Calling in, Calling out
At least right now, I am writing these blogs primarily for recent(ish) graduates of jazz programs with whom I regularly interact in my own jazz scene here in New England. After decades playing jazz, I have seen so many generations of young white men start out as seemingly humble, open, wanting-to-do-the-right-thing fellows and by the time they are in their mid-twenties to thirties almost all of them are just, if I may, playing with themselves. Each new generation thinks they are more progressive than the old guard and are “not the problem.” They then re-perform jazz as the exclusive environment it has been throughout their lives, from jazz camps to college. Even if these young men were not in these programs, they will enter a scene where that vibe is performed and re-performed and re-performed like the very tired lick that it is. Just like being a good improviser, it takes effort and courage to break out of tired habits. You must go against a very strong and a very comfortable norm. And America’s historical answer for most questions has been segregation (on the right and the left). But when we step out of our segregated safe spaces (segregated by class, age, “ability,” viewpoint, gender, race) and hang out in the discomfort of coalition, this is where the rubber can meet the road.
I think fondly of my own days just out of college, working at the Women’s Needs Center in San Francisco, part of the Haight Ashbury Free Clinic. I was surrounded by women of color and older white women who did not shy away from pointing out my, well, “white girl stuff,” let’s just call it. While I thought I was somewhat informed about matters of race and gender from my college education, I had little “real world” experience in how to talk about (let alone counter) racism, sexism, and other hierarchies outside of the class or dorm room. Living in the Mission district, I spoke Spanish with men outside our flat and found out they were from Mexico. When I called them “Mexican” to my coworker, who was Latina, her body crumpled as if from a physical blow. I didn’t consider how using that word would sound like I was calling all Latinx people “Mexicans.” These are the complexities and fraught miscommunications that do not go away no matter how many years a white person is involved in anti-racist work or a man is involved in anti-patriarchal efforts. It is part of the price of the ticket toward freedom, as James Baldwin would say. Rather than giving up and hiding in a segregated space, breaking out of the habits of white supremacy and patriarchy demand a kind of continual awkward alliance of perpetual miscommunication, misunderstanding, and imperfect effort. As the Buddhists say, stepping from failure to failure toward enlightenment.
I do not get the same feedback that I did as a young woman. I don’t think it’s because I have become much wiser. I think it is because I’m older now and folks may have less hope for me than for a younger person. I understand. We have to choose our battles. So if someone is “calling you out,” pointing out your blind spots (something we all need)—you should be extremely grateful. They still have hope! This calling out is in fact a calling in. You should listen to what they are saying because it may not last for long.
I’m still talking to younger white men because I still have hope. I won’t give up until you’re 40.
