made by touching your thumb and index finger together, and spreading out your other three fingers like a fan. Once upon a time, it was just an innocuous A-Ok hand gesture. In fact, it’s so new as a hate symbol that many folks still don’t know about it. I actually had to explain it to my mom, dad, and a few of friends whom I reached out to shortly after this happened. The hand sign was only classified in September 2019 – or at the start of our school year -- as a hate symbol by the Anti-Defamation League, a well-known Jewish civil rights organization.

“The ‘Ok” Hand Gesture Is Now Listed as a Symbol of Hate”

Bobby Allyn, NPR, September 26, 2019.

So what is it and where did it come from? When it first appeared in the 17th century, it did indeed signal understanding, consent, approval or well-being. By the 18th century, it took on the familiar meaning of “ok,” all is well. Some of you may know  that the hand sign has a special resonance in in Hinduism and Buddhism, meaning inner perfection. But then in 2017, that all changed. It started as a hoax, initiated by users of the website 4chan. But the hoax worked a little too well. Neo-Nazis, KKK members, and white supremacists adopted the hand signal and, since 2017, it’s spread like a cancer. 

Some of you may have seen these images in the media over the last few years. 

This is Richard Spencer, the promoter of a white power rally in Charlottesville VA in 2017.

Richard Spencer prior to a 2017 “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, VA, which left one woman, Heather Heyer, dead.

This is Roger Stone, a political consultant convicted of witness tampering and lying to investigators. Here he is surrounded by members of the Proud Boys, a prominent white nationalist group.

Roger Stone with the Proud Boys.

And this is Brenton Tarrant, the man accused of killing 50 people in back-to-back mass shootings at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand exactly one year ago.

“‘OK’ hand gesture, ‘Bowlcut’ added to hate symbols index”

Associated Press, Los Angeles Times, September 27, 2019.

There are many more examples, but I think you get the point.

Why did they choose this particular signal? Because, according to the Anti-Defamation League, it forms the letters W P -- short for white power. To be very clear: not everyone who flashes this sign is a white nationalist. In fact, the Anti-Defamation League warns us that because it’s caught on as a racist hate symbol, we have to be particularly cautious when we see it not to jump to conclusions. Think to yourself: Who is this person? Who have they shown me to be? How do they show up, day in and day out? Have they demonstrated hateful intent such as, for example, tail-gating me for 10 minutes, flipping me off, then hiding behind their bandana as they meaningfully flash the sideways OK sign at me -- while passing me, while staring me straight in the eyes? That’s a set of highly specific circumstances that leads me to believe we’re dealing with a white power nationalist. 

“Okay Hand Gesture: Racist Hand Signs”

Anti-Defamation League,

After this happened, I called my husband, Matt. I think I needed someone who would believe me to know that this thing had happened. After talking with him, I thought that I was ok as I pulled into the school parking lot that morning. But I wasn’t. I was shaking, uncontrollably. I spilled coffee on myself as I tried to take a sip that morning. And I sat in the parking lot, breathing slowly for about 45 minutes. I’ll be honest -- I wasn’t thinking straight. 

Eventually,  I got out of the car, I went to work, I lived my life. That’s when the real hell began. 

I was ashamed. Why had I lost control like that? Why couldn’t I stop shaking? What’s wrong with me? Even when I could finally hold my coffee cup again, it felt like my insides were shivering, and I couldn’t stop it. 

I was embarrassed. Why did I care? Why did I let one random bandana’d  freeway guy have so much power over me? 

I reasoned with myself. It’s just three fingers, three little fingers. They can’t hurt me. What’s really the harm?

I doubted myself. Maybe I misunderstood. It’s possible he was just saying hope you’re having an A-ok day!

I was mad at myself. Why can’t I just get over it? What’s wrong with me? I have a job to do.

It’s taken a few days, but I realize now: I couldn’t get over it because it reminded me that hate lives -- it thrives -- in this world, especially now. I couldn’t get over it because it reminded me that ultimately I have so little control over the world around me. I couldn’t get over it because it’s hard to have power taken away from you, abruptly, no argument, no consent. It leaves you feeling stupid, impotent, powerless, even in the face of something like white supremacy that is no less stupid, impotent, powerless. 

I also couldn’t get over it because it reminded me of all the other times in all the other places throughout my life when people like him treated me like that (because I’m a woman? because I’m brown? Both, neither, I’ll never know.) When people like him did what they wanted and I was left picking up the pieces (because I’m a woman? because I’m brown? Both, neither, I’ll never know). When people like him treated my life like it’s a joke, something to be trampled on (because I’m a woman? because I’m brown? Both, neither, I’ll never know.) 

What I’m saying is: it reminded me of all the times, in all my life, when I’ve been robbed of a tiny piece of my personhood, of my dignity, and I couldn’t fight back because the man on the motorcycle drove away, and I had work to do. 

Why am I telling you all this? There are three reasons.

First, because symbols of hatred are powerful, whether we like it or not. I mean symbols broadly – hand gestures, images, pictures. But also language, words, phrases. We might not want them to be powerful, some of us may not be 100% aware of their histories, of their meanings. But they have a history, they have meaning, and they have a detrimental impact on those of us who do know their histories and meanings.

Second, because one of the more harmful impacts of these symbols is that they cause some of us to question not only the world around us but ourselves. We all have a job to do in this world.  For me, it’s being a teacher, a DEI director, a colleague, wife, friend, and daughter. For you, it’s being a student, athlete, performer, child, sibling. Let me ask you: If your insides are shaking,  how are you able to show up and be your best self? How can you concentrate and do your best work? Racism is a distraction, said Toni Morrison. But it is a powerful distraction, I would add.

Third, I’m sharing this story with you because even though it may seem like just one fleeting moment, the human brain doesn’t work that way. One disempowering moment links up in our brains with every single disempowering moment that bears even the tiniest resemblance to that one instance. And some of us will spend our lives trying to unlink them, trying to develop strategies in order to transcend them. Like, for example, breathing exercises in your car…

These are heavy topics, but we need to talk about this because the world out there walks in here with us every day. As we close the trimester, I need your help. I need you to talk to your friends, peers, parents, and siblings over the spring break. Ask them:

·      Who is responsible for teaching us these things? Is it our friends, teachers, parents, coaches? Is it me, your Director of Equity and Inclusion? Is it all of us? When? How? 

·      In a school setting, where we are all learning new things every day, how do we balance the fact that some of us are only just learning about these hateful histories -- hate symbols, hate speech, etc. -- while others of us know about them, have been exposed to them, have been damaged by them, for a long time?

·      Finally, we know that we’ll make mistakes in our lives; we know that mistakes offer us an opportunity to learn. So if (and when!) we make a mistake, how can we be sure that others will show us the grace we need to learn from it? And -- even more importantly -- will we be deserving of that grace? Because if we have not been our best selves, we may not have earned the opportunity to make amends, and then we’ll never learn. And the vicious cycle repeats itself.

Please take some time over the break to discuss these hard questions with your loved ones. I’m hoping we’ll have an opportunity to hear what you’ve learned when you get back from the break.

By way of closing, I just want to thank you all for hearing me out. I know it’s a hard subject. It’s been hard on me, too. I thank you all for making space this morning to engage in this challenging conversation. I hope all of you can walk out of this auditorium feeling bigger and more powerful than any one single moment.  Have a good day, and a fantastic break.