I stood there in silent shock and dismay as I was introduced to a group of people by someone I had just recently met. And by recently, I mean we had been working together for a few months. The introduction beyond my name and title included a bizarre reference to my beautiful singing voice. I would have been fine with that as it was meant to be a compliment, except for a few minor details.
First, this person had never heard me sing. Second, I don’t sing all that well. Third, I could not figure out why that particular attribute was of any value to a group of academic professionals? And forth, this person had just sullied her own reputation when people found out that I wasn’t a singer.
What I realized in that moment, was that I was an unknown to her. What hurt the most was that this person didn’t bother to take the time to know me. I consider myself a pretty transparent person. Those who know me best will tell you that I don’t hold anything back. I’ve purposely made my life an open book because I realized long ago when I stepped onto the campus of an almost all white high school that too few white people actually knew any black people. I realized in tenth grade that if I was friendly and allowed them to get to know me, that I could challenge the negative misperceptions they held about all black people. What I neglected to realize was that they had a role in this too. Their role was to open their eyes to take a closer look and engage with me.
My disappointment was that in all those months together, my colleague did not see me. And so in a moment of introduction, she substituted what should have been knowledge about the real me with a stereotype she had about black women. Sadly, I don’t believe she even realized it. In fact, she was more than a little mortified when I later confessed to her that I don’t sing.
Over the years, I’ve experienced that kind of thing a lot–people harboring, sharing, and acting on false assumptions about me based on stereotypes about women who look like me. Maybe you’ve experienced the same thing. Studies show that this kind of implicit bias is normal behavior among human beings. Neuro-scientists say this kind of implicit bias is a short cut our brains take to help us make rapid decisions. I’m sure at times that this is a useful tool in our survival toolbox. And it wouldn’t be such a bad tool if wasn’t so often misused and with dire consequences. I think we’ve evolved enough to do a few things differently.
First we need to recognize our tendency to do this and then slow our roll to challenge the implicit biases we all have. Second, and more importantly, we need to acknowledge how potentially limiting, destructive, and even dangerous these implicit biases are.
We have police officers using lethal force because they see a threat where none actually exists. We have employers passing on candidates based on false assumptions about a person’s qualifications. Across academia, we have faculty committees employing different standards to the merits of their colleague’s teaching and scholarship. We have a U.S. president questioning the legitimacy of a judge based on his heritage. And we have legislators dictating access to public restrooms for transgender citizens. We do these things motivated by a fear born out of not knowing. When given the opportunity, too often we do not take the time to see and to get to know individuals from different backgrounds. In the nation I want to live in, actions motivated by love will always trump actions motivated by fear.
Knowing takes proximity, time, and engagement. Harvard has these implicit bias tests you can take on-line for free. I’ve taken several of them and learned that I’m pretty low on implicit bias. I’m not bragging because I recognize that there is a reason for this. I grew up in California. My preschool and most of my elementary school years were spent at an all Latino school except for five children-me, my two brothers, and Tommy and Sheila. My best friends were Laura Canto and Myra Ramirez. I spent 4th – 6th grade at a primarily Asian school where my best friends were Joyce Takahashi and Debbie Muriama. I went to a primarily black junior high where I made a bunch of friends, and then to an almost all white high school where my best friends were Tami Napier and Leah Cox. I spent early motherhood with two Jewish women as my best friends in Simi Valley and then in Moorpark where my best friend is white. I knew them all and then came to love each of them. That kind of knowing and loving extends beyond just them, it opens the eyes to truly see people who look like them for the individuals that they are. Psychologist Gordon Allport’s Intergroup Contact theory bears this out and a meta-analysis of many studies by Pettigrew and Tropp has shown his theory to be true.
I like the analogy Jesus uses in Matthew about how we can come to know each other. He says we’ll know a tree by the fruit it bears. A few years ago we bought a house that had some citrus trees in the backyard. We didn’t know which citrus fruits. We had to wait and observe. Eventually, we could see that one of the trees was a tangerine tree and the other was a grapefruit. But it took an additional period of time to see if they were any good. I had to see the fruit and then sample it. Engagement. I love tangerines. And our tangerines are delicious. We kept that tree. But being on statins for cholesterol, we don’t eat grapefruit, and no one around us eats them and so we eventually cut that tree down.
My point is this, there is nothing instantaneous or magical about knowing each other. It takes intentionality with proximity, time, and engagement. You will know me by engaging with me and seeing my actions. You’ll know if I can sing, by hearing me sing. Knowing each other takes proximity and engagement over time. Sure, I can tell you who I am, but until you see me and sample my fruits, you will not know me or love me, nor I you. And a stereotype will never do.