Letters to My White Family

This is the first response in a set of email communications with someone in my white family.
I'm sharing this for white friends and family who are trying to understand their own privilege and come to terms with what it means to engage respectfully in dialogue with those who are less privileged, particularly when it comes to race.
I'm not the authority, and this was the best explanation I could come to with my family.
Names and identifying details changed in the interest of privacy:

2/27/14

That's understandable. I think I see where our definitions diverge; it's a subtle difference. To you, lighter skin AND wealth AND social status equals a person who is "privileged".
The definition that I have come to understand and that I have heard in most social justice seminars is that a person can have privilege in just one area, or more. It doesn't make them a "privileged individual", it just means that they have unearned advantage in one or some areas of their life. That doesn't make them bad, that doesn't make them wrong, they simply have unearned advantages that some others don't (in those specific areas).
You're operating on an "identity #1 and identity #2 and identity #3= PRIVILEGE" formula ; while I operate on an "identity #1 or identity #2 or identity #3=PRIVILEGE" formula.

This is why the term "intersectionality" is so important to these discussions. In the story you just told me, you mentioned several different groups that you belong to:

1) you identify as cis
2) you identify as someone who grew up poor
3) you identify as white racially
4) and (I'm going to say because of our other discussions where you listed yourself as an ally) you identify as heterosexual.

These are just four categories of an infinite list of identities that people/you might have.

Other identities might be:
Religion
Literacy
Physical capability
Age
Native Language
Citizenship Status
Given Name
Social Connections
And the list goes on.

And having privilege in one area does not take away from the validity of your experience, nor does it take away from the validity of those single identities.
I know that you grew up in your home town and that you were the racial minority. I know that being white there is a difficult identity to have. That is valid and I'm sorry that your experience there was so shaded by other people's bias and hate.

This is where the word "privilege" can be hard for people. You're not alone; almost no one likes saying they are privileged because it usually makes people feel like a jerk.
I completely understand and empathize with the reaction "how can you call me privileged? I grew up piss poor in a family with not many educated people, went to school hungry, didn't have rich parents, and had to work hard all of my life to get by." I understand that reaction because I've reacted that exact same way myself. It's hard to acknowledge privilege because you don't want other people to discount those other valid parts of your identity. But in a truly safe, social justice oriented space, no one is asking you to do that. You can still acknowledge specific benefits to some parts of your life and still also acknowledge the struggle of the other parts. It doesn't mean you struggled any less than you did. It doesn't take away from that fight, it's just a different side of who you are.

I hated thinking about my privilege (and still often do) but not thinking about it affects people I care about in ways that are unfair* and I want to help them by changing those unfair things. The only way to change things is to first acknowledge it exists, and to acknowledge that a difference in the distribution of resources or the access to resources exists.

Example: 

My friend, Meghan is a really spunky, fun individual. She likes to joke around and be active outdoors with her dog. I often bump into her while she's running errands and we usually stop to catch up. HOWEVER, Meghan has to deal with a lot more adversity than I do when it comes to accomplishing those tasks because she is in a wheelchair.

-I can get on the bus really quickly with almost no hitch.

-When Meghan boards a bus, it takes nearly ten minutes for the driver to lower the bus, unfold the wheelchair ramp, anchor her chair to the wall of the bus, fold the wheelchair ramp, and then move the bus. 

And all of this is happening amongst angry whispers and mean stares about how long she is making everything take. When really, if the system was better equipped to deal with wheelchairs, it might not take so long.

She also sometimes has to go past her stop on the subway because not all stops are accessible with an elevator.

But here's the other reason why I bring her up. She said to me once that she ABSOLUTELY can't stand when people don't pick up their dog's poop.
I'm not a fan of that either, but I didn't understand why she'd care that much.
I asked her why and she told me, 

"because when I don't see it coming, I roll my chair wheels in it, and I push my wheels with my hands."

My mind exploded. I had never even thought of the fact that if someone did something as simple as not pick up after their dog, Meghan might end up with shit on her hands, literally.

