On Race and Gender and Visibility

What do you notice first, race or gender?

It's a good question. I used to think the answer was gender, because people how could you miss it? She either is or isn't a woman - there's no other choice, right (I've since changed my opinions on this matter)? Even though I know all about the workings and importance of rac e and gender as well, in this country and make it my priority to live a life that shows pride and knowledge in and of my culture, I mistakenly reached the wrong conclusion on this one.
Several incidents of late, two in particular, have shown me the error of my ways.

One example happened today. As my car is currently on the outs, I've taken to using public transportation - the Metro - for my transportation needs. On this morning of all mornings with a temperature hovering at 0 F and a sub-zero windchill, I was obviously bundled up to the max. So I get on the bus and take the first seat open, next to this youngish white woman, dressed rather well, looking like she was about to go to work at some big, downtown company, like she'd just rolled out of bed in her expensive, young-urban-professional-ish penthouse in Hyde Park and hopped on the 'Tro as a way to conserve gas and appear trendy and urban to her yuppy co-workers (clearly I'm relying on a bunch on stereotypes and assumptions here, mostly for creative purposes). So I note The Look on her face. You know, the one that says, 'please don't sit next to me person whose not quite on my level'. It's seen often on the faces of many a bus traveler when in contact with someone different - often racially - than they are. So, noting the Look, I sit down anyway. As I losen my coat and assortment of scarves, I brush against her arm. I note the way she repels from my lightest of light touch. She scoots as far away as possible from me, as if she's afraid that some of my blackness, er, coldness (I told you it was sub-zero out there) might rub off on her. I also note the way she refuses to look at me, not once do her head or eyes move to the right to acknowledge my presence. Perhaps she feels so badly that I waited outside for 15 minutes for that damn bus in that god awful cold, that she can't even bear to look at me at risk of bursting into tears of compassion. Perhaps it's my bundled appearance not unlike her own, that frightens her. After all, you can't trust a darky with it's face covered up, right? Right.
So after noting her rather peculiar (not really) behavior, I start to wonder. What does she think when she sees me? I know I've made several assumptions about her, but what assumptions has she made about me? Are all of those assumptions based off of my race?

I wonder.

So later this morning I'm in training at my new job. There's me, a graying, Black man, and a young, white girl around my age. We have to show the HR secretary our social security cards and driver's license so that she can fill out some paperwork. Somehow, the poor secretary - bless her heart - got me and this gray haired Black man confused. Somehow my information wound up on his form and his on mine. Somehow this mistake happened while our picture ids were right in front of her face (that's where the information came from). Somehow the young, white, girl was left out of this unfortunate, but definitely unintentional and somewhat embarrssing (oops, nervous giggle, how'd that happen?) faux pas.

I wonder. How did that happen? Did she just see brown face and start writing? Did she not notice female face versus male face? Did she not notice 23 year old face versus forty something face? Hell, did she not notice shock of shoulder, length black hair versus almost no hair at all? Or perhaps this woman is so naturally pc, so all inclusive, so non-white-male-blind that she doesn't even notice little things like race, gender/sex or age. Perhaps this woman is the PC Posterchild and maybe her's is the face that should be shown around the world to those in need of a litle diversity training. I dunno.

So these incidents, along with a bunch I've accumulated over the years, have served to bolster my stance (new as it may be) that race trumps gender in this country in terms of visibility and to support one that I've known was true since I was able to think rationally, perhaps before then seeing as I was raised by an extremely pro-Black Nationalist: Race matters (to borrow Dr. Cornel West's book title).

So, what does all this mean? Well, it means that we have a long way to go in the fight for equality. It means that no matter how much I or you or whoever, know that race is a social contruction, it doesn't matter as long as people so inclined to discriminate can see the difference and act accordingly.

Honestly, it's a bit disheartening.

Not because I need or want white people's approval or acceptance, but because I need and want to be treated as a equal citezen in this country of my birth. Truthfully, it's pretty damn ludicrous to ask people not to notice difference. And to be honest, it's even harder to ask them not to make judgements bosed off of those notations. All I'm asking is that we don't act on them. That we take the chance to get to know the person, rather than to lump them in the fictional box we've created for them to support our (white, male, capitalist, heterosexist patriarchy) own theories of inferiority. Why can't we accept difference, love it and support each other because of, not in spite of, it? Perhaps that's too much to ask.

So when the next time you see me walking down the street, rocking, my Afro, my baby girl on my hip sans a ring on my 4th (or 2nd, depending on where you start) finger, and a backpack on my back. Don't assume I'm a welfare queen, an uneducated hoodrat, a baby mama, a ho, a shoplifter or the plethora of other sterotypes abounding about women who may look like me. Just remember, you don't know me or even my type (what's that?) so please, don't pretend you do.