I will never understand.
I was just told to my very own face that because of the color of my skin I do not deserve to be credited in a recording project for my work, because the project was "about black voices and experience." Why did you hire me to engineer your project then?! I did not agree to be a silent and faceless prop; you certainly didn't ask me to be.
I do not know if this is racism as the definition has shifted beyond my comprehension, but I do know that I am hurt, mostly by the flippancy and aggression of the conversation, but also because this has never happened to me before. I'm confused. I don't know what is right and wrong here.
I am acutely aware that my privilege as a relatively intelligent white American male with parents who love and have financially supported me has put me at an advantage more times than I could ever know, and my size and demeanor have certainly helped me to avoid trouble countless times. Something I wanted was taken from me because of the choiceless state of my body in being white, which I know is a beautiful illustration of what so many people of color, women, poor(er), sicker, and less intelligent people have experienced with far more frequency and consequence.
I grew up color blind and sheltered as fuck; 'we could all live in harmony if we just made the right decisions and looked towards the caliber of others' inner values as the primary means of judgement.' Hoo boi was I ever ignorant. Then I started learning.
First I read Howard Zinn's People's History of the United States and my third eye was pried open violently. Then I took classes in my liberal arts major from African American teachers about ethics, the history of slavery, African American literature, and inter-cultural communication. I read and listened and wrote and reflected and discussed... I had no illusion that any of this would ever qualify me to understand, as I wrote at the top of this page I am quite confident that my understanding of the black experience in America is one that can only survive propped up by dozens of disclaimers.
So here I sit, confused and frustrated and perhaps that's a beautiful thing, something that can fuel my compassion moving forward... but I also feel bitter and vindictive, possibly in response to the anxiety from such an awkward confrontation... from feeling at the mercy of yet another asshole client in the long string of people that were protected from my true feelings by the sickly unbalanced veil of customer service dynamics. It's hard to say... but it helps to write it out, ruminate on things, and more than anything to remember that I don't adequately understand the lives, experiences, or injustices that other beings have or will experience.