Hell Froze Over, Part II: “I have no race . . . which is to say I have the option of silence”

I saw some crazy, crazy, crazy good performances at Hell Froze Over.

So diverse, deep, though-provoking and powerful that I can’t handle them all at once, or even sequentially. This one’s been stuck in my mind for the past two days, and I feel like talking about it now.

The second though, I believe, had a stronger impact on me. It was a poetry program (a collection of poems memorized, spliced together, and performed on a common theme) about the “oppression of the white man,” centered on the self-immolation of an angry white man protesting something or other having to do with feminism. The poetry shocked by merely showcasing the twisted thinking that goes into this logic, and it ended on a powerful note: “I have no race . . . which is to say I have the option of silence.”

This line jammed its way up into the back of my brain and has been sitting there since. Does it make sense to say “I have no race” as a white person? Obviously not . . . because after all, there are characteristics/stereotypes/commonalities that do “define” white people – such as our wealth, racial unawareness, and awkward dance moves. But the line “I have no race” makes much more sense when thought of in context with the other half: “which is to say I have the option of silence”. Although I think you can interpret this phrase in a few different ways, I took it as white people not having to be “always conscious” about their race. A white man has “the option of silence” or the choice to have no race, to stand in a predominantly white society as a someone who isn’t defined primarily by his race, but rather by his quirks, interests, talents and failings as a person. Contrast with a black man or woman, who in any predominantly white social situation is not “John” or “Trevane” but instead “Black John” or “Guy with the Black Name”. It’s terrible.

I’m sure that no amount of writing on my part could convince anyone I understand, acknowledge or perceive my own racial consciousness and privilege entirely . . . which is good, because I don’t. I hope I haven’t offended here, and I might write about this much more in the future, since it’s a topic that interests me much. Tomorrow night: Either something totally different, or more HFO!

Hell Froze Over, Part I

Everything is bigger in Texas, as the saying goes*, but I ate an incredibly tiny apple today at the University of Texas at Austin.

Hell really did freeze over.

I’m here with Lafayette College’s Speech and Debate team, competing in two back-to-back tournaments over two days named collectively “Hell Froze Over” – for what reason, I’m not sure. All the Speech and Debate names and faces are out here, and it’s good to see some of them again, including an old friend who graduated last year. I’m not too good at the competition (I don’t practice as much as I should), but it’s entertaining seeing some of the better speeches – for example, I saw a Program Oral Interpretation (POI) today from a very well-known competitor named Kaby Brown. In POI, a single speaker gives one 10 minute performance integrating any number of sources from prose, poetry, drama, articles, or other written material. Kaby spoke about the catharsis of giving voice to your inner turmoils through art . . . which is, surprisingly enough, an unusually complex topic for POI (and forensics in general), which have an unfortunate tendency to hit you over the head with their topics.

Texas is pleasant. It’s warm, at the very least, and there’s great, authentic-ish Mexican food to be had here. I’ve had more avocado over the past two days than the previous month. The outskirts of Austin are diffuse, separated by huge tracts of green. I passed a man wearing a cowboy hat and spurs yesterday. A woman in the airport said y’all to me while I was busy knocking over all the luggage while trying to get to mine. It was cloudy yesterday, but today the clouds parted and the sun actually shone on my skin and it was warm. I spent an hour or so standing on a bridge which overlooked the highway, feeling the light breeze and considering how strange it would be to jump off. And interspersed into my tender moments with this environment were my speeches, which came every two-hours or so, and I shook hands with people and learned their names and how long their flights took and how cold it is where they are. The warmth really does make people more polite.

And I’m gonna do it all again tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll talk about more individual speeches. Goodnight!

 

*I believe this saying is from Spongebob.