I was thinking about the murder of George Floyd, and how I wanted to speak out about it, but I wasn’t sure how. Black people being killed by police and a system that perpetuates it cannot be allowed to continue. Any focus on property damage and violence, not to mention our President’s racism, militarism, and tear gassing of peaceful demonstrators are appalling.
Social media seemed the most obvious place to speak out, but I didn’t want to shout above the din when this is such an important time to listen. My best friend is more outspoken and courageous than I am, and she said, “I think there are some pretty obvious things and I think I should explain them to other white people. I think you might be surprised at the obvious stuff that needs to be said/repeated/reinforced.” I mentioned that I’d seen a thing one of our mutual friends had posted that made me take seriously that even if my class was in human-computer interaction, I was, in fact, a teacher, and we agreed that talking to students was important too.
I’m a white, Canadian man who’s a US citizen, which affords me a lot of distinct advantages I didn’t have to do anything to earn. I thought it was important to acknowledge to my class that I’m sad and angry about George Floyd’s murder, and the violence against black people caused by police brutality. I also thought it was important to acknowledge that the world we live in reflects me and my experiences. The students in the voice interaction design class I teach mostly aren’t men, mostly aren’t white, and many them weren’t born in the US and aren’t native speakers of English. It felt important to say that I benefit from whiteness that in ways many people can’t, but a system that excludes and diminishes black people and others who don’t look like me fails us all.
I didn’t prepare, didn’t take notes, didn’t rehearse; I know this stuff. We had a packed agenda with a guest lecturer and student presentations on this last day of class, so I just took a minute before our guest to say something. Then we moved on.
Only while I was reading the news after class did I realize I didn’t once say “white” or “black,” or mention that I’d lived my entire life without ever having to think about my safety or value. Sure, I acknowledged the injustice, and said I was sad, and angry. I made sure the students knew I knew it was hard for them to be in class, and I anyone coming late, leaving early, or not attending, and anyone who needed it had an extension for delivering their work, no need to ask permission.
I thought it would be easy to say, ”I’m a white man, and as a result, I have privileges and power that allow me to say and do what I like without fear. Like walk down the street and never worry for a minute that a police officer will kill me.” But it turns out it wasn’t. After all, never in my life have I ever had to say those words. Even if I try to be thoughtful, I’ve still never told anyone my safety and success owes a great deal to the the color of my parents’ skin. Without realizing it, I’d centered my narrative around myself and my reaction to this tragedy, but had not mentioned my own benefit, and thus complicity, in a system of white supremacy in North America.
In this class in conversation design, I’ve taught my students to say their designs out loud to feel what their brain does when they hear their own words. To practice their dialogs out loud with other people, so they can see what their faces do when they hear the same words, and they can hear what people say naturally in response. That if you don’t, the consequences are disastrous.
So disastrous that you might even believe you said something when you hadn’t, it turns out!
Making mistakes is inevitable. The trick is to learn from it and do better. Better late than never.