Racism in the Workplace: a Memoir (Epilogue)

The U.S. Supreme Court building

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE

“What does SCOTUS stand for?” my coworker asked, gazing solemnly into his phone.

“Supreme Court of the United States,” I replied, driving a screw into a surface. We weren’t supposed to check our phones during work hours, but most of us do, to inject the illusion of meaning into tedious tasks.

“Says here the SCOTUS just upheld DACA,” he continued, pointing at his screen. “What does that even mean?”

“Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals,” I explained. “It means people who come into America undocumented as minors, usually under age sixteen, and don’t have criminal records, are kind of low-priority in the deportation process.”

As we had this discussion, word was only just trickling out that the Supreme Court, with the assistance of nominally conservative Chief Justice John Roberts, had ruled the Trump Administration couldn’t euthanize the DACA program, a linchpin of President Obama’s legacy. To me, this seems like an obvious win. Hardworking young adults, who mostly don’t speak the language of their supposed homelands, can continue adding to America’s greatness, rather than fighting tedious court battles against deportation.

“Okay, mmm-hmm,” he said, nodding, without looking up from his phone. “So in other words we’re getting fucking soft.”

I swallowed hard. This is the same coworker who wondered aloud what made George Floyd so special. Since then, he’s insisted Americans should go easy on the police who shot Rayshard Brooks, saying: “If people understood the stress cops are under, they wouldn’t be so judgemental.” His complaints have a persistent tone: on wearing masks against COVID-19 he’s said “Nobody asked me if I wanted to participate.” After taking his wife to see Ocean’s 8 at the cinema, he claimed he got tricked into seeing a “chick movie.”

Since I’ve known him, he’s harbored strong opinions, which he doesn’t hesitate to share. And those opinions always, somehow, redound to the benefit of white, male, heterosexual, native-born Americans. He delights in airing his opinions, and if anyone disagrees, he treats that dissent like a personal attack and comes back swinging. I try not to give his self-pitying bloviation unnecessary air.

But in recent weeks, he seems increasingly strident. We work in an environment of constant noise and conversation, so at breaktimes, I prefer to read and keep quiet; but recently, he’s become insistent on talking about politics and current events. He especially wants to talk to me, and he uses racist language in doing so. It’s become so pointed, I suspect he’s reading this essay series and recognizes himself.

I intended this series to run three installments, and stop. I’d made my point, to my own satisfaction. Yet my coworker’s comment about “getting fucking soft” drove something home for me.

Historically, conservatives regard all change as decline. Slang is always degraded language, pop music is always worse than it used to be, and politics is always venal in a way it didn’t used to be. As a jaded ex-conservative myself, I understand this belief, because I once shared it. But I changed, and for a simple reason: I realized the past I lionized, embodied in classic rock, didn’t objectively exist. It was curated, and the curators stood to profit.

My coworker, to whom I often feel friendly but whom I wouldn’t necessarily consider a friend, is definitely racist. But he isn’t a committed bigot, would never join White Power organizations, and isn’t more than superficially committed to racism. Rather, for him, racism is part of a massive background collage that exemplifies the way things simply are. Racial justice, women’s issues, police reform, and wearing a mask, all demand he change.

That brought everything together for me. From the outright bigotry I see in blue-collar work, to the subtle, systemic exclusion I witnessed in teaching, it’s never been directly about race. It’s always been about the reality that those who are comfortable and well-protected, don’t want to sacrifice their comfort and protection, even for the common good. I don’t know exactly why I willingly embraced change when I did. But most people must be forced to change.

I turned to my coworker, stifling a sigh. Challenging him on the facts won’t change his mind. Instead I used my Hank Williams, Jr., argument, which I’ve described before, that conservatives once saw refugees as a sign America was doing something right. If they’re coming here, it’s because we uniquely have something they need.

He nodded at that, and I saw him biting his lips thoughtfully. Clearly I gave him a viewpoint that defended his worldview while making change possible. I probably didn’t change his mind.

But I can hope that I planted a seed which will bloom in the future.