This story is not profound

I get that a lot.

People will tell an anecdote- something that’s happened to them, or a friend, or something they’ve observed- and will finish with “I know that this story is not profound or unique.” We ascribe to the belief that the value of a personal story is in part measured by its creativity. My favorite personal story is when my friends and I were (incorrectly and with no evidence!!) accused of being prostitutes in Barcelona and had to sue the (highly xenophobic) president of our apartment building for defamation of character and blasphemy (yes, you can sue for blasphemy under Spanish law). It’s a story soaked in drama and humor, with powerful climaxes and resolutions, great linguistic misunderstandings, and- above all- it’s unique. It’s impossible that anyone will have the same story and highly improbable that anyone will have a similar story.

The stories of race in America are not that.

In 2003 when Sarah and I reviewed the first 100 stories collected, they organically fell into categories of stereotypes, of language, of identity, of social geography. Interracial relationships, gentrification, affirmative action, and environmental justice. Not only did the themes repeat, but stories themselves repeated- the names and places changed but the moments of racism, of pain, of inferiority neared formulaic.

Hearing stories of racism, one after another, is never uninteresting. But for me, the most interesting part is the perpetual sense of “I’ve heard this before.” Individually we are different people and situations are uniquely mediated, but the mental processes and associated feelings that accompany racism and oppression are surprisingly similar.