That is why we need to acknowledge privilege. Because we might be shitting on someone (maybe someone we care about) and not even know it. This is why engaging in dialogue with people who don't have the same privilege as us is important, so that we can learn how to be more self aware, more socially responsible and conscious, and more considerate.

I know I said earlier that in a truly safe, social justice space, no one is asking you to relinquish the parts of you that incurred struggle. But I also know that *finding* spaces like that can be incredibly difficult. And sometimes those spaces can feel like they are asking for you to leave parts of yourself at the door. 

Here's the thing: in some discussions, where the topic revolves around an area of your identity where you have privilege, you have to check yourself and be mindful of the fact that privilege is franchise. 

Disadvantage equals DISFRANCHISEMENT. 

Those who struggle in a particular area have less voice and are often less heard than those who have privilege in those areas.

If the discussion is about the struggles of being in a wheel chair, and someone brings up ways in which able-bodied people are not disadvantaged, that is not the time to remind everyone in the room of all the other areas in your life where you do struggle. 

It's not always about you or me. Sometimes you have to let those areas of struggle take a back seat, because they are not directly part of the issue at hand and bringing them up will only conflate and slow down the discussion of alleviating the disparity of access and privilege.

Like you and I said before, these issues are really complicated and  multidimensional so obviously this email is not an exhaustive explanation of privilege or of intersectional identities. I just hope this clarifies the groundwork that I have in regards to discussing privilege and allows us to more easily parse out its different dynamics without anyone feeling hurt or personally attacked.

This is long, so just let me know when you're finished reading.

-Love,

X

*unfair meaning "unjust" but that seemed too lofty at the time I was writing this

Fox Watching the Hen: Devouring POC Space

I went to a social justice space the other day which was for POC (People of Color) only. I tried not to talk too much because I am not "POC only", and I look white. At the group discussion I felt the need to chime in on the issue of interracial dating. Someone questioned why I was there: "ain't she white?" and it became a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. I lost myself in carefully humbling my whiteness to this black bodied person (which is so necessary but happens with white folks so infrequently). But in doing so, my comments sounded more like white guilt than useful dialogue. I was irreverently taking up the space I said I wouldn't and I was rambling. God, I was going on and looping circuitous comments together and passing them along as insight because what was I even going to say before that nervous joke- something about dating white people? "I dunno; that's all I had to say." came out instead. I was distracted by the flash-bang of my own whiteness.

After the meeting, a friend of mine said she felt protective of me because of that person's comments about my whiteness. She felt the need to "vouch" for me.

I decided a long time ago it is wrong for me to seek racial catharsis at the expense of my brown (half) brothers and sisters*; if they are uncomfortable with me, I leave. But I think, often, my friends don't see the politics behind this. They see me, seemingly lonely, looking as marginalized as it is possible for a white-bodied person to look and they want to help. They (one) drop me back into a conversation in which I don't necessarily belong:
My hair is not dangerous.
My presence is not startling.
My self-love can never be radical.

When I come to these events, I know I can be distracting, and frankly, the fact that I know this to be true means I really shouldn't be there at all, but I lack community- and if it wouldn't look elitist/colorist, I'd  have my own group for white-passing POC because that might be less onerous on visible POC. But I'm here and I'm trying to get a grasp on this tinted life, which means I need community.

But, when I'm here, I don't want you (POC) to support me. That is the opposite of my intent.
POC should not be supporting white people, especially not for being an "ally". I don't get a gold star for being a human being and acknowledging POC are just that: people.

To be honest, I initially felt a wave of gratitude. So infrequent is it that a POC/WOC validates my identity (albeit rife with contradictions). It's usually something people who are close to me express. But almost immediately, the gratitude for this gift of acknowledgement, of support, turned into the realization that, in taking this support I am also taking up the emotional and mental energy of a person of color with my almost whiteness. I said this to her, because not saying it felt like not saying thank you to Santa at Christmas.

