The White Files

This is a personal blog exploring racism, sexism, and heterosexism through the lens of the personal perceptions and feelings of one white male heterosexual man.

Introduction

I've been thinking about starting this blog for quite some time, but I have felt stuck/paralyzed, unable to speak. I want to write about racism, the way i see it in myself (and I certainly do. I feel like I am one of the least racist people I know, and at the same time I believe I am riddled with racism), the way it has been ingrained in me, through media and culture, through history, through family. I want to write about my personal experiences, thoughts, and perceptions around racism in the United States. Whenever I delve into writing on this topic, I am afraid. I'm afraid of getting it wrong, I'm afraid of saying something racist, afraid of committing microaggressions, of saying something stupid or hurtful. And I probably will. Hopefully I will become aware of it, if I do, and be able to further discuss the issue and work through it. This fear has paralyzed me, but I cannot be silent anymore. I need to speak out.

This blog will also explore sexism and heterosexim.

With the current political upheaval taking place in this country right now, I am starkly aware that I am the demographic who is most protected and supported by the white supremacist patriarchy. I am a white man who identifies as heterosexual (though I don't view my sexuality as being on one side of a binary but rather existing somewhere in a wide spectrum of sexual possibility--for example, even though I identify as heterosexual, I believe I have a feminine side, and I seek to nurture and cultivate my femininity). I scream and moan about the injustices that are intensifying, but my friends who are Black, Brown, Muslim, Middle-Eastern, Jewish, Asian, Latino, LGBTQ+, and Women have much more to worry about than me. People from those groups are being targeted for attacks by racist and sexist violent aggressors and by racist and sexist political policy. I can do nothing and remain safe. I can wear the standard uniform, walk in lockstep, keep my mouth shut, watch silly movies, and pretend everything is normal; and remain safe. I can, but it would make me sick. This time things are too fucked up. Continuing to live a lie would sicken and kill me. So I stand up, and I won't shut up. I realize I've been preparing for this fight all my life. I now break my silence.

Jack Soffel
January 14, 2017

My Black Lives Matter T-Shirt and My Pink Hoodie

I go out in my pink hoody. It feels good. I feel like I'm somehow diffusing the rank-and-file parade of drab-colored uniforms. I think maybe people see a white man in a pink hoody and think, oh good, he's not one of those Trump motherfuckers. I feel that pink somehow brings calm to the world. I've had several people tell me it makes them smile. I also sometimes sense hostility from men. Perhaps it's only my imagination, but sometimes I pass men who seem to come confrontationally close to me when they pass, with an angry look in their eyes. I imagine these are mean gay-hating men (and such men do exist even here in the Bay Area), the kind of men who voted for Trump because they couldn't stand the thought of a woman president. Once I was wearing my pink hoodie on the train, and this guy started angrily walking around the train car shouting "Fuck! Fuck!" and banging the wall, after seeing me. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with me. I don't know. I had this scenario in my mind that maybe he spotted me and at first thought I was a woman (I have long hair, and in my pink hoodie I am sometimes mistaken for a woman), and then, when he looked more closely and realized I was a man, it pissed him off. I have no idea if this was what was really going on, but I think it's quite possible. Another time I was out walking alone at night and this guy rode his bicycle directly at me and then swerved away as he got closer. Again, I felt that, from a distance, he had thought I was a woman, and that he had intended to engage in some sort of male intimidation before he realized I was a man. What would he have done if I was a woman? Ride up on me and try to pick me up? Try to grab my breast as he rode by? Who knows? I feel that being in that position gives me some very slight insight into the kind of aggressive attention women have to deal with from men on a constant daily basis.

And I wear my Black Lives Matter t-shirt. I do get positive responses, people who say, "Alright! Black Lives Matter!" and, "Great shirt!" But I also feel the dissonance. I see some people staring at me with a disgruntled or disturbed look. Mostly I feel that it makes each person who sees it think or think twice, and I believe that is good. What does it mean for a white man to wear a Black Lives Matter t-shirt? I feel as if it places more responsibility on me (whether it does or not) to stand up against racism and white supremacist culture--that by wearing the shirt I should be some sort of "expert" at resisting racism. But I'm not. I'm still a white person with white privilege. I am still safer around police than a Black person wearing a Black Lives Matter t-shirt would be. I can still retreat into my white privilege. I can go home and surround myself with white media if I want to, withdraw once again into the world that upholds whiteness as the norm, that validates whiteness over non-white. And I do. And I will again. I'm not an expert at resisting racism. I will fail at fighting racism. But hopefully I will keep trying.

I'm walking down the sidewalk downtown, wearing my Black Lives Matter t-shirt, when cop cars come pulling up to the curb. They are investigating some sort of argument going on between two white men and a black woman. As I pass, a white cop gets out of his car right in front of me and clearly sees me and my t-shirt as I walk by. I'm worried. What if these police are racially insensitive and become unfairly violent towards the Black people involved in this incident? And I just slink by wearing my Black Lives Matter t-shirt and let it pass? I suddenly envision a horrifying world in which many white people start wearing Black Lives Matter t-shirts, at first in solidarity, but after time, the words become a diluted fashion statement, and white people, as usual, are just going about their business, wearing their Black Lives Matter t-shirts, walking past and ignoring incidents of racist police brutality. It's a possibility worth considering and guarding against. However, right now I believe wearing the t-shirt is better than not wearing it. I was hoping, since the cop saw my t-shirt, that it made him think twice, that whatever actions he took, seeing "Black Lives Matter" emblazoned across my chest may have had the effect of him double checking any racist inclinations he may have had in his dealings, or that, seeing me, he felt that "Black Lives Matter" was watching him, so he was reminded to act with more care. That's what I sincerely hope. I lingered around the area for awhile, imagining myself trying to attempt some kind of intervention if something bad went down. I don't know if I would have the courage do anything. The situation seemed calm, so I left.

I feel uncomfortable wearing the Black Lives Matter t-shirt in public. I think about taking it off before I go out, making it easier on myself, allowing myself to be more anonymous and less political. But I can't. I'm so sick of doing nothing, and now is definitely not the time to do nothing. So I embrace discomfort daily. I believe it's time for all of us white people to start pushing ourselves and making ourselves uncomfortable. Comfort is not what we need right now. The world needs our discomfort. I will keep wearing my Black Lives Matter t-shirt. I stand against white supremacy and the violence it wreaks upon the Black community in this country. I advocate for racial justice and racial equality.

Jack Soffel
January 14, 2017

Pink

I lust after pink. It's code pink. I carry the pink flag. I go to the thrift store looking for pink clothes. The thing is, pink clothes are mostly only in the women's section. So I begin drifting into the women's section, looking for the pink. Is this how crossdressing begins? Am I a crossdresser? I may be. What I wear isn't particularly feminine; jeans, a dress shirt (blouse), and a hoody. All pink. I am pink. I like dressing and looking somewhat androgynous. So, I'm finally worming into the women's department, gravitating towards the more "masculine" looking pink-colored clothes. I want to look fairly masculine, wearing all pink. It's a statement. It feels necessary to me. It's my thing. Somehow, I feel I've crossed a gender line. I've experienced the feeling you get when you're in the thrift store and you're aware of the fact that everyone in the thrift store is aware of the fact that a man is browsing through the women's clothes, and you are the man. It's uncomfortable. Well, it's time to get uncomfortable. Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Sometimes a man has to wear women's clothes. Sometimes a man has to wear pink. Let the pink flow. Let unicorn magic unfold.

Jack Soffel
January 14, 2017