I shouldn't have to.
As mentioned a couple of entries ago, I have decided to see Birth of a Nation, then decide whether I want to do research on people's reactions to it. The movie may be seen by most as "racial"--which it is, from what I understand--but it's also a classic, and it was also deeply important. It helped shape history. For this reason, I thought it was worth a shot to just get it on loan from one of the libraries in town.
I started with the Gunter library, since I was there yesterday to pick up the ponderous Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. The library, like too many these days, doesn't have clearly defined computer terminals for accessing the catalog, so I asked the librarian on duty if they have a collection of movies they let out on loan. She answered, "Yes, we do. That shelf over there and the one beside it hold our movies."
I looked in the direction she was pointing and saw a modest collection, but more than I had the time to sort through at the moment. She noted my hesitation and said helpfully, "Is there something in particular you're looking for?"
I said, "Yes. Um...Birth of a Nation."
Did I mention she's a black woman? Something I've noticed recently is that almost all black people seem to know about this movie while most white people have never heard of it. I (correctly) assumed that she would know instantly whether they have it or not. It isn't one of those titles she might be fuzzy on. I was correct.
She wasn't rude, but her features became perceptibly cooler and she said quietly, in clipped words, "No. We don't have that."
I said simply, "I thought you might not."
But I felt that urge to explain myself. You know the urge I mean? I'm talking about that urge of self-righteous indignation you get from the relative certainty that someone has just made an incorrect, negative assumption about you--the urge to defend yourself, even when you have not been attacked or questioned overtly.
I wonder...had I been black and asked the same question, what would she have said to me? "No, we don't have that," then...what? Something like "What on earth do you want to see that movie for?" perhaps. Or "You do know what the movie's about, don't you?" Clearly, the woman has feelings about the movie that she avoided expressing to me. Perhaps she'd have avoided it had I been black, as well, but I rather doubt it. The movie is racist and thus even the mention of it provokes residual racist feelings, or at least guarded racial sensitivity.
But I didn't offer to explain anything. Someone once said, "Never explain. Your friends don't need it and your enemies won't believe you anyway." There's a great deal of truth to the quote, even though it does overlook that huge "middle class" of people who aren't friends or enemies, but strangers. I still feel the advice to offer explanation unsolicited is well-taken, though.
What bugged me about my urge was that it's an indication that others' opinions of me, based on even the most superficial information, can influence my behavior. Why do I care? I don't have a guilty conscience. I have nothing to cover up or compensate for. Why does it bother me when I think a stranger has the impression I'm racist?
I think I'm bugged by my urge to explain precisely because I am not. To be quite frank, I'm annoyed that race in any context is even (ever) an issue. Every time I hear another person waxing eloquent about what a racist or bigot he's not and (egads) offering anecdotal supporting evidence, I think about smoke and mirrors. Smoke and mirrors are only necessary when you are attempting to change your audience's perception of reality. In short, as a general rule of thumb, we only tell people what great people we are when we're afraid they won't be able to tell just by watching.
Perhaps she jumped to the obvious insulting conclusion, or perhaps it occurred to her that there are many reasons a person might want to watch the film, only one of which is agreement with its viewpoints. If she's as smart as I like to think people are, she'll opt for the latter and reserve judgment. Either way, I don't think the explanation I felt the urge to offer would have changed her perception.
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