1. Don’t hire anyone to perform at your local leather bar or event who dresses up as a person of a racial or ethnic background that they are not. Take a cue from the debacle over at the Portland Eagle, which recently booked a blackface drag performer in a prime example of excellent taste in entertainment, particularly appropriate for Black History Month. The short story: people got upset; the Eagle management defended their decision in terribly offensive terms; someone realized this was a bad idea; staff were let go, the incriminating posts were deleted (never a good idea, people—the internets always remember and then you look like even more of a douchebag), the performance was cancelled, and now leatherfolk are having a big online discussion about it (at that link and elsewhere). Which, on some level, is good. The discussion part I mean. But it also seems that a lot of the dialogue is centring on the idea of free speech (really, people? do your homework), on comedy being a place where nothing is sacred (which is a terribly lazy response to a question of racist harm), and on how the Portland Eagle isn’t really a leather bar because it only hosts leather nights twice a week, and therefore… what? That makes it okay? Well, I guess maybe it makes some people feel better about themselves, which… well, doesn’t solve the problem.
Listen. When black leatherfolk are saying loud and clear that a blackface act is racist and not okay, this is not the time to be saying “yeah, but…” At all. Like, just stop. Arguing with that kinda makes you automatically the bad guy. No matter how brilliant your argument, you are simply not going to make a person of colour feel all freshly enlightened by your perspective and no longer offended at racist jokes told at their expense, anymore than you’re going to make me feel like if I just lightened up some I’d think rape jokes were the height of good comedy. At best, be silent and sit with your discomfort and defensiveness and think about why this practice might upset someone, about the history and present-day realities of black people in North America and the world, about how racism affects everyone all the time, about how we are many generations away from being “post-race,” about why, possibly, jokes by white guys at the expense of black women might upset black women and anyone who cares about black women, or people of colour more generally, or living in a kind and just world. Put all the defensiveness on hold, and just think about it as long and deep as you can, until you get past the wall of discomfort and find a glimmer of empathy. Focus on the empathy and cultivate it. If you can do better than that, great, but silent introspection and empathy are a much better place to start than defense.
2. If you are personally accused of racism, don’t half-assedly apologize for your racism by saying how much everyone else is also racist, as if that somehow makes it all right. Yes, even if it’s true that everyone else is also racist. This is what porn star Danny Wylde recently did after being called out for doing yellowface in a porn flick. Don’t get me wrong—if everyone around you is racist, that shit needs to be talked about, and on that count, Danny Wylde has done a great job. It’d be great to see this inspire a broader discussion about racism in pornography, and he really lays out the terrain pretty clearly. But he kinda just seems resigned to being the fall guy this time around, rather than thinking things through at a deeper level or taking real responsibility. This is a missed opportunity. Apologizing is an excellent start, and explaining is (sometimes) helpful, especially when the explanation helps educate, but when an explanation starts to sound like an excuse, not so much. I think he can do better.
3. Don’t dress up as a person of a racial or ethnic background that you are not. Don’t do it for Halloween, don’t do it because you thought it’d be a cool costume for the next fetish night, don’t do it to celebrate your birthday, and especially don’t do it because you think (insert people of a given racial background here) are super sexy and you want to be more like them. If you’re a designer, don’t design kinky clothing lines based on a fetishized idea of a culture not your own, whether that’s African or Asian or any other mysterious, sexy, exciting non-white culture. While we’re at it, don’t design lingerie with this in mind, or bed sheets, or anything else. If you’re not a designer? Cuz, y’know, most of us aren’t, I realize? Well, then, your job is even easier: don’t buy or wear these clothes or lingerie or bed sheets. If you really want to do some work, not only can you not buy them, but you can write to the companies that make them and tell them that their race-fetish product makes you really uncomfortable, and as a result they’re losing the money you might have spent with them.
I know that the next question on some people’s minds is going to be, “but what if it’s my kink?” Well, if your personal kink involves race play, read up on the ways that people of colour are asking you to think about doing that kind of play (such as Mollena Williams, who kindly provides a list of resources, or Midori), and really do the work to think about it. Then, make some really careful decisions about when and where to do it, and whom it might affect if you are doing it in public, and how to keep the boundaries of your scene as clear as humanly possible. Simply saying “it’s my kink so therefore it’s okay” isn’t good enough. It doesn’t have to be fair that women getting consensually beat on by men is “normal” in the BDSM scene and race play is still “edgy” and so requires a little more care in setting up. Fair is not the right measuring stick here. Harm is.
