I’m 6’4” and Black, so Why Do I Consciously Try To Make Myself Seem Smaller Around White People
Endangered species: the American Black male
For as long as my memory will allow, I have had an unhealthy obsession with survival, more pointedly… surviving; getting through the day, never being concerned with envisioning a bright future for myself.
Often, I wonder about all that I have missed in my life, and what I chose to not take advantage of because I was too focused on “just getting by” — placing my aspirations and ambitions aside. Worried if I let my guard down and think of what could be, I would open myself up and be vulnerable to the atrocities that come with Black life in America.
I’m a 6’4” Black male in a country that would rather I not exist than allow me to breathe the same air as my fellow citizens. Being Black in America is being on constant alert, navigating all the landmines of white supremacy that fester in every corner of existence.
For many in the BIPOC community, each day is an episode of Survivor. Who are our allies? Who do we align with? What is our strategy for success? How do we survive? No prizes at the show’s end, no bundle of cash, no endless supply of coconuts, no bragging rights, and certainly no second chances at returning in future episodes. You only get one shot at this.
Our only reward… survival!
I don’t take this lightly. I am well aware of the potential danger I face each day. As of late, in this country, it has been open season on the Black community, especially Black males; the stakes getting higher every day.
In many ways, the pandemic has significantly decreased interactions with those wanting to do us harm but once the tide of this unimaginable global chaos turns, people of color will be right back where we started, as the focus of a flawed country’s ire. With our collective attention spread across a landscape of injustice, you can see how defaulting to survival mode comes naturally for many.
No sudden moves
In the workplace, I have to balance my professionalism and self-respect without overt excitement or animation as to not draw attention to myself, yet be visible enough to be seen by the “decision-makers.” It’s a fine dance that does not inherently benefit people who look like me (or who are my size). This has been the makeup of my entire career.
A particular engagement that has been the bane of my time on this soil is that with white women (specifically in a professional setting). I am beyond cautious when interacting with this demographic. As though I was meeting a debutante or a slave master’s wife, I have found myself engaging in a manner befitting for a meeting with the queen. This etiquette has been carefully cultivated over time as a way to get through any situation that could potentially result in my being fired, unjustly accused of something, led away in cuffs, or worse.
I avoid confrontation during any unsavory exchange at all costs. Even if, on the receiving end of an instigator’s onslaught, guess who would be viewed automatically as the aggressor?
For me, survival is the ability to cope with difficulties, with circumstances, and to overcome them. — Nelson Mandela
The need to be viewed as non-threatening has become my MO. To this, a life of making others (white people) feel comfortable in my presence is a strategic plan formed long ago out of need — out of survival. As discussed in Elijah Anderson’s This is what it feels like to be black in white spaces, learning how to survive in a predominately white setting forces people in the Black community to tread lightly, and exist from a stressful standpoint at the onset.
In the company of white people, especially those who are strangers I often keep my distance, and if, in a group, I typically take up residence on the perimeter as to not make any sudden moves that might “scare the locals.”
Out of sight, out of mind.
Making myself virtually invisible — if this is even possible at this size — has kept me from being a target on many occasions.
Think about this for a moment. Imagine living a life fabricated from inception to make others feel comfortable at the expense of your own comfort. I am guilty of this and not proud of it. Survival can be tough especially when you have no control over the outcome.
Social nearness
In my late teens, an age when social dynamics define one’s identity, I noticed that when in social settings, be it the workplace, amongst friends, college, etc, I would, in an effort to ease an air of discomfort, lean into self-deprecation. This survival technique though misguided was a necessary evil.
The dynamic within a group of white people when you are the only Black person is staggering. Should the subject of race come up (and it always does), and that uneasy awkwardness spreads about causing a lull in the conversation, a mildly stereotypical comment at my own expense would be my strategy.
Seeing the reactions in the form of an exhale, is a sight. Not that I’m granting permission to carry the torch of espousing inappropriate musings but more to lever the weight of uneasiness and keep the conversation moving along. Once again, not proud of this tactic and I always felt sick to my stomach afterward. I abandoned this approach years ago but for a while, this strategy kept awkward moments from morphing into uncomfortable conversations or inappropriate exchanges.
Convincing myself that “if I didn’t comment, someone else would,” was the confused logic I used to justify my actions and a way to keep whatever control was possible.
For years my go-to was to think of every white person as racist. No matter their political leanings, belief system, or interest in engaging me in pleasantries, in my mind, I proudly reinforced this thinking without getting to know them. It made the illusion easier to digest knowing the burden was on them to prove their anti-racism.
The jaded outlook when just trying to survive or having unwarranted thoughts of profiling allows you to weed out the bad apples, but on the other hand, may keep potentially valuable relationships from germinating. Sound familiar?
Whatever the cost to my self-worth or value, pleasing others unfortunately was something I subscribed to since I was young and much smaller. This is the mindf*ck historic oppression and discrimination does to a young Black person.
A play rewritten
This all may sound a bit warped, I know. Survival is an odd thing. If you are Black in America, you do what you can to get through the day unscathed. Life is a sprint with little time to enjoy the race. The moment you let up, you make yourself vulnerable and there is more than enough opposition to keep you from making it to the finish line.
The major enemy of black survival in America has been and is neither oppression nor exploitation but rather the nihilistic threat — that is, loss of hope and absence of meaning. For as long as hope remains and meaning is preserved, the possibility of overcoming oppression stays alive… Without hope there can be no future, without meaning there can be no struggle. — Cornel West
The measures I would take, as disturbing as they may sound were subconscious in nature affording me opportunities to be included, to engage without the burden of being ostracized, to feel normal. It wasn’t acceptance I sought but rather, occasions where I didn’t have to jockey for a place at the table or be viewed as someone who posed a threat.
Yet another Black man’s burden.
Being an extra in my own life, looking in from the outside was never my plan. This was not the life I envisioned for myself. Would anyone? Always on guard, zigzagging through life trying not to be targeted is no way to live. As a child, my dreams weren’t dissimilar from those of other kids. I wanted what every other kid wanted, to live long and be happy. It wasn’t until I got older (and bigger) did the realization of who I was and how others perceived me, become the cross I had to bear and by which many would judge me.
Playing the role of ingénue in a life defined by others has brought a multi-layered feeling of imposter syndrome virtually impossible to detach from. Life is too short not to live as you see fit. I lost this long ago but have regained it since discovering my self-worth.
Ultimately what matters is being true to yourself. You cannot control how others perceive you or treat you. I can live my life but in the end, I will always have to be aware of people out there who would rather I stay in the background or simply not be present at all because of what I look like.
I can’t change my size or my skin tone, nor would I want to.
No matter how small you make yourself, you can’t hide a fly in the buttermilk.
Thank you for reading!
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