"White Fragility" by Robin DiAngelo

White Fragility acts as a sort of primer on racism, specifically the omnipresent racism in the United States that elevates--and simultaneously makes invisible--whiteness in order to perpetuate the subjugation of people of color more broadly and Black Americans in particular. Unlike a lot of popular nonfiction that is narrative-focused and anecdote-heavy, White Fragility operates much more like a textbook: straightforward, term-focused, with easy-to-follow lists and summaries (though she does include illustrative examples). While in other subjects I might have been turned off by the didactic approach, here I appreciated it. The starkness of her claims removes any potential ambiguity; the repetition ensures the point is received, not subconsciously countered by a reader's internal judgment.

What makes DiAngelo's book important, especially for me, is its focus on "good" racists--liberal, progressive whites who sympathize with the historical plight of people of color but disown their own complicity in racism. DiAngelo argues this type of racism is perhaps even more pernicious because it's more challenging to fight and counter, even as it perpetuates oppression.

In reading the book, I was able to understand so much of what I've experienced: my own racist ideologies despite my liberal attitude; my discomfort around people of color; my inability to articulate why racism perseveres today when overt, act-specific racism is condemned; the challenges--and failures--I've experienced trying to talk about racism as a teacher in a primarily white school.

It explains why, though I've spoken with white friends about racism, it's always been in a "tsk, tsk" kind of way, something that's made easier with Trump in the White House. I mean, I'm nothing like him! I've almost never spoken about my own racism. It's what's allowed me to dismiss the intense segregation in which I grew up and in which I currently live as a neutral choice of good schools.

Towards the end of the book, DiAngelo addresses the question of "what should I do when I encounter a white person engaging in racist behavior or holding racist attitudes?" Her immediate response is, "What are you going to do about your racist behavior and attitudes?" Again, I was challenged. I had still been reading the book with a removed attitude. Yes, white people do that!, I'd agreed. Not, I do that. It was so easy to fall into the trap of seeing myself as one of the "good" ones, someone who was aware and owned-up to her racism, someone who would accept exposure as a racist. The most important thing you can do, DiAngelo argues, is to be aware of your own racism and work to break white solidarity. You probably won't change the mind of a fellow white peer by exposing his or her "well-intentioned" racism; but you can break the unspoken agreement (that works to perpetuate racism) that whites stay together by speaking out.

The book has a lot of consequences for my work as an educator. I've struggled to discuss racism in any meaningful way in the classroom, and when it's brought up, it's primarily historical, such as in Huck Finn and A Raisin in the Sun. It's too easy for the students--no, me--to frame the book's overt depictions of racism as bad while dismissing any relevance to today. I've realized discussion about racism needs to be overt, it needs to be about whiteness, and it needs to be about today. DiAngelo has also made it clear that such a discussion will not go over well. Students'--and my own--white fragility will be triggered, and in a predominantly-white classroom, it will feel safer to retreat to white solidarity. But I still need to say it, even if only to challenge the tacit norm. In some ways, her assertions are comforting. She is a career diversity educator, and yet she regularly encounters hostile or reactionary participants. Why should I expected any discussion I lead would end racism? Such an acknowledgement frames the inevitable "failure" of such discussions as a product of white fragility. The success comes in working to challenge it despite the failure.

There are also implications for how I raise my daughters. Like many white people, I've focused on the generic "treat everyone the same!" model, which again perpetuates racism and white superiority by failing to acknowledge the racist system in which they are raised. Though I've spoken with them about historical racism against Black Americans, I've never spoken to them about their own whiteness. Such omissions are compounded by the fact that we live in a highly segregated neighborhood and the girls will attend a highly segregated school. They encounter few people of color in their lives on a regular basis, and my husband and I have no local friends of color. A vague "be kind!" message and some picture books with protagonists of color aren't going to cut it. It would be disingenuous of me to suggest that we'll move to an integrated neighborhood or that our social groups will substantively change. At a minimum, then, I need to explicitly acknowledge those realities to my daughters while finding ways to expand their experiences.

Overall I found White Fragility accessible and clear; I would highly recommend it to any white progressives.