So You Want to Talk About Race

The closing chapters of Oluo’s book address a key concept: the “good” versus the “bad” person of color. The paradigm takes many forms, all of which have a detrimental impact on racial minorities. Chapter 13, for instance, broaches the concept through the lens of exceptionalism. In the late 20th century, Black children were taught that they could achieve anything through talent and hard work. Racism was presented as a thing of the past. Characters on The Cosby Show were held up as role models for what was achievable. Today, it is clear that the ideal of a post-racial America was nothing more than an empty promise. The mass incarceration of Black men, vast income disparities, and police brutality against minorities have replaced dreams of social, economic, and political advancement. Moreover, those who beat the odds are now used to justify racial oppression:

Our kids have seen how every compromise we made over the decades has been turned against them now. Our attempts at respectability have been turned into barriers to recognizing our humanity. Our focus on exceptionalism has been used to justify the murder of the less exceptional. Our focus on allowing ‘good’ people of color to join the ranks of ‘good’ whites has allowed a criminal justice system to swallow up an entire generation deemed ‘bad’ (186).

The oppositional pairing of “good” and “bad” people of color is also central to Chapter 14, which focuses on the myth of the model minority. Presenting Asian Americans as “good”—that is, politically meek, hard-working, and committed to strict parenting—by definition makes those who do not fit the mold “bad.” As Oluo demonstrates, this myth harms Asian Americans by glossing over vast differences in income and educational opportunities, disregarding diversity within the community (which includes South Asians, Southeast Asians, Pacific Islanders, and many others), fetishizing and stereotyping Asians, and placing unrealistic expectations on Asian youths. The myth also impacts the safety of Asian Americans, as hate crimes against Asians receive relatively little attention in the US.

More broadly, the model minority myth supports the White supremacist agenda by placing “good” Asians in opposition to “problem” minorities, such as Black people, Native Americans, and Hispanics. Racial justice activists face a common refrain: “Why can’t you be like the Asians? They come here with nothing and work hard and make themselves into a great success. You aren’t oppressed, you’re just lazy” (199). The myth of the model minority also supports White Supremacy by exploiting Asian American labor, neglecting poor and disenfranchised Asians, excluding Asians from systems of power, and sexually exploiting Asian women.

Chapter 15 also raises the issue of “good” versus “bad” people of color. The loving pacifism of Martin Luther King Jr. is often contrasted with the vocal divisiveness of Malcolm X. These two giants of the civil rights movement are generally viewed in oppositional terms: Martin Luther King Jr. was martyred for promoting racial harmony and attempting to create a post-race America, while Malcolm X’s pride, anger, and corruption made him complicit in his own assassination. One man is deserving of praise and allyship, the other is not. Never mind that during his lifetime, Martin Luther King Jr. was viewed as the most dangerous person in America, and that the two men fought for exactly the same cause: freedom from oppression.

Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X were both killed in the 1960s, but the terms used to describe them remain current. Indeed, the loud, proud, angry Black person is a potent stereotype, as evidenced by Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, and others. These present-day Malcolms are often deemed too brash and corrupt to be worthy of support. Oluo identifies with these negative stereotypes:

I receive Facebook comments, Twitter DMs, and emails telling me that ‘people like me’ are the reason why race relations are as bad as they are. My insistence on voicing my anger, on using terms like ‘White Supremacy’ and ‘racist’ to define White Supremacy and things that are racist, my insistence on being seen and acknowledged as black—that is the real issue. White people would love to join me in my fight for freedom and justice, but I’ve made it too unpleasant for them (202).

Indeed, Oluo’s direct approach to discussing racism places her squarely in the corner of Malcolm X. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Chapter 16, which specifically addresses White readers: “[I]f you are white in a white supremacist society, you are racist” (216-17). Oluo admits that her plain speech and angry tone has cost her allies. However, being polite did nothing to advance her cause: “[A] quieter, gentler voice did not bring a quieter, gentler world. All it did was give people the impression that I was okay with living like a second-class citizen. All it did was increase my burden” (203). In Oluo’s experience, then, the “good” person of color—the quiet, gentle person of color—is easily ignored.

The practice of tone policing is inextricably linked to notions of “good” and “bad” people of color. Many consider anger and loudness disqualifying traits for allyship. Common refrains include: “‘We will never get anywhere if you are going to resort to insults.’ […] ‘If you want white people to help you, you should be nicer to them.’ ‘Why are they so angry? It makes it hard for people to support them’” (204). As noted above, tone policing derails conversations by shifting the emphasis away from the topic of oppression to the manner in which oppression is being discussed. It also imposes prerequisites on support. Only “good” people of color are worthy of allyship. The loud and the angry are on their own.

Chapters 16 and 17 stand out from the rest, the latter because it addresses White people exclusively, the former for its pivot to an emphasis on action rather than words. This section serves several functions: It helps White people confront their fears about being called racist, it describes strategies for reacting to charges of racism, it offers readers opportunities to examine their own racist thoughts and behaviors, and it provides tips to actively combat systemic racism. Coming face to face with one’s own racism is a scary process, but Oluo argues that this fear is misplaced: “You should instead fear unexamined racism. Fear the thought that right now, you could be contributing to the oppression of others and you don’t know it” (224).

People of color take risks every time they call out racism. They risk being dismissed, losing friends, and damaging their reputations and careers. They also risk retaliation and even their lives. The final chapters are thus a call to action. Oluo challenges readers to face their own racism and to be better in the future. She concludes on a hopeful note, emphasizing the power of action: 

All around the country people are effecting real change with small actions. Change that improves the lives of people of color in their towns and cities and weakens an oppressive system. Racial oppression starts in our homes, our offices, our cities, and our states, and it can end there as well. So start talking, not just problems, but solutions. We can do this, together (238).