Today, I took a bike ride to places Unknown. Or at least Unplanned. And ended up at a place with signs that declare, “Whites Beach.”
Never before have I been so thankful for the absence of the word “only.”
The signs were not declaring an active racial prohibition. These signs were not prescriptive; they were, however, descriptive. And probably not just for these few moments as I pause from pedaling my bike, since there are two handfuls of white-presenting people strolling along the shoreline present. Probably accurate most of the time, as, I am guessing, 99% of the people who end up here likely present as white.
So while it’s not a lawful prohibition, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a cultural one. Among the two handfuls of people here, there is a middle aged man in swim trunks with red and white stripes and small blue stars. (It is not the Fourth of July.) There is another man with a baseball hat in the colors of hunters camo. Not that far from here, I saw two white people wearing biking shirts, again with the red, white and blue flag motif, as well as large letters spelling out “Don’t Tread on Me.” Not long before I found this beach, I passed a mailbox with an American flag on it and wondered whether it was meant to convey patriotism or nationalism. These days, there are so many who claim the former, but it sure seems like the latter.
Back to the signs: Whites Beach. I think it’s the presence of the ’s’ at the end of the first word that has caught my attention. When I say it aloud, it sounds like the possessive form of the word. White’s. Or god forbid: Whites’.
I get that most likely, at some point in the near or distant past, there was a local family who owned this land (according to the laws of the nation, not of nature) and their surname was White. It could have been Baker or Smith or Freedman. (Well, probably not Freedman, given the racial demographics).
They lent their name (or imposed it) an act of civic generosity (or class hubris). It could have been Donaldson or Hughes or Cohen (well, probably not Cohen, but that’s a different historical dynamic).
Given the weight of harmful history in this country, and that history’s presence in the present, we live in the echo of racially-charged signs that have excluded and have stoked violence. This country has had more than a plethora of “whites only” or “colored only” signs.
(Including the latter, in the progressive church where I serve not 20 miles away in our state’s largest small city: a sign restricting access to Black people solely to the balcony, kept in place until 1849, when it was removed.)
And given what is happening in the United States of America now, with the attacks on Diversity, Inclusion, and Equity practices and policies, intent on elimination of these worthy efforts; with the racial and ethnic profiling of immigrants for mass deportation, it’s not about historical patterns. It’s about what is happening right now.
Back to the Whites Beach signs: if I, a white woman, feel uneasy about the sign, what then of those whose skin tone is not assigned white? What welcome do they experience? Do they do a double-take, like what I did, but different, more personal, made up of subtle yet oft-practiced safety check of body and companions (am I safe? are we safe? do we belong here? Of course we do, but do others know that?)
Never have I ever been so thankful for the absence of the word “only” – except, why can’t I shake the feeling that it’s there, even when it’s not?
