ON INVISIBILITY: Part I
So I went to this practically all-white cocktail party last weekend, at which a friend was among the honorees. As I chatted with another friend, the honoree’s sister approached, clearly focused on speaking with my companion. We both greeted her by name, but when she proceeded to talk as though I wasn’t there, my friend, to her credit, asked if she and I knew each other. Having met the woman a handful of times over the years, I readily responded, “Yes,” while at the very same moment, she, for whom those encounters were obviously not as memorable, shook her head, “No.”
OK, so that was awkward. But then, after shaking my hand and uttering a quick “Nice to meet you,” she went on, as I stood there, to ask my friend if she wanted to join in the continuation of the celebration after the party ended. It was by no means an exclusive invitation, which of course should have been handled more discreetly, but rather a “We’re getting a group together/anything goes” approach. If I didn’t already have a houseguest at home, who had graciously offered to babysit for the short time I intended to be at the party, I think I would have had to jump in. Come to think of it, I should have said something anyway, regardless of whether or not I intended on going.
Well, it just so happens that following up on my most recent call for inclusiveness, my next entry was going to be about a similar experience a few years ago at my daughter’s school. A group of moms were standing around at pick-up one winter afternoon. The one on my right says to the one to my left, “What a great idea to get a group of girls together to go ice skating after school tomorrow.” The one on my left says to the one on my right, “I think I’ve asked everybody; do you think there is anyone else who might want to go?” The one on my right responds, “No. I’ve asked the entire class,” and she lists who is going. Meanwhile, I’m just standing there in the middle, silently watching like the linesman at a tennis match, the lone brown-skinned mother of the lone brown-skinned child in the class, and no one has ever mentioned the outing to me. What to do? “Well, that does sound great,” I finally force myself to say, with strained enthusiasm. “We love skating and would be happy to join you.” Looking very surprised, and a bit embarrassed, both mothers start to fumble a bit. It’s a race to see who recovers first, and then the winner mumbles, “Oh…umm…we didn’t think you would be interested…but yes, ummm…yes, please come.”
What does it all mean? There are two problems that I see here. The first is the assumption that I wouldn’t be interested. Forget whatever the reasons were for thinking that I wouldn’t want to go ice skating – black people don’t skate? Following that clearly faulty line of logic provides a tremendously convenient excuse for never including a lot of people. Where would we be if we only extended invitations to people we felt certain would accept them? And yet, that’s what happens more often than I’d like to think.
The second issue is this whole invisibility thing, which I know will come up again and again here. Many readers know what I’m talking about: those moments when you want to shout, “Hello!?! Am I invisible?” There’s just this innate refusal to recognize our existence, whether it’s a salesperson in a boutique, a business associate, another parent or even a teacher. In most instances, I don’t feel it’s intentional, like perhaps it used to be, but rather a bad habit that they picked up along the way, most likely from their parents, who grew up when it was. In far too many instances, unless people of color are where they’re supposed to be in the majority’s universal order of things – i.e., providing a service - we’re just not on the radar screen.
And I wonder: will it get better now that someone who looks like me is in the White House? What do you think? Maybe if we all post our stories of invisibility, we will become just a little more visible.
OK, so that was awkward. But then, after shaking my hand and uttering a quick “Nice to meet you,” she went on, as I stood there, to ask my friend if she wanted to join in the continuation of the celebration after the party ended. It was by no means an exclusive invitation, which of course should have been handled more discreetly, but rather a “We’re getting a group together/anything goes” approach. If I didn’t already have a houseguest at home, who had graciously offered to babysit for the short time I intended to be at the party, I think I would have had to jump in. Come to think of it, I should have said something anyway, regardless of whether or not I intended on going.
Well, it just so happens that following up on my most recent call for inclusiveness, my next entry was going to be about a similar experience a few years ago at my daughter’s school. A group of moms were standing around at pick-up one winter afternoon. The one on my right says to the one to my left, “What a great idea to get a group of girls together to go ice skating after school tomorrow.” The one on my left says to the one on my right, “I think I’ve asked everybody; do you think there is anyone else who might want to go?” The one on my right responds, “No. I’ve asked the entire class,” and she lists who is going. Meanwhile, I’m just standing there in the middle, silently watching like the linesman at a tennis match, the lone brown-skinned mother of the lone brown-skinned child in the class, and no one has ever mentioned the outing to me. What to do? “Well, that does sound great,” I finally force myself to say, with strained enthusiasm. “We love skating and would be happy to join you.” Looking very surprised, and a bit embarrassed, both mothers start to fumble a bit. It’s a race to see who recovers first, and then the winner mumbles, “Oh…umm…we didn’t think you would be interested…but yes, ummm…yes, please come.”
What does it all mean? There are two problems that I see here. The first is the assumption that I wouldn’t be interested. Forget whatever the reasons were for thinking that I wouldn’t want to go ice skating – black people don’t skate? Following that clearly faulty line of logic provides a tremendously convenient excuse for never including a lot of people. Where would we be if we only extended invitations to people we felt certain would accept them? And yet, that’s what happens more often than I’d like to think.
The second issue is this whole invisibility thing, which I know will come up again and again here. Many readers know what I’m talking about: those moments when you want to shout, “Hello!?! Am I invisible?” There’s just this innate refusal to recognize our existence, whether it’s a salesperson in a boutique, a business associate, another parent or even a teacher. In most instances, I don’t feel it’s intentional, like perhaps it used to be, but rather a bad habit that they picked up along the way, most likely from their parents, who grew up when it was. In far too many instances, unless people of color are where they’re supposed to be in the majority’s universal order of things – i.e., providing a service - we’re just not on the radar screen.
And I wonder: will it get better now that someone who looks like me is in the White House? What do you think? Maybe if we all post our stories of invisibility, we will become just a little more visible.
How awesome that I stumbled across your site. I have a child of color in an independent school too! I will keep reading, if you keep writing!
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