So I’m reading this book called Slay, and so far I’m riveted. It’s about a teenage Black girl, who creates an MMORPG exclusively for Black* players. A lot of stuff happens, but what I’m on about is when the main character’s sister has to explain, to their white friends, that yes, it is important to have a Black-only MMORPG. “Imagine that absolutely nothing in the world was for you,” she begins. And I can tell by the white kids’ reaction that they’re having trouble wrapping their minds around that speech. Because they’re privileged in a lot of ways, and they really do live in a world where everything is geared towards them.
Now, I’m over fifty, I’ve had a lot more than one black friend, and I have not restricted my reading, movie/TV watching, and other media consumption to white-oriented material. For all that, though, I might still never really “get it”. But I think I can gain an understanding by putting it in a context I am familiar with: Not being tall, when that, at least in the USA, is the norm.
I’m 5’1". Even for a woman, that’s pretty short. There are some things I have to live with every day. I have to use a stepstool, or ask for assistance, to reach shelves that are not necessarily “high” to an average person. I usually have to look up if I want to look people in the eye. When I drive, I have to pull the seat almost all the way forward, a lot of chairs are too big for me to sit all the way back and have my feet on the floor, finding a skirt I like in the length that I want is often a lost cause…But for the most part, it’s not personal; it’s not something people are doing to me, to my face, without even realizing how wrong they are.
But suppose it was like that? Suppose being short meant being a minority. Suppose…well, don’t suppose that the Western world is run mostly by tall people, but suppose they used/abused that difference to their advantage, and saw short people as a suspicious Other.
Suppose I started counting, and then lost count of, the number of times I’d been asked, “Are you a gymnast?” Or if I was a guy, a jockey. And also asked if I knew this other short person they used to work with. And, at parties, told, “There’s someone you gotta meet!” and dragged over to the one short person of my preferred gender.
And then, if I hadn’t been introduced, by a tall person, to the one other short person in the group, I’d better watch myself. If we found each other on our own and started hanging out together, the talls might get uncomfortable. And then Og forbid another shortie shows up and joins us. “Are they grouping up? Are they gonna start something?”
If people were constantly commenting on my shortness, like they have to reassure me it didn’t bother them. Well, that sometimes does happen. I have a guy friend whose driver’s license says he’s 5’4"* * , and who is active in local theater. As such, he gets measured a lot, for costumes, and he finally had to tell people “You don’t have to toss me the bone of ‘And a half!’ No one is going to mistake me for Pau Gasol; I don’t care about a half inch more or less.” But anyway, suppose people somehow felt compelled to tell me that they used to be good friends with another short person, and they love Michael J. Fox*** and so forth. You know, they’re “comfortable” around me, but of course, I’m one of the good ones, more like a hobbit than a dwarf.
And what if, when I was a teen and twenty-something, on the one hand, my parents were urging me to act taller, or at least less short. Wear cowboy boots or three-inch pumps. Tease or spike your hair up! Wear vertical stripes! I mean, you can’t make your shortness too obvious if you want to get into a mostly-tall school, or work in a predominantly tall industry. And on the other hand, suppose some (or a lot) of my short peers gave me a hard time for that and called me a sellout. And suppose I succeeded in my chosen industry, and got promoted to a higher level than any previous short person. Would I have to live with the knowledge that I would probably be the only shortie in the boardroom until I retired or moved on? Because, again, we can’t have two of them on the same level…
And probably other examples, but you get the idea. Is that what it’s like, to be of color in a predominantly white world? If it is, I think I have some understanding. Even if I never truly “get it”, I can relate, and proceed with empathy.
I hope, anyway.
*The author capitalizes, so if I talk about her book, I guess I should capitalize too.
**I mean, who knows their precise height? It can fluctuate even in adulthood, depending on a lot of things, like how limber one is. But does anyone ever say they’re 6’3" and a half? And how do you determine who’s “really short”? What if there was an amusement park ride test, like the paper bag test?
***Or Kevin Hart, if we’re really through the looking glass, and this heightist world is truly color-blind!
