A friend reposted this cartoon today. It’s from the 7/1/2015 New Yorker.
Let me deconstruct the experience here. Attention is first drawn to the child, and the carefree, joyous innocence of childhood. What could possibly be wrong with a parent’s impulse to protect that innocence?
Then, in the caption, the innocence is revealed as a shameful lie: The carefree moment on the swing is steeped in—inseparable from—the injustice of racism.
It is the parent speaking, of course. These “wonderful, precious years” are not only the child’s, but the parent’s too, because the parent is experiencing (and appreciating) this carefree, joyous innocence in the context of their privileged white family. And what could be wrong with appreciating the safety, security, and uplift that one derives from family?
The cartoon illustrates how whiteness imposes inauthenticity. Innocence, joy, family, security, are conferred to us by an unfair society. When we celebrate what we have, we are must either ignore that unfairness, and thereby magnify it, or else taint our happy moment with an acknowledgement of the unfairness. This mother’s statement in the caption is performative, dour—a come down.
And inescapable.
Can we learn to appreciate our privilege—including wholeheartedly living moments like the one represented in the cartoon—and simultaneously revile our privilege? And do so without irony?
What happens inside you during these moments?