I Am White and It Feels DISGUSTING:

A Bartender's Journal of Connection and Reflection

This came to me while writing the Ethics and Actions series and I feel it may be a good break to bridge some gaps between that series into some future articles. This is a journal of some interactions from trying to promote some organization actions in my community. Two of them occurred at my job. I am a bartender at a punk bar in the heart of Florida. I have realized over the last three years that this position along with the environment the bar aims to generate gives not only myself, but everyone here a shockingly good opportunity to have some very deep and meaningful discussions and connections. One of those discussions happened last night and while I’ve had these conversations before, this is the first one that has been translated into a journal.

I was doing what I always aim to do when slinging cheap beers and shots. Building deep relationships that challenge the cultural hierarchy. About midway through my shift, as the alcohol starts to set in, one of my favorite regulars breaks the ice. “Hey Chris, last couple of times we were here, we overheard a conversation and I’d like to talk about it.” I can feel my body tense up immediately. The conversation he’s referring to left me tense. I could feel his tension fill the air like the steam in a sauna, weighing every neuron in us down.

The conversation (we’ll call this regular Adam) was referring to “What does it mean to be White in a society that only recognizes racial understanding from Black Culture?” and much anticipated, it spun out of control. What shocked me is Adam wanting to further engage. See, Adam and I have a fair share of common interests. We mainly talk about guns, gardening, and coffee. This was the first time our conversation steered “political” (race isn’t political, it supports our political system, that is why it is in quotation marks). Preparing myself for the conversation, I checked in with myself. How’s my breathing? Do we have the space and time to talk about this in a constructive way? Am I too busy to give Adam the needed attention and time to process this conversation? See, when we White people talk about race it is a very slippery slope to, what is essentially, a nervous breakdown. We have ignored our bodies for so long in the racial hierarchy that we implode to find safety within ourselves when confronted with being “White.” From there, when we cannot find that safety within ourselves, the projection happens. I have had them and they suck. It feels like your very identity does not exist and your brain just explodes into defense and self-isolation. I do my best to prevent them; however, sometimes we are in a space that seems safe to engage when in all actuality, the very moment the connection is broken, we lose ground in helping the conversation.

With that in mind, the above questions have been a “checklist” of sorts since becoming a community organizer and allows me to check in quickly what kind of ground we can cover when bringing much-needed education and healthy deconstruction in this oppressive system. With the check-in, I found myself yes, I can provide the space for myself and Adam to dive deeper into the conversation. “Where would you like to start?” I beamed at Adam with the most radiant smile I can muster. “Thank you for wanting to step up; I am here for you and I can see you want to be here for me.”

Adam, now visibly nervous, takes his first step. “During your last conversation, you mentioned there’s two cultures happening in the US. Black and White. I can agree to that, but I think our system’s oppression is only on the working class for the rich and they use race to divide us for their benefit. It is not the factor that crushes us; it is a byproduct. We should have a class war, not a race war.” The key here is to listen fully and intently to the challenge we face. Because we are talking with people and want to bring as many people IN as possible to stop oppression, we have to treat these conversations with the utmost care and kindness. With that, I try to guide these conversations through a very basic educational model (directly answer the question with a base agreement, provide an example, offer a follow-up question in return).

“You’re absolutely correct, Adam. Class is a separating factor when it comes to oppression. It is also the only one you and I can feel as white straight men, directly. However, because of the two cultures mentioned in the other conversation, class is also separated by race. Foundationally, the first exploited labor was the free labor from Black slaves. That not only generated a culture of economic oppression but also mental oppression. I think that the internal mental oppression happens first and the economy is a reflection of that mental hierarchy. How can we recognize economic oppression and how does it play into the racial hierarchy?” I sat for a second, Adam’s gears turning a light sparked in Adam’s eye. He hits me with an all-too-common counter: “Well, we have rich Black people like Jay Z, Beyonce, and Snoop Dogg. Do they follow in the oppression of their own people or do they exploit white labor as well?” Shocked that Adam offered a question as well. Most of my (and many others') conversations tend to be one-sided counterpoints with no following search questions. Now we’re getting deep; how can I frame this that Adam will not only feel but understand? I gave ourselves a second, searching for my own answer while allowing Adam to sit with his own question. “Again, you are correct in the aspect that Beyonce, Jay Z, and other Black business leaders exploit labor. What do we see both physically and internally when it comes to the cultural response? Not only from poor white bodies, but rich white bodies as well?” pausing for a second so we can both process. “We see the tokenization of these people from their skin color. Look at how the mega-rich treat ‘successful’ Black, Brown, and marginalized communities. They get treated as ‘woke,’ ‘DEI success’ or they get used as a shield from the white identity being called racist.” “I can’t be racist; I work with Black people. I have Black friends.” Meanwhile, there is no social change from the people who have the direct access to fund effective and healthy social change. It’s not just greed; they separate themselves as the White Body cannot change minds; it’s either assimilate or get oppressed.”