I wanted to shake Santa and say, "It's okay; I don't get it".

Besides the space I take, there's a real level of discomfort I cause POC in my life. They have to reconcile the fact that I, a white looking person, have been admitted by them into the most intimate parts of their lives; that as WOC we discuss and sometimes even bond over racial tensions and anxieties.

So I think they are sometimes trying to deal with the cognitive dissonance that accompanies creating safe, black-only space while allowing me, a very white-skinned person, into that very same space.

"Clair is like Mariah Carey [Thanks!]. You can tell something's off because she looks white but she's black; she just came out wrong [Thanks?]." This is the way one POC friend of mine used to describe me. And it was okay because I did feel like I came out "wrong".

They want to validate the blackness in me but can't do that without making the whiteness in me purr.

They want to feed my hunger for solidarity because they know what it's like to lack community, but allowing myself that indulgence on a group political level is an affront to my values as a supporter of the community. I am essentially, in practice, an ally. Because, even asserting my space as a "black woman" feels like a colonizing of my own body, a comfortable lie my whiteness wants me to slip into: "You're tired. You're POC. Take a break from this hyper-vigilence." The fox is guarding my hen house and I need to be "awake" enough to keep it at bay.

I have an indefatigable source of power and energy which is my whiteness, so I vow to use it so it won't fester and become the all consuming guilt we often hear about.
This means watching every last video of police brutality, this means keeping racist and bigoted "friends" on my Facebook so they can ask me those invasive or ignorant questions, this means doing research on social justice rights and violations.
Above all, it means taking shit from POC.

When  they don't like how much air time I'm taking up, I need to be okay with that because they will always be more racially fatigued than I am.

I'm not Tim Wise; I do this because, though I don't have a claim in the black community, these are my people. These are my family, people I love and whose deaths I mourn. And it has nothing to do with "charity" or "saving" them. And that's how I know I'm black.

That's why I allow myself the label "white-passing POC", because for white people, this work is an exhausting battle they don't have to face. There is nothing intrinsically urgent or mandatory in these stories for them, and when a person of color "dare" to confront them about the space they take, sometimes they say "Well, I'm only here because you need me here. I'm doing this for you." But for me, it isn't like that. This is very much for me. It is a pleasure to fight amongst my community because I feel at home here.

This home is our hard-earned, gated community that keeps us safe, at least in theory.
It is a salve on the wounds from the slaughtered POC and the anger we feel, and the deep whirling depression and anxiety that blows through our neighborhoods like a storm every time another one of us gets shot. And it protects us from people who try to waltz into our space and belch loudly "all lives matter".

I know what my version of that indignation feels like, and it's not because I'm "human"; it's because I'm black.

So, really, it's okay for people to ask "aren't you white?", because visibly, I am. I want them to question me. It's also okay to not want me around, because I know what it's like to long for black only community. I want POC to question me and have a voice, especially when talking to a white face because that's the whole point of my activism, not to be on a soapbox, but to carve out a space for trans, queer, fat, brown bodies the space they deserve to talk. If that space comes from my own ground, then all the better. Safe space is the best of what I have to give.




*This is meant to include trans POC.

Black, Per Se: Why My Race Is a Choice

My brand of blackness is a choice. Every time I enter a room and engage with people in dialogues about race, I make the decision to inform them that I am bi-racial, because the alternative (passing) is something I've been told is an abhorrent and racist denial of my family. The narrative always goes bi-racial person has the opportunity to pass as white and, as sure as gravity, they always do. The reason being either an internalized hatred of their blackness, or a cowardly retreat into their whiteness in the face of violent racism.
The books I've read and the movies I've seen depict mixed people as running from the past and into the arms of whiteness. I didn't want to be like that, denying my family in what appeared to be such a shameful way. I wanted to acknowledge my black grandfather, who was a colonel in the military before it should have even been possible. The same feeling stands for my father who started a business in St. Louis, a town fraught with a history as well as contemporary issues with racism.
I loved and honored their accomplishments. But if I wanted to acknowledge them publicly, I would learn quickly that it wouldn't be without consequence.

