So, I’m seeing some of my (white) comrades on my social media complain about the six Dr. Seuss titles banned by the author’s estate. At some juncture, they all make some version of the following assertions:
The banned books are “not so bad.” They’re just a product of “a different era,” and really “don’t offend that much.”
It’s a striking point that really gets me mad. How, I wonder, did white people get to be the authority on the psychic toll racially insensitive material causes for people of color? It’d be like someone repeatedly humiliating and assaulting me, in public, and then having that same person and inactive bystanders say to me “Eh. But, it’s not so bad!”
Just because POCs (and Black folks in particular) have (seemingly endless) reserves of grace in holding our heads high when we are publicly flogged doesn’t mean that the lash marks stinging our backs aren’t indeed painful.
The six books banned by Dr. Seuss’ estate teach children, CHILDREN, in the ways of white supremacy. They instill self hatred in the folks they put down. And, it is precisely because the books are for minds that are so fertile to the power of suggestion, kids, that they are so dangerous. I’m not saying that the GOVERNMENT should ban them (and that’s NOT even what happened here), but as a practical business entity who controls the books, yea, I’d pull them too. Why be known as a peddler of racist ideology?
This issue brought me back to some of the work I’ve done over the last couple of years, calling out privileged white institutions I’ve been involved with on their racist practices. A simple “I’m sorry” curdles in the throats of these institutions’ stewards, dying a swift death about 45 seconds after every new outrage on the score of race is brought up. Subtly and not so subtly I’ve been asked “But...what’s the big deal?!”
The outrage over the banned Dr. Seuss titles, and the lack of real urgency in the PWI institutions I’ve been pushing brings me to despair. It is clear that Black folk’ unworthiness of human consideration is so engrained in American culture, that drawing us as apes in a children’s book seems perfectly reasonable, or at least "not that bad."
When I really think through the scars white supremacy has left upon my Black body, I desperately search for some sense of agency. Surely my happiness as a Black man does not rest on whether white America ever really figures out I’m a real live human being. Fundamentally, we as Black people probably need to reimagine who we are in this American system.
Two questions come to mind: Who am I if I am not always the “other” here in America? What do I call myself if I am not either someone’s pawn, or some benevolent savior’s project?
When Black people talk to each other, we sometimes allow white folks to have a seat at the table, even when they’re not there. How do I ascend to a level where I can imagine me as me and not as someone’s damn shadow?
Even this short essay is a meta-analysis of who Black folks are in relation to white supremacy. We let whiteness in, uninvited, out of a sense of hurt, out of a sense of fear, out of a sense of frustration, out of a sense of hope, and out of a need for safety. That last reason, preserving our well-being, is crucial. Indeed, to survive, we talk about white folks in order to trade tips on how to live in the toxic air they poison us with. This is especially true of Black folks like me, socialized around white people, tokenized in uppercrust elite universities, and working in corporate institutions where we often continue to be "the only ones," the "good ones" who "made it."
But, what happens if in America, Black folks can speak of ourselves as ourselves, without this specter of “whiteness” hanging over us? Even the language we speak in America, English, chains us to our past as human chattel, damning us to a life in the shadow.
The idea of being ME, as full man, without some deep bleeding gash caused by the history that made me here, is so confounding and so “big,” I can’t imagine it. It is a fantasy so fragile, that it dies the moment I voice it in my "native" English. Just conceptualizing such a world demands such exquisite imagination that my brain struggles to even articulate the barebones.
I think, though, getting to such a place, nationally, probably starts with reimagining what we teach our children. It probably requires recognizing offensive images and rhetoric in the literature and media consumed by kids. And yes, it probably means taking steps to remove such offenses from common parlance.
The six newly banned Dr. Seuss titles have likely seen an upsurge in popularity this week, as we all strain to remember if one of these books is in our home library. In "banning" the books, they are likely more popular than ever. Maybe, in a world where Blackness is truly celebrated, this week's conversation would center around the brilliance of children's books written by Black folks, and their empowering messages. Maybe such a place would allow room for Black joy to thrive.
