The most important part of listening is accepting, even when you don’t understand.
In the wake of George Floyd’s death, white Americans pledged en masse to listen to the voices of Black Americans, whose stories and perspectives went unanswered for decades, until the volume of Internet videos of Black people being killed by police became too great for anyone to ignore.
But listening doesn’t come easy. It requires commitment, especially when Black voices have something to say that white ears aren’t comfortable hearing.
Take Rob Parker’s most recent essay for Deadspin, in which he argues that Augusta National Golf Club should change the name of the Masters.
“The Masters never felt good or even sounded good when you said it,” Parker wrote.
“And be honest. When you hear anyone say the Masters, you think of slave masters in the South,” Parker continued. “There’s nothing else, nothing special. You don’t think of someone mastering the game of golf. When has anyone mastered golf?”
Parker misjudges me. I have always assumed that tournament’s name refers to the players in the field — golfers at the very height of the sport, the true masters of the game.
But I am a white man. My blind spots are a privilege. And if Parker says that “the Masters” conjures a different image in his mind, then that’s good enough for me. I believe him.
Predictably, Parker’s essay floated through social media with, shall we say, resistance. I suspect most of Parker’s critics are white. And I suspect that nearly all of them forgot that listening to someone and rendering judgment on them — answering “yes” or “no” to what they have to say, instead of simply “I hear you” — are two different things.
It doesn’t matter whether readers agreed with Parker that the Masters should change its name. That’s not the point; it’s the farthest thing from the point, actually. The point is that it causes Parker pain — a pain that no white person could ever be expected to understand. I can’t understand it. But I can hear Parker’s explanation and accept his account as legitimate. And so I do. That’s listening.
Whether the tournament’s name should be changed isn’t really the point, either. I don’t know whether Parker’s sentiment is unique to him or is widely shared among Black people. The only way I can figure that out is by listening. And so I will. Whether I’ve been persuaded by Parker’s essay is not the point. Whether I’ve made space for it and acknowledge its legitimacy is the point.
To be clear, I cast no more judgment on anyone who reacted reflexively to Parker’s essay than I do to the views shared in the essay. Making space for points of view that challenge conventions is uncomfortable. Even people with good intentions will stumble. I don’t have a monopoly on empathy; I’ll stumble too.
But if white people’s newfound resolve to listen to Black voices is to amount to anything more than a gesture, then the resolve must remain even when the message is uncomfortable — most of all when Black people share perspectives and experiences that are irreconcilable with white people’s viewpoints.
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