I learned passing was not an option, but neither was "being" black. I had to claim black with every person I met. I had to take it back from those white people who saw my blue eyes and straight hair and slapped a white label on me and request it of the POC who did the same. I had to want it, earn it and prove it. This was the ritual with every person everyday regardless of their race.

So, my blackness is a choice. And some may posit that if it is a "choice" this means it isn't legitimate. I won't argue with that. I don't know how much of the black experience makes you black, and none of this post is meant to say my experience is the same as someone who is a visible Person of Color. To the contrary, I'd say our experiences are very different because of that dynamic of invisibility which affects both parties differently. I'd also say, though, that to alter my identity to white is not accurate.

So many black people are already reticent to allow those like me into their communities because I look like the people who have always belittled, raped and passed them on the way to inaccessible opportunities. So, although I want to be part of the black community, I am careful to be understanding when POC have trouble accepting my presence in their space.

For a while in high school, I quit correcting people because the constant push-back (from everyone, white or POC) and my rehearsed defense had become an exhausting battle, which I'd sometimes lose anyway. So I'd pass. Without any work or makeup or straightening products, white would close itself over me.

But whiteness felt like betrayal. It felt like a silent fight between myself and half of my family.
I found white people would confide their disillusionment with POC to me in a way that was glaringly like a ya-ya sisterhood of racism. They would say terrible things about the neighborhoods they grew up in being ruined by immigrants or how they wished a town would be gentrified because it was so sadly dilapidated. But it was the way they expected me to agree which startled me most. Their candor allowed me to see the squirming underbelly of their aging and unquestioned prejudice. Sometimes it was passed down from older mentors and other times it seemed an unfortunate consequence of thinly coded language they had absorbed from the media. Either way, theirs was not a safe space to occupy and I felt like I was always just a breath from facing the monolith that is color-blind racism.

Having silently and passively camped with the enemy solidified my guilt. It was as though my whiteness had eaten my brownness like an aggressive cancer overtakes healthy cells, and my complacence with it made me so tired I was unsure how I would have the energy to constantly "other" myself again. I had another choice: I could be exhausted from the constant barrage of infamous where-are-you really-from's or be completely drained of my black identity.

While deciding, I tried not to take in all of the messages I was reading in books or in other media. How did everyone feel about interracial relationships and their products (me)? Coming from those who are still so influential in society and my life, it was hard to ignore the negative opinions and the noise made me hate myself. How can you reconcile that you are simultaneously a product of the slave and the slaver?

Once, after my grandfather had passed, I sat pondering him as a black man and how proud our family was of his legacy. I had thought before about what effect his death had on my identity. Was I no longer really as black since he was gone? Was he the only one who really made any of my blackness so? But it was then that it dawned on me that, as much as I loved him as a proud black man, perhaps this conversely made him hate me for how white I was. My white grandmother told me once that black and white people were "just different", but in their dislike of me, both seemed quite the same.
All this did was make my body a cage, which I paced around in restlessly. I hated it for a long while; I still sometimes do, for its rail thin outline, and hair that refuses to curl into anything other than a brown halo of racially nondescript frizz. Most at fault were my blue eyes but all of it melded into a macabre chorus that became a cacophony, easily drowning out the sound of my choking blackness.

As with everyone else, I passively allowed my partners to decide who or what they thought I was. My white boyfriend claimed I may only be a quarter or 1/16th. Later, my black partner tried to convince me (and I think himself) that I really was black despite my features. So I employed yet another tactic, overcompensating. It looked similar to what Rachel Dolezal was doing during her tenure at the NAACP, but mostly I would refuse to wear sunscreen. It was a feeble attempt to darken my skin to a recognizable shade of brown. Sometimes I'd try coaxing my hair into its old curl pattern, the one I'd naturally had as a child. But my hair was as tired as I was and it would never settle into anything more than gentle waves, which Sephora would sometimes confusingly call "beach waves" (though, at this time, I had never been to a beach).

