This commentary is by Becca Balint, a senator from Windham County who is president pro tempore of the Vermont Senate.
As a former history teacher, I was struck by Derby Rep. Brian Smith’s statements in a supposed “critical race theory” forum the other day in Brighton.
Smith, when asked how race should be discussed in schools, responded, “I don’t think they [the teachers] need to talk about race in the classroom, unless it comes up.” He then gave the example of a white student calling a black student the “n-word.” This, Smith asserted, was an appropriate time to discuss race, and I don’t disagree. An incident like that would absolutely be a critical time to discuss racial prejudice.
But it should not be the only time. How can you discuss the harm and power of that offensive word without discussing its history? How can we understand the reasons for this word’s endurance if we don’t name when and why this epithet came into common usage? I could never support any movement that argues that we’re better off having less information and not more.
The manufactured crisis around the bugaboo of “critical race theory” is maddening. Yet it’s also an excellent opportunity for us to get more curious about important details of American history. But we must be brave enough to take advantage of the opportunity. Talking about race and racism will not lead to less patriotism or a dampened love of country, and conversations about racism are not simply a way to “pile” on white people and blame us for things that happened long ago. We can and should learn about and discuss our shared history as Americans — the good, the bad, and the ugly.
In this same meeting, Rep. Smith also said, “I am proud to be white. … I have been listening to people complain that being white is not a good thing to be anymore. … I’m tired of hearing it.”
Although I found these comments difficult to read, I’m certain he is not the only Vermonter who harbors these feelings. And I’m actually glad that he named them. What I hear Smith saying is that he doesn’t want to feel shame. When he says he’s proud to be white, he’s also signaling that he doesn’t want to feel embarrassment. Who does? It’s really uncomfortable and can paralyze us.
He also says he’s tired of this dynamic. What happens to us when we feel tired and fatigued? We have poor judgment and impaired decision-making. We have reduced ability to pay attention and think critically. We may feel angry and unmotivated. And when we feel the stirrings of shame, we also often feel helpless.
What I’ve found useful in working through these uncomfortable feelings is knowledge. The world looks very different when you learn that Black men and their families were prevented from taking advantage of the many benefits of the post-World War II GI Bill — legislation that powered the rise in the white middle class.
Our understanding of wealth in America shifts when we learn that Black families couldn’t secure mortgages and were “redlined” into certain neighborhoods and out of others. One of the most basic means of accumulating wealth in this country is home ownership. The different rules for white Americans and Black Americans in this arena have contributed to median Black families having 10 times less wealth than white families, according to a 2019 McKinsey report.
I know that this information will move some people, but not others. It can feel like it all happened “so long ago.” So, let me put it in the language of cold, hard cash. A major 2020 report by Citigroup, a global investment bank, put a price tag on the cost of ongoing racism to the entire economy: $16 trillion. Citigroup’s analysts estimate we have all been deprived of $16 trillion flowing into our national economy over the past 20 years due to a wealth gap caused both by historic and ongoing discriminatory practices. Our economy suffers from lost business revenue because of discriminatory lending policies and lost income from discrimination in accessing higher education and ongoing wage disparities.
Citigroup estimates that 6.1 million American jobs were not generated over the last two decades as a result of Black entrepreneurs not having access to capital. Simply put, we have all lost out.
We as a nation are $16 trillion poorer because we inherited discriminatory, race-based federal housing and education policies. But without the context of these policies, schoolchildren of all backgrounds are likely to place responsibility for these disparities on our individual characters and not on the policies themselves.
Teaching about these policies isn’t critical race theory; it’s simply American history, and the more we understand it, the better we can understand present conditions. I am proud and grateful to be an American, and one of the best things about living in the United States is our ability, I might even say our obligation, to examine and address our nation’s shortcomings. We shouldn’t fear this work; it’s part of our DNA as a nation. We are still striving to be a more perfect union.
