Is calling someone a "racist" part of white privilege?

Apparently some Americans found this Superbowl commercial offensive because "America the Beautiful" was sung in different languages.

I saw many people on facebook (mostly white) calling these people out and using the word "racist" quite indiscriminately.

There were (bloodless) calls for social media blood to be spilled.

This got me thinking: is using the word "racist" with equanimity and aplomb part of white privilege?

I'm not white (wouldn't you know). And I think long and hard before I even talk about race let alone use such a loaded term as "racist."

Why?

One look at me, and you would know that I have skin in the game (not white).

I'm not white.

Not white.

Got it? I'm not white. And therefore for me to even talk about race means that I am not objective. I am wholly subjective, biased, non-neutral, and prejudiced.

Because of my not-whiteness, I have no credibility.

To be white is to be untouched by history, free from the shackles of the past, free to disclaim responsibility for the actions of not-my-ancestors, free from the burden of guilt and shame that racism represents--

"I am not responsible. Not my past. Not my history. Not my family. Not my burden."

[I feel like this is the crux of white privilege. White privilege says, "I don't care because I don't have to care. I see you over there carrying this burden, but I don't want to know about it. I'm not interested. I'd rather ignore it. That's your problem that you feel that way. I'm sorry, but it's your choice, not mine. Your burden has nothing to do with me."]

My ethnic ambiguity testifies to my lack of clear-headed thinking about racism. And people don't always respond particularly well when I talk about race or when I use the word "racist."

I've experienced some of this righteous indignation before. I've used the word "racist" relatively casually and been not-so-subtly challenged and rebuked.

I've found that using the word "racist" can shut down entire conversations, entire relationships. Except, looking back, I wasn't the one who used the word.

It was more like, "You think I'm a racist? How dare you."

To be honest, blatant racism doesn't really interest me that much. To quote M. Scott Peck quoting Simone Weil, "Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring."

The word "racist" is the exact opposite: inflammatory, loaded, weighted, the worst thing you could possibly call someone (which, if you notice, is not the same as "the worst thing you could possibly be").

So in a world where calling someone a racist is such a terrible thing (worse than actually being racist), I want to ask:

Is there room to talk about the everyday banality of racism. The ordinary kind. The kind that doesn't make the news?

I ask, if you didn't feel righteous indignation, what would you feel?

What would it mean for "racist" to be merely a descriptor, not the word you hurl at your worst enemies?

What if "racist" wasn't used to shut down conversations, but to start them anew?

Rape and the Art of Storytelling

So, I was watching a video at church the other day, and the subject turned to rape. Specifically, the man and woman being interviewed knew both the victim and the perpetrator before the rape happened. 

And the man in the video said, and I paraphrase: "As much as I wanted to hate him [the perpetrator], I couldn't, insofar as his life would also never be the same." 

This is about rape. And the stories we tell:

[Insert name here] had such a promising future as a [football star - leader - contributing member of society]. But then he raped someone. And now his life will never be the same. 

Or, “These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives."

See also, Steubenville.

This story has been told before. It will be told again. 

The story follows a simple before and after structure: 

Before raping someone: Promising future

After raping someone: Life never the same

Given how many different narratives we could impose on rape, why is this narrative so pervasive? 

I don't know. 

Logically, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and it tends to elide or gloss over the very crux of the story: 

[Perpetrator] raped [victim]

The before/after narrative conceals the key cause/effect relationship in the story: 

Cause: Committed rape

Effect: Life never the same

This has the odd effect of conflating raping with being raped, as in "his life would also never be the same."

"I was raped": my life will never be the same. 

"I raped someone": my life will never be the same. 

I would argue that this is a false equivalence. Raping and being raped are not the same thing. The promising-future/life-never-the-same narrative obscures, almost denies, the key difference between raping and being raped: 

Choice. Volition. Will. 

If we take that away, we are left with a rapist who rapes through no active choice of his own. Rape is something that "just happens" to young men with promising futures, like a cholera outbreak or a really bad blind date.

To return to the first story: At what point in time was the perpetrator's life never the same--was it the moment when he decided to rape someone? During? Immediately after? When he was arrested? The first time he appeared in court? 

And the boys from Steubenville, at what point in time were their lives changed forever--after texting an incriminating picture to friends? Before the party was over? Upon conviction and sentencing? 

I would argue that the timeline is false, the before/after formula invalid. 

In any way that really matters, if you rape someone--if you are the kind of person who would rape someone--your life is already f----.

Ironically (or logically), narratives about rape victims tend to give them a great deal of the very quality rapists are denied--

She chose to wear that, she was sexually active, she willfully tweeted that alluring image. 

Cause. Effect. [You can also substitute CHOICE and CONSEQUENCE]

Cause: Wearing a mini-skirt

Effect: Being raped. 

Or,

Cause: Walking alone at night in a bad part of town.

Effect: Being raped. 

Or, 

Cause: Getting drunk at a party.

Effect: Being raped. 

Or, 

Cause: Being overtly sexual. Flirting.

Effect: Being raped. 

I could go on, unfortunately.

We impose the cause/effect story on rape victims while simultaneously bewailing the before/after tragedy of rapists. 

Seems a bit backwards to me.