This is why I think I understand why Rachel did what she did. I understand what it is to want so badly for things to line up, for your identity and the communities you are accepted into to "match". I get it, I do. But Rachel has made my life more difficult by reminding POC that they can't trust white-folks. Watching people thank her has made me realize the sad necessity of  discussing this. I truly don't care about her motives nor her CV. As many other authors have written, white people can and do participate in social justice activism, including work which deals with race. Regardless of her motives, her actions have impacted me, and as a white-passing person of color, that is contrary to any work she may have done for the NAACP under the claim of furthering the cause of equality for People of Color. She has only confused the situation.

As someone who regularly sits on the fringes of inclusion with regards to race, I find it frustrating that a woman who reaped the benefits of white privilege couldn't seem to cope with the fact that maybe not everyone wanted her in every discussion. I once said whiteness is a gift, for which I received a lot of flak, but I still believe this to be true in America. Gifts are about who and what we value and nothing, in terms of racial oppression, is more valued than whiteness and those who have it. Rachel internalized this belief which is, in itself, yet another marker of her privilege. To feel as though she belongs in every space and must inject herself as a means of doing good clearly announces that she places her discomfort at not being included at a higher value of importance than the discomfort of people of color, the community she claimed to serve.

Thanks to her, my whole existence is once again a joke. And it's one people had almost gotten tired of laughing at. When will it die down again? I'm really not sure, #AskRachel ...

Crying Wolf: Trigger Warnings and Media

Photocredit- Levi Saunders

I don't think you understand what trigger alerts (or "trigger warnings") are actually for. You can't because, if you did, you perhaps wouldn't be so glib as to use one as click-bait.

In the same way poison is marked, trigger warnings are meant to label violent or disturbing content so those who may be emotionally and mentally unsettled by said content can choose to abstain from reading it.

An example of this might be content which discusses rape or abuse with some detail, but I've seen trigger warnings for things like isolation or *cis-centered language.

Now, there is a lot of debate about when to use these warnings and if they even should be used.
Some people feel that these warnings should be reserved only for extreme content, that which is graphic in its detail and could potentially trigger someone with PTSD to relive an upsetting episode (for example, a soldier or survivor of abuse).

Personally, I have mixed feelings about this but I belong to communities whose members have specifically requested these warnings because it helps create a safe space for them (ie. a Facebook page), so I use them. When I see pieces which contain these types of content, I label them plainly so these people won't have their whole day de-railed by an intrusive or scarring memory.

I use discretion. Sometimes a post obviously needs to be marked, and sometimes it clearly doesn't. But I always think about this when scanning through the material I read and intend to repost. It doesn't require hyper-vigilance. On the contrary, it takes an extra 30 seconds of my time, but it's time spent considering my audience. This is something WGBH is usually very good at doing.

So, when considering the context of why these warnings were even introduced (in social media specifically), perhaps it becomes more clear why using a "trigger alert" in the way you have is careless at best.

I understand it was meant to be a joke. It's like saying, "Danger: Cute Cat Video", but the phrasing "Trigger Warning or "Trigger Alert" is used very specifically when there is danger and labels material which (sometimes) involves violence or rape. While, I can imagine that you didn't toss this onto your post with so little deference on purpose, that was the effect.

If trigger warnings' intended use begins to shift from of safety to one of parody, that removes a useful tool from the arsenal of those living with trauma and its effects.

It's at the beginning of your radio recording. It would be so easy to clip out "trigger alert" and maintain the coherence of what is otherwise a delightful piece (I listened to the whole thing, captivated). That's really all I'm asking for. I'm not making outrageous requests for someone to be fired, I don't want a retraction, and I don't need an apology.  But please consider fixing this out of respect for those who are skirting around their trauma constantly and who just want to enjoy your content.