4. In keeping with that last point, don’t hold a BDSM or leather or kink event that fetishizes non-white cultures. Over my decade-plus in kink communities, I’ve seen far too many events go by with racial themes – geisha night, “Mysteries of the Orient,” ancient Greece, whatever. And I’ve seen way too many kink rituals in which white people straight-up appropriate customs from non-white cultures and turn them kinky. It’s not cool. It’s racist. Just don’t do it. You can be way more creative than that. (Read the post I link to at the top of point 3 for more thoughts on this.)
5. Don’t complain that as a white person, you’re being super constrained by all this stuff. This not dressing up, this not going to see a particular kind of comedy show, this thinking and looking and maybe apologizing, this not buying of clothes and fancy underwear and bed sheets. Anytime you are tempted to complain, go watch Roots, or read Edward Said’s Orientalism, or check out the latest post on Racialicious, or read any current information about who gets most thrown in jail, who is most economically disadvantaged, who has their land stolen, and so forth. In a post-racial society, we’ll all get to say and do anything we want without fear of hurting anyone, but in the meantime, suck it up. Also? POCs get to tell us when we’ve made it to the post-racial society. Anyone who’s not a POC doesn’t get to pronounce that verdict. The end.
1. When racist shit hits the fan, listen to the people of colour around you who have been hurt, and step up in whatever way they say they need you to. In this case, I’m writing this post in direct response to a public request by Lady !Kona, a long-time Vancouver-based leatherdyke organizer, calling on community leaders to step up and make some noise. (Read these excellent posts by Elaine Miller, Radical Accessible Communities and Queer, White & Masculine in response to the same request.) Not every POC pervert agrees with Lady !Kona, as the Leatherati article I linked to above will attest. But I think it’s a good general default to listen hardest and respond most assiduously to the people who are most hurt by something rather than to take comfort in the fact that some people aren’t offended and so that means it’s all okay and you can rest easy. I’d rather not rest easy if it means that some folks are still hurting and now I’m part of the problem.
2. Engage in the conversation about race. Read things, think about things, say things, ask questions, listen listen listen. Note that it’s gonna be uncomfortable and that you will fuck up. No, I don’t have the magic formula for getting it right. I’m sure I’ve fucked up in the past and will fuck up in the future, because gee, guess what, I’m a white person who doesn’t actually directly experience racism and probably has some wrongheaded ideas about race embedded deep in my psyche by virtue of living in a racist culture in a racist world even if my conscious mind is doing a lot of work to challenge all that stuff. I sure do hope that when someone calls me on my inevitable mistakes, I’ll have it in me to respond with grace, genuine listening, and appropriate reparation. It is scary and vulnerable to know that you will probably fuck up, especially in public. Terrifying, really. And it’s important to move ahead anyway.
3. Try this practice. Every time you go to a leather or kink event, look around to see who’s missing. Do you see a sea of white faces? Only able-bodied people? Mostly slim, conventionally attractive folks? Mostly people who make a living well above the poverty line? Mostly people aged thirty-plus? Mostly men? Is everyone cisgendered? Once you’ve assessed this, take a look at the structural elements that might have produced this situation. Could the advertising perchance have given the impression that this event was only for people who look like fetish models? Did the price exclude people who work for minimum wage? Do the thirty steps and no elevator mean that anyone with mobility issues quite simply can’t get in the door? Next, think about what you could do to change this situation. Perhaps it might mean approaching an organizer and noting that there’s a situation going on they might not have considered. There’s no need to be mean about it—in fact, the best kind of calling-out is the kind where the caller then offers some support in fixing the problem. But yeah, talking about change and making change can be uncomfortable, so expect some of that along the way. If you’re an organizer, this could mean organizing an event in a way that’s really pretty different from what you’ve known so far. Yep. Sometimes leadership means exactly that.
4. Do invite people of colour to present at your events, or, if you’re not an event organizer, ask the organizers of the events you like to attend to do this. Consider that in order for your presenter list to be less lily-white, you may have to cough up some money to pay your presenters, because the economic privilege that results in the availability to volunteer one’s services as a presenter is often far more common among white people, particularly white men, than among anyone else. This privilege means white men continue to be constructed as authorities on kink. Go read Mollena’s post on this topic, it’s excellent.
5. Think about your privilege, and about what you can do with it to make things better. In 2009, I wrote a two-part post, here and here, about being a white anti-racist and a pervert at the same time. It was a start, for me, and I’ve done plenty more thinking since and surely have much more to come. How about you?