Part Five: The Consequences of My Racist Act

This section answers the question some of you asked: My best (and probably imperfect) understanding of why some Deaf Black people consider the question, “Are you Black first or Deaf first” to be racist, or if not racist, then at least hurtful. Comments from more knowledgeable individuals are very much welcome.

This story began with my racist act (see Part One); then I took you on a quick flashback through my childhood years (Part Two) and my first year in college (Part Three). Then we returned to the scene of my racist act, but this time with a glimpse inside my head (Part Four).

Now, hit fast forward, to the next scene …

It is a few years later, probably in February 1993. I now have my BA in Honors English, and I have a job–at Gallaudet University, writing news stories for the internal staff/faculty newsletter, “On the Green.”

One day, I cover a lecture by a Black, Deaf faculty/staff member at Gallaudet. And one of the topics she addresses is: The Question. Do you see yourself as Deaf first or as Black first?

I don’t remember now exactly how she explained it, so I’ll present my own explanation, in my own words. (Readers, please feel free to correct or elaborate upon this in the comment section):

A person who is both Black and also Deaf is BOTH BLACK AND DEAF. In other words: Duh. This seems so obvious that no one should have to say it. But evidently I needed to be reminded.

For a Black Deaf person, both his/her identity as a Black person AND ALSO his/her identity as a Deaf person are integral to who they are. The one cannot be separated from the other. A D/deaf African American is a single, whole person. There is no discrete part of their soul that you can point to and say, “Okay, this is the Deaf part over here, and there’s the Black/African American part over there.”

So when a Deaf white person asks, “Do you see yourself as Deaf first or as Black first?” that’s pretty much the equivalent as if we were to reach inside them, rip out their soul, and viciously tear it into two pieces. Then hold up the pieces and ask, “Okay, which of these chunks of soul do you want me to return to you? Think carefully, because I’ll pulverize the other in the kitchen sink grinder. Because, really, I only want to know one part of you, so why bother with the other?”

That was what I did that night in the Gallaudet cafeteria 17 years ago.

Next installment: my belated, open apology.

Next:
Part Six: My Racist Act: The Apology I Owed

[Want to submit your own essay for publication on this blog? It should be related in some way to reunifying or healing the Gallaudet community in the aftermath of the protests. See prior posts soliciting co-authored essays or essays in general for instructions.]