Saint's Row: Canonizing Provocateurs

Reading about Paris, I couldn't reconcile the frequent statements being made that France has a long tradition of free speech with my understanding of what limits I know they have in place. I am familiar with the many authors (like Voltaire) who fought against the Catholic Church by continuing to write in the face of certain persecution. However, modern France has seemingly adopted a policy of discretionary censorship. They have laws built into their penal system which are meant to act as a deterrent to anyone who would speak against events such as the Jewish Holocaust. I can’t help but notice that when brown people are involved, the decision to limit speech garners less support, as was the case in 2012 with the attempted passage of censorship laws which would have condemned public denial of the Armenian Genocide. Of course, politics play a large role in these decisions, but I don’t think this is just a coincidence.

As an American, I try to be conscious of my views surrounding free speech since we are so indoctrinated with the idea that our individual opinions not only matter, but that we have this inalienable right to express them. Too often we think only of the satisfaction of being heard and not of the consequences our views have in the world. If we have a right to our opinions, we have a personal and civic duty to accept the responsibility of what ensues after we express them.

I want to preface by saying that this is not meant to be a piece about how to victim-blame. What happened in Paris most recently, and the examples which came numerous times before, were all tragic. But that’s just my problem with these events, they were tragic in the most literal sense and they continue to go un-checked. Our societies have seen what can happen when we actively *choose* to disrespect a particular religion which, let’s be very clear, is what these authors have as their intent. This is what political cartoonist do: they galvanize and get people talking. Sometimes this is necessary because they say things no one else is saying, or they lead the charge in speaking out against an injustice. This can be admirable, but to continue to act from a place of power (access to widely read printing from a nation with such a long history of colonialism), seems less necessary and more like pandering to the discriminatory and xenophobic views which so many have adopted.

The conventional wisdom in the U.S., as I’ve said before, centers on the individual’s right to free speech. For much of my life, this simple rule was the premise on which I formed the basis of my understanding of what it was to have inalienable rights. There is always an exception to the rule, however, and the one which always comes to my mind is that of “clear and present danger”. Though applying this statement to this scenario would mandate some leniency as to who it was that presented the danger, it is clear each time what is the inciting incident. Writing incendiary material of a specific nature against the religion of Islam and the Prophet Muhammed can lead to deadly consequences. I think the recent events in Paris make this evident. Clearly this kind of mockery will not go unnoticed and sometimes will not go unpunished.

Over 12 people were either killed or injured in the Charlie Hebdo shootings in Paris. Not all of those people were writers or even affiliates of the publication, yet they absorbed some of that retaliatory “punishment”. If we know what can happen when choices like Charlie Hebdo’s are made, why is it that we don’t see fit to take preventative measures? And yes, I know, “slippery slope” but this is not a general plea for censorship of anything which tweaks the nerves of our sometimes admittedly sensitive society. In our “culture of umbrage” (as I once saw it phrased), pleasing everyone is increasingly impossible. Yet we are talking about a very specific request from a relatively large group of people from part of a widely practiced religion regarding their prophet. It is so simple, and yet seems to be the most common choice of subject matter for those who want to exercise their ability to present their opinion.

It is easy to say these events were tragic, because they are. It is easy to feel devastated for the victims of this crime, because they are victims and this was an incredibly violent crime. What is not always easy, is questioning the saint-like voice given to those who are presented as martyrs to a cause (and what more noble cause than our rights and our freedom?). To put it simply: what the authors of that infamous image wrote was racist and Islamophobic. Some of these people died for those beliefs, and unfortunately, some died because others held these beliefs. One could call this “speech” carelessness, given the instances of violence or threats of violence which have occurred as a result of this kind of disrespect before. And I would have suspected that, if one religion could warrant laws limiting speech, others could as well, but this is not the case in a hierarchical and racist system. What’s more, given these acts of terrorism, I suspect this type of reform will never happen. Quite the opposite, I suspect  will cut off the thumb to spite the hand. They will continue to print these images and will never censor these particular images because they are proud of their rights, proud of their opinions, proud to "be Charlie", but they are not thinking of the consequences of their obstinance and bigotry. And I am upset, because not only has blood been shed, but also this attack will, I’m sure, be used by certain groups to further denigrate an entire religion when not every member ascribes to this particular “rule” (let alone to the extreme measures taken by the gunmen in Paris). The general backlash brown communities feel are on full display in Rupert Murdoch’s recent comments about Muslims who must, according to him, “be held responsible”. This justification is yet another example of the vitriol against people who had nothing to do with these attacks. I am devastated on so many accounts, and so pessimistic about what these events will mean for brown people and people who look “suspicious” to those who espouse these racist opinions.