Adam goes silent. This is the point that I fear will generate a meltdown. The connection of the white identity. Adam looks to the people around us who have now started listening as well. A silence falls, uneasy, tense. Adam takes a breath: “Dude, holy shit. Okay. So what you’re saying is even if we have an effective class war and win, the internalized racism will still be there?” I am in shock at this point; most interactions, especially with other white men, don’t go to that question this early. I even struggled with myself for years to come to that realization. I was a staunch “no war but the class war” leftist. I couldn’t hold back the excitement. “BRO YES!” falling out of me like we just met for the first time talking about our favorite peppers to grow. “In order to understand how to effectively stage a class war, we have to look at class as a social construct centered on race, religious, and sexual identities. Our society isn’t built on just the exploitation of rich vs. poor. The foundation that we struggle with is, the supremacy of the White Body generates the ability for much deeper cultural exploitation. Because it no longer separates through economic practices, it separates us through our very identities. Allowing us to feel superior to each other marginalized groups both actively (like we see with open hate groups like the KKK, Neo-Nazis, and others) and inactively through us not recognizing that race is the key component that upholds this system. Our economic disparity we see is a product of race. Think ‘Keep the White people just above the poor people so they can be our slave catchers.’ If we attempt to attack the slave master, we will fail to recognize the auctioneer, catcher, and plantation patrol. Effectively falling back into the system we’re trying to fight against. And that system is in our heads. We are the slave catchers, the auctioneers, and patrolmen.” Adam, now sitting in deep thought, I can see the light starting to brighten; this is going well. Then a shift happens. Not with Adam, but with Mark, who had been listening in.

A Meltdown

Mark (a close-ish friend, we’ve spent a ton of time together at the bar), visibly frustrated, forces their way in. “CHRIS, we had this conversation two weeks ago and it has been sitting on my mind. I am stressed out; I’m losing sleep over this.” Mark was one of the first people I attempted to have this conversation with. I have met the most outright resistance with Mark. They fell hard into the “if we don’t talk about race, we can’t be racist” defense. The tokenization mentioned with Adam must have pulled an emotional lynchpin. I quickly took down my defenses; I could feel Mark’s tension reflecting in my nervous system. “My friend, I know I have forced this on you before. Please, take a breath; we can hold this conversation in a place where you don’t feel I’m attacking you.” Mark approaches me, tearing up. “I’m really sorry, I’m really drunk and I want to talk about this, but I can’t focus. Can I give you a hug?” Mind you, Mark and I have spent many nights at the bar together; I am comfortable with them in the sense that I know they don’t want to harm, and if they did, I am prepared to prevent that harm. I gladly received the hug. “Adam, I am glad we had this conversation; let’s pick it up later, I’ll hit you up on Instagram and we can continue there.” Turning to the meltdown, I place my hands on Mark's shoulders, much like I would if my children were upset. I want to show there is no judgment or condemnation with them. “Man, I can feel the stress on you. Take a deep breath with me. I will check in with you on your next day off. I’d love to have this conversation with you.” Mark starts following with the breaths; the physical stress starts to melt away, his shoulders loosen. “Man, I’m really sorry; it’s just that the last time we talked about this, it’s like you have the most counterpoints to anything I try to bring up. It’s like no matter what I say, you have to be right and I’m wrong. But as soon as I think about it, you are right and it’s really hard to understand how.” I grab Mark’s shoulders again. “Listen, man, these conversations take time and a ton of introspection. The resistance you feel in yourself is natural; it’s a good thing. A strong emotional response helps me know where the pain is the most for you. Some people don’t have a meltdown. That is okay; the meltdown is needed. Thank you for being comfortable enough with me to show me your frustration.” I really try to be as positive as possible. Has there been a ton of frustration with Mark? Absolutely. Mark has put up a ton of resistance. I have put up my own resistance. Mark has taught me more than he knows, not only about him and how to be a supportive friend for him, but how to check in with myself so when a friend does meltdown or put up resistance, we can still maintain enough trust and love to keep moving forward. Mark is one of the reasons I still work at this bar and part of why it feels like a second home. One where I can let go and feel human with the people around me.

I believe this is the stopping point for this particular work. I wanted to journal this interaction. I’ve had similar ones before, but I think offering some lived experience may help other people see a way through this work. Potentially different ways, or it may reinforce a pattern we see in anti-racism work. Either way, this is a labor of love. A love for Adam, love for Mark, and love for you and us to be more caring, genuine humans. If you read this massive wall of text, thank you. I know it’s a longer work than my previous one. Ethics and Actions: Part 4 will be published shortly after this work and I hope this is a good bridge to where the series is going.

— TwoToneTrouble ♥