Summary

The author reflects on the issue of racial bias, acknowledging personal privilege and the need for continued anti-racism work, despite not being the woman infamously known as the "San Francisco Karen."

Abstract

The author expresses disgust after watching a video of Lisa Alexander, dubbed the "San Francisco Karen," who assumed a person of color was defacing property. The author, a middle-aged white woman, worries about being mistaken for Alexander but admits to her own complicity in systemic racism. She recalls her invisibility in public spaces and contrasts it with the suspicion and fear people of color often face, referencing Brent Staples' essay "Just Walk On By." The essay details Staples' experiences with racial profiling and his strategies to appear less threatening. The author reflects on her past behavior, realizing her white privilege and the safety net it provided. She has since used Staples' essay in her teaching to confront students' denial of racism and acknowledges that there is much work to be done in the fight against racism.

Opinions

The author feels a visceral discomfort witnessing Lisa Alexander's behavior, which she perceives as hypocritical and racist.
She is concerned about being associated with Alexander's actions due to their shared demographic characteristics.
The author recognizes her own white privilege and the relative safety and lack of scrutiny it affords her in public spaces.
She admits to past behaviors that may have been racially insensitive, demonstrating growth and a shift in perspective.
The author uses Brent Staples' essay to illustrate the everyday realities of racial profiling and the emotional labor required of people of color to mitigate others' discomfort.
She emphasizes the importance of education in addressing racism, using personal experiences and literature to challenge her students' perceptions.
The author believes that despite progress, systemic racism persists, and she, along with society, must continue to actively combat it.

I’m not the San Francisco Karen

But That Doesn’t Mean I’m Innocent

I just watched the video of Lisa Alexander, the “San Francisco Karen,” and it made me sick. I watched her pretending to care about the BLM movement, while at the same time assuming that a person of color had to be defacing property; that he could not possibly live in the nice house he was standing in front of.

I started to worry that people may think I’m her, and wanted to point out that she isn’t me.

But that doesn’t mean I’m innocent.

As a middle-aged, diminutive, white woman, I often get overlooked or ignored in public. People don’t say hi to me on the bike path where I walk every day, unless I know them, or say hi first. When I go into a store, many times I don’t get acknowledged or greeted, and need to make my presence known. Come to think of it, I could probably easily get away with shoplifting if I wanted to.

While this is mildly annoying and a blow to my ego at times, it’s not the same as having to deal with suspicion, fear, or hatred that is caused simply by being in public.

When I was in graduate school in 1986, I first read Brent Staples’ magnificent essay “Just Walk On By: A Black Man Ponders His Power to Alter Public Space.”

In this essay, Staples chronicles the many times throughout his life when he changed his behavior in public to make those around him more comfortable. After moving to Chicago from a small town, he had begun to notice women crossing to the other side of the street as he approached, people getting out of elevators to avoid him, or locking their car doors as he crossed the street.

Staples describes himself in graduate school in Chicago in the 1980s as:

“a youngish black man — a broad six feet two inches with a beard and billowing hair…a ‘softy’ who is scarcely able to take a knife to a raw chicken — let alone hold one to a person’s throat…”

He was shocked and dismayed by the reactions he was causing.

Staples narrates walking into a jewelry store, only to have “…[t]he proprietor [leave the room and] return with an enormous red Doberman pinscher straining at the end of a leash…”

As these types of incidents continued, rather than become (rightfully) angry and defiant, Staples decided to inconvenience himself by altering his behavior to make it “less threatening.” He allowed groups to enter elevators first, and waited for the next car. He would “give a wide berth to nervous people on subway platforms” and even whistle classical music while walking late at night.

Staples knew that his appearance could result not only in his feelings being hurt but in him being physically attacked or injured as well. He took great care to lessen the chance of that happening, although he knew he couldn't guarantee its avoidance. Towards the end of the article, Staples relates an anecdote about a fellow journalist who was mistaken for a killer because he was black, and held by the police at gunpoint.

He tells us he has countless similar examples.

I was shocked by Staples’ essay. Shocked at how things looked from his perspective. I thought about my own time in Chicago. How many times had I, at the time a young single woman, crossed the street to avoid a black man who looked threatening to me? How often had I locked my car doors as a person of color walked by?

To me, I was just being cautious, following safety rules.

I never considered how it felt to be on the other side of such behavior. After reading Staples’ article in 1986, I was ashamed of myself. I had never thought about my white privilege. I never thought about the privilege I had to feel confident that the police were there to help me if I needed them.

I have used his article in my college English classes for years, anticipating that many of my students also have never seen racism from a personal viewpoint. As recently as last fall, before the most visible anti-racism protests began, I still had white students writing journal articles describing how from their perspective, “racism no longer exists in this country.” I wonder if some of them still think this way?

Being ignored is insulting at times. But being feared, attacked, or shot because of the way I look is something I’ll probably never experience.

I still have a lot of work to do. We all do.