Innocent people have been drawn into this conflict by those with pens and those with guns, and I find it wanton and abhorrent on both accounts.

The Majority Fallacy

"James  Guest • 6 hours ago

Non-white politicians? Hey, I don't know… how about the PRESIDENT? And I don't understand why there has to be a hullaballoo about minorities in movies--if they fit the part, they should get the role. Let's look at the flip-slide, why are all those Tyler Perry movies ONLY with African Americans? Is that necessary? Should a black actress get a part that a white actress happens to be better at just because she is black? Of course not! And vice versa! And let's see, this semester I do not have any black professors… I have three white professors, one Hispanic professor, and one Chinese professor, and two are women. So that seems pretty broad to me. The point is, white people make up the MAJORITY of the population here. So it makes sense that they would make up the MAJORITY of politicians, professors, talk show hosts, actors, etc."

First, I'd like to say thanks to James for capturing so many problematic and commonly held misconceptions about race relations in the U.S.

What percentage of people out of any given population can be said to be successful? Can we predetermine success?
The answers are complicated, but decidedly less so when privilege is taken into account. Privilege may take the form of social connections, monetary privilege, emotional support systems (family, or friends), and also institutionalized support systems and representation in media. Sometimes these are present all at once or sometimes only one single form can be found at a time.

The majority fallacy is a phrase meant to explain the idea that, because white people are the majority of the U.S. population, their overwhelming presence in media, high-paying positions, and positions of power (ex. politicians) can be explained without employing the lens of institutional racism. This fallacy also leans heavily on "meritocracy" and that to be truly "post racial" or beyond racism, our society must only look at individuals based on their abilities and not at their background or other identities. In essence, this fallacy erases many of the identities either responsible for or that contribute to the narratives that play out in POC lives or anyone with a minority identity. 

The only thing it would "make sense" to deduce from the statement "The majority of the population (63.0%) is white"*, is that the majority of the population is white. In other words, this statistic does not justify nor does it properly explain the hurling of white citizens into the upper echelons of society. 

If the statistics were framed differently, perhaps this disparity would become more jarring and apparent to people like James:

Society has a minority of people of color, yet the majority of people who are incarcerated are POC (black males specifically).

OR

People of color, the vast majority of humankind ... are 18.3 percent of the major network prime time cast.

(cite credit here)

While in some areas, James may be entirely correct about who comprises the majority, there can be no one pie chart, fraction, or statistic that excuses the others shown above.

This fallacy conversely implies that minorities make up the lesser parts of society but does not address the complex reasons why and again brings us to the system of meritocracy and the belief that, if you simply do enough work, you will be rewarded fairly.

There will perhaps always be more white people than people of color in the US, but this paradigm suggests that there will also always be more successful white people. 

According to this fallacy, there's nothing wrong with the system, because the system is just simple arithmetic: 

More white people=more of everything; 

less POC=less of everything.

But that math is formed from baseless stereotypes and implicit biases which lead many to conclude that black people just aren't pulling their weight to earn a top spot. 

This thought process leads us to believe that if people of color have a problem, the problem is with them inherently and not with the system that holds them there. 

Hopefully now the problems with this "logic" have become clear.

Population simply doesn't correspond to positive representation in media nor in higher education; it has everything to do with privilege and bias, and little to do with actual fair numbers.

