Subconscious Life Lessons: My (white, male) narrative is more important than yours
Confession time.
As a child, my brother Seth and I would often go visit some friends, Sarah and Chelsea, and play at their house. One of our favorite games was Cowboys and Indians.
A description for the unfamiliar: Cowboys and Indians is a improv-based role-playing game built around common American Western motifs. At the beginning of a game, one of the participants suggests a basic storyline, and everyone debates it into a shape they all agree to.
I’m sure we played this game many times, but one rough storyline I remember is this: Seth and I were cowboys, and we somehow ended up with Sarah and Chelsea, who were Indians, as captives in our camp. (Let’s for now avoid pondering the troubling means by which they may have ended up being captured.) The rest of the story was going to be that, though in the beginning we do not trust these wily Indian women, we eventually fall in love with them. THE END. We all live happily ever after or something. (Falling in love is the end of the story, dontcha know?)
(In hindsight, every bit of this is terrible. The general cultural insensitivity of the game; the assured violence that led to the aforementioned captivity (instigated by which people group, the cowboys or the Indians? I honestly don’t remember. Which would be more historically accurate? I don’t think we asked such questions.) Also, the fact that we were utterly oblivious to how significant and devastating it would be for an indigenous woman to leave her entire cultural heritage behind and join with the people who, in large part, destroyed that culture.)
I remember thinking, as we played the game that day, that this was not the best storyline we had ever used. The plot we’d chosen (and all agreed to) prevented Sarah and Chelsea from being part of the play for a long time. They mostly just hung out in a corner of the basement (the jail tent, I guess), not really part of the story. I remember being annoyed when they tried to escape once or twice (this was NOT the storyline we had all agreed to!). Seth and I wanted to be realistic about the length of time it would take for sworn enemies to become lovers, so we took our time, role-played a long series of evening bonfires, over which the conversation-based tale of us changing our minds took place. After many such bonfires, Seth looked at me and said, in a ridiculous accent, “You like her, don’t you?”
At about the time that I myself started thinking that this session was getting rather long, Chelsea and Sarah started openly complaining. They were bored. But get this: This offended Seth and I! We were offended that they were bored. Did they really expect us to rush the story and make it proceed unnaturally?? This was a story about us, the white male victors, and they were supposed to abide our dull storytelling with grace.
My understanding of Poe’s Law: without a clear expression of intent, there will always be people who confuse satire for sincerity (and vice versa). As a teenager, I was often on the idiotic side of this maxim. One such incident:
Ben Folds wrote a fantastic satirical song, mocking angsty suburban white-kid bands like Limp Bizkit. The fact that this was an obvious satire was lost on me and my friend group, perhaps because none of us had never seen the music video. Most embarrassingly, several of the lines of the song really resonated with us, including the main one. “Yeah!” we said to each other, “people really don’t know how hard it is to be male, middle class, and white!” And, “Yeah! Slavery wasn’t MY idea, so lay off, everyone!”
Baby lions observe their parents hunting, and mimic those actions with each other in play. As they get older, their playing starts to look more and more like real hunting. Until it is real hunting.
Baby humans play the same way, basically. We observe the adults around us, whether our parents or on TV, and we play “House” or “Cops & Robbers” or “Cowboys & Indians”. We practice, essentially, living in the roles we’ve observed.
I was never explicitly taught that my narrative, as a white cis male, was more important than anyone else’s. But looking back on that incident, playing Cowboys and Indians, it’s very clear to me that I’d picked up on that idea. And I’d internalized it to the point that, as a teenager, I missed the joke in a blatantly satirical song, totally blind to my own privilege.
While the lie that my narrative matters more than others’ was absorbed subconsciously, internalizing the corrective truth has been an altogether intentional exercise. One that has already taken years; one that will take the rest of my life. I began this unlearning probably about eight years ago, when I became quite enthralled with the narrative of the fabulous Lisa Yoder. She has been a wonderful and patient guide. May we all show kindness and patience to those just starting down this unlearning trail.
It’s awful to think but doubtlessly true that people who are not white or male learn the same lesson in our culture: That the white male narrative is the main story arc, and everyone else plays a supporting role.
It’s not true. I mean, that’s obvious, right? We all learned at some point that, crazy as it seems, there are other people who are just as real as ourselves. And their stories are just as complex and important as ours.
Unfortunately, I doubt that everyone believes that their stories are just as important as anyone else’s. And for me, being in the privileged, “mine is the main narrative” position, it’s sometimes difficult to notice when I’m behaving in an unsavory way—a way rooted in a subconscious belief that my narrative is the main one that everyone else is interested in.
So I’d like to encourage everyone in a couple of ways:
Hey fellow white dudes: Learn to accept this as a possibility: you may (accidentally, subconsciously) approach the world as if your experience is more important than others’ experiences. (Maybe you somehow don’t do this, but I find that unlikely.) After you’ve got that down, accept criticism with grace. Actually invite criticism. Because we need criticism. Since this is a subconscious attitude, we’re going to accidentally fall into the patterns we practiced as children. When others point out that you’re behaving in an unsavory way, apologize. With a for-real apology, not “I’m sorry you feel that way.” And really try to not do it anymore. It takes patience, humility, and introspection.
Hey everyone else: The world needs your perspective. Everyone (including white dudes) benefits from an abundance of perspectives. Share, even if it doesn’t feel natural. Share your narrative with us. Yours is not a supporting role. Yours is another main narrative.
Let’s all help each other unlearn.