If you haven’t noticed by now, I tend to write about race quite a bit. I concede there are many other things I could write about, but as the saying goes, “write what you know.” I’ve been a lot of different things over my life and lived in different places. But while doing each thing, and living in each place, I have always been Black. So, navigating that experience is what I know.
Invariably, whenever I write a column about race, I receive an influx of responses. Most of them are negative, but some are positive. A running theme of these messages generally centers around the relationship between poverty and race. Negative responders will assert that I am yet again “playing the race card” and making excuses for the failings of the Black community. This responder shares that he grew up poor and overcame it, therefore the Black community has no excuse. On the other hand, the positive responder will thank me for discussing whatever racial issue. Further, this person will state that they understand “what it’s like” because they experienced poverty growing up.
Both of these responses are problematic. Interestingly, they are problematic for the same reason. Poverty and race are not the same things. Poverty is a circumstance. And like most circumstances, poverty has the ability to change. Poor can become middle class. Middle class can become rich. Race, however, is a social construct. And unlike a circumstance, that construct has no ability to change. Race is immutable. There is no amount of educational attainment or hard work which will turn Black into white. As you were born, so you will die.
To be clear, overcoming poverty is a truly Herculean feat. According to a 2013 Pew Research study, 70% of those born at the bottom of the income ladder (the two lowest quintiles) will never reach the middle class. In 2013, the two lowest quintiles represented an income of $41,035 or less. Further, just 4% of those born at the bottom of the income ladder will reach the top income quintile. In 2013, the top income quintile was $110,233 or more.
Thus, anyone who has overcome poverty to reach even the middle class has quite literally beaten the odds. That is tremendous and I applaud anyone who has done so.
However, race is an entirely different animal. There is no “overcoming” race or, more specifically, the racism that can flow from it. In fact, in a remarkable perversion of the American Dream, the more money an African American makes, the more likely he or she will report experiencing racism.
A 2017 survey by Harvard’s school of public health and others found that 65% of Blacks making $75,000 a year or more reported they were the target of racial slurs whereas just 40% of Blacks making $25,000 a year or less reported the same thing, In other words, for a Black person, money is not a vehicle which takes one away from racism. The opposite is true; money that comes from all of that hard work and determination is likely earning them a one-way ticket straight to it.
I truly appreciate those positive responders who note that they understand because of their personal experiences with poverty. I appreciate them because I believe the sentiment comes from a good place. They want to build a connection. That is a good thing. However, the premise underlying that sentiment is flawed.
Consider this: When you think of a poor person, what is that person’s color? I’ll start. I see a Black person. I’ll venture to guess that, regardless of your race, you see a Black person, too. Before you get offended, you should know that my guess is supported by research.
Eric Foster is a columnist for The Plain Dealer and cleveland.com.
In 2019, researchers from the University of Kentucky and Colgate University studied the automatic cognitive associations Americans make regarding Black Americans and poverty and how these associations may predict attitudes toward welfare programs. The study found that non-Black Americans automatically associate being Black with being poor.
These results make some sense, right? We are all influenced by our environment. I’m not jumping out on a limb by asserting that Black people are overrepresented in political discussions about poverty. The phrase “Welfare Queen,” used by Ronald Reagan during his 1976 presidential campaign, was based upon a Black woman. Black people are similarly overrepresented in depictions of poverty in the media. A 2018 study by the nonprofit Color of Change found that Black families represent 59% of the poor in news and opinion media. If Hollywood tells a story about a Black family, that story usually involves a bout with poverty. Even those late-night infomercials about donating “$1 a day” to sponsor a child usually contain images of poor Black children.
I understand why people make the association, but that association is the product of a constant bombardment with a distorted reality. The reality is, the vast majority of Black Americans are not living in poverty. In 2019, the poverty rate for Blacks was 18.8%, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. Said another way, more than 8 in 10 Blacks are not living in poverty.
If the reality was accurately portrayed to the American public, the face of poverty in America would be a white one. While the poverty rate for white Americans is low in comparison with other racial demographics at just 7.3%, there are more white Americans living in poverty than any other racial group. About 14.2 million white Americans live below the poverty line. Compare that to the 8.1 million Black Americans living below the poverty line. Blacks are actually No. 3 in total numbers living below the poverty line. There are 9.5 million Hispanics living in poverty.
I say all of that to say that the poverty experience is not the Black experience. Being poor is one thing. Being Black is another. Being poor and white is one thing. Being poor and Black is another.
What I’m really discussing is the concept of intersectionality. The term was coined by Canton, Ohio native Kimberlé Crenshaw, a law professor at both UCLA and Columbia. The crux of the concept is that individuals have individual identities that intersect in ways that impact how they are viewed, understood, and treated. For example, Black women face specific forms of discrimination due to their dual identities that I, as a Black man, do not.
I am Black. But I did not grow up poor. Saying so would be a disservice to all my mother’s sacrifice and hard work. She was the one who beat the odds. I grew up in varying stages of middle class. I did not have to overcome poverty. Still, I have experienced things, and continue to experience things, some of which I have shared with you, that occurred for no other reason than I was Black.
I do not say that to minimize poverty. It is something I do not wish upon anyone. Being poor is so bad for your well-being, it literally shortens your life span. I only say that to make plain that being poor does not provide insight into my experience as a Black man in America. And it’s wrong to think so.
Eric Foster
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