It may also be necessary to mention that this plays into the irrational fear that there are a limited number of "successful" slots and that, once they are taken, the rest of us will be left to fend for ourselves. Certainly this is true of politics, since there are actually a set number of representatives that can be elected each term. 

However, some seem at odds with advocating for equal representation of POC in any form, including or especially in politics. One or two is certainly enough, the rest of the slots must be reserved. 
As far as politicians are concerned, the US Senate, which has been convening for over 225 years (since 1789), has a one page list of all 26 of the minorities that have served at least one term. This, out of 1,950 total representatives in the senate.

Even if James' misguided ideas regarding racial proportions were true, that would still mean that only 1.3% of the total reps were people of color. Since there were institutional blocks that prevented POC from participating as representatives, some might say it's "unfair" to account for all of the representatives ever holding office so I'll just use who we have now. Currently there are five senators serving who are people of color. The senate has 100 members at any given time, so that means we have a whopping 5% representation for POC in the senate when the census puts the number of POC at 37% of the total population. Something about those numbers doesn't quite balance.
Without adequate representation in politics (and this is just the senate for simplicity's sake), how can minority groups rest assured that their interests and voices will be heard? This is not to imply that the representatives who are white cannot hear their constituents appeals for change. Simply, smaller factions have always been told they would be given proper representation so that their interests could be heard and someone with the same interests has clear motivation to pursue them. This was such an integral part of our governance that it was built into the foundations of our political system.

"In creating the Senate, the framers were careful to provide a safeguard against majority rule. Giving the small state of Delaware the same voting power as the large state of Virginia, for example, provided protection for the voice of the minority. (See more )

Why does this protection of the minority voice seem reasonable here, yet the same allowance is not given to some members of the larger society?

In addition to one's group not being represented in policy, there are only 5 faces of color in the senate for these communities to revere as models. Yes, there is a minority in a particularly prominent position, but it comes down to numbers and sheer exposure. This is about hearing minority voices, not being placated by electing one person to represent the interests of several different groups of color. This is also about seeing their faces represented in a broad range of ways in politics. Just as one person's views will not encapsulate those of several factions, one person's visage cannot encapsulate every POC's experience. To put it more bluntly: not every POC is "black".

Which brings us to media and publicly documented and displayed experiences.

James poses an excellent question about all-black casts in theater or movies, "Is that necessary"?

The same could be asked of many of the mainstream movies now which have only one "token" POC. Are more movies that tell the same narratives of the same people necessary? They are certainly valuable, but is that to say other narratives which are shown much less in mass media [Q.E.D.] are not as valuable? Why are some narratives shown more than others?

Then comes the issue of which narratives are made available when POC are depicted. If those portrayals of POC are repeatedly not the main character in the story, and if the story presented is repeatedly a negative one, with what kind of brand does that leave POC? Even more to the point, how many executive producers and directors are POC? If the answer follows the trend of these other figures, that leaves POC communities with even less chance to represent themselves and their interests and yet another time when someone else designates how they will be depicted, thus becoming a passive group in an active and systematic smear campaign. 

Implying that white people simply make up the "better" part of society because there are more of them, is nefarious at best and color-blind racism at its worst. But, in a coercive system, when the options are to be invisible or be demonized, is there really a right answer? James seems to think so. 

*It is certainly of note to me that certain middle-eastern races are categorized as "white" on the U.S. census cited herein. This means there are likely even more POC who are simply being categorized as white and who would augment the numbers of POC to something above the 37% quoted.

**"African Americans are incarcerated at nearly six times the rate of whites" -NAACP

Field Trip

And the rows of crops
Short and fat
Crawl like a centipede across
Eyelids
But then you blink and the legs stop
And become like neatly lined piles of bricks
And from the horizon of the clay spring white
Wind mills scraping away and the sky
Bent blades like wilted petals
The train pummeling the ground beneath it, racing itself
Trickling down the column of your spine