The following quotes are from ShankarVedantam's The Hidden Brain.
I've scanned several passages from the book into the computer for speed, but the gist
is that an awful lot of our lives goes unnoticed.
The downside to unconscious living is that we are naturally prejudiced. For example, Vedantam cites
studies done with toddlers who associated unfamiliar faces and races with
less-than-optimum behavior (the black faces were those of bad people).
Even when they were read stories where the black person was the hero who helped the white
kids, they did not believe it possible. In fact, when the toddlers who had heard
this story were asked to re-tell it, they made the white kids into the heroes,
and the black into an unworthy recipient of their help. In other words, they
entered the fact-free zone that Fox and others exploit so well to turn fear of
"the other" into exploitable action, regardless of the facts.
A few other topics covered, besides racism: gun laws, public policy, gender
bias, etc. Doubly interesting, too, because Vedantan is East Indian, and has
been on the receiving end of bias.
[Gun laws - after a discussion which revealed that people's unconscious bias is
that guns protect them, even though the facts say otherwise. For example, when
Washington D.C. banned handguns, the suicide rate fell 23%... so the feeling of
safety is belied by fact]
People feel safer barreling down a highway at seventy miles an hour-without seat
belts-than they do sitting in a passenger plane going through turbulence. The
fact that we are in control of the car gives us the illusion of safety, even
though all the empirical evidence shows we are safer in the plane.
Suicide rates in states with high levels of gun ownership are much higher than
in states that have low levels of gun ownership. Alabama, Idaho, Colorado, Utah,
Montana, Wyoming, and New Mexico have twice the rate of suicide of Rhode Island,
Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut, Hawaii, and New York. The United States
as a whole has a very high suicide rate compared to other industrialized
countries. Researchers working for the federal government once examined the
suicide rate among children in the United States and twenty-five other
industrialized countries over a single year. The suicide rate among American
children was more than twice the average suicide rate among children in the
other twenty-five countries. The homicide rate among children in the United
States was five times higher. Guns were responsible for much of this. If you
measured only gun-related homicide and suicide, American children were eleven
times more I likely than children in the other twenty-five countries to commit
suicide by shooting themselves, were nine times more likely to be killed in
accidental shootings, and were sixteen times more likely to be murdered. There
were 1107 children shot to death in all the countries; 957 of these victims-86
percent-were children in the United States.
The researchers Arthur Kellermann and Donald Reay once examined all gun-related
deaths over a lengthy period of time in King County in the state of Washington.
They were trying to find evidence for the common intuition that gun owners are
safer because they can protect themselves and their families should someone
break into their homes. Kellermann and Reay identified nine deaths during the
period of the study where people shot and killed an intruder. These are the
stories that gun advocates endlessly relate to one another. In the same period,
guns in people's homes were implicated in twelve accidental deaths and forty-one
homicides--usually family members shooting, one another. The number of suicides?
Three hundred and thirty-three.
studies done with toddlers who associated unfamiliar faces and races with
less-than-optimum behavior (the black faces were those of bad people).
Even when they were read stories where the black person was the hero who helped the white
kids, they did not believe it possible. In fact, when the toddlers who had heard
this story were asked to re-tell it, they made the white kids into the heroes,
and the black into an unworthy recipient of their help. In other words, they
entered the fact-free zone that Fox and others exploit so well to turn fear of
"the other" into exploitable action, regardless of the facts.
A few other topics covered, besides racism: gun laws, public policy, gender
bias, etc. Doubly interesting, too, because Vedantan is East Indian, and has
been on the receiving end of bias.
[Gun laws - after a discussion which revealed that people's unconscious bias is
that guns protect them, even though the facts say otherwise. For example, when
Washington D.C. banned handguns, the suicide rate fell 23%... so the feeling of
safety is belied by fact]
People feel safer barreling down a highway at seventy miles an hour-without seat
belts-than they do sitting in a passenger plane going through turbulence. The
fact that we are in control of the car gives us the illusion of safety, even
though all the empirical evidence shows we are safer in the plane.
Suicide rates in states with high levels of gun ownership are much higher than
in states that have low levels of gun ownership. Alabama, Idaho, Colorado, Utah,
Montana, Wyoming, and New Mexico have twice the rate of suicide of Rhode Island,
Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut, Hawaii, and New York. The United States
as a whole has a very high suicide rate compared to other industrialized
countries. Researchers working for the federal government once examined the
suicide rate among children in the United States and twenty-five other
industrialized countries over a single year. The suicide rate among American
children was more than twice the average suicide rate among children in the
other twenty-five countries. The homicide rate among children in the United
States was five times higher. Guns were responsible for much of this. If you
measured only gun-related homicide and suicide, American children were eleven
times more I likely than children in the other twenty-five countries to commit
suicide by shooting themselves, were nine times more likely to be killed in
accidental shootings, and were sixteen times more likely to be murdered. There
were 1107 children shot to death in all the countries; 957 of these victims-86
percent-were children in the United States.
The researchers Arthur Kellermann and Donald Reay once examined all gun-related
deaths over a lengthy period of time in King County in the state of Washington.
They were trying to find evidence for the common intuition that gun owners are
safer because they can protect themselves and their families should someone
break into their homes. Kellermann and Reay identified nine deaths during the
period of the study where people shot and killed an intruder. These are the
stories that gun advocates endlessly relate to one another. In the same period,
guns in people's homes were implicated in twelve accidental deaths and forty-one
homicides--usually family members shooting, one another. The number of suicides?
Three hundred and thirty-three.
More quotes:
Before he parted ways with [Reverend] Wright, Obama himself said he felt his church was not
particularly controversial. Wright was certainly inflammatory and given to
rhetorical excess, but this partly had to do with the theatricality of sermons
in general and the style of the black church in particular. Obama once said
Wright "is like an old uncle who says things I don't always agree with."
But if Wright had a tendency toward overblown rhetoric, most blacks had little
problem with the emotional truth of his message: African Americans are 447
percent more likely than white Americans to be imprisoned and 521 percent more
likely to be murdered. There is a five-to-one wealth gap between whites and
blacks at birth, blacks live five years fewer on average than whites, and the
black infant mortality rate is nearly one and a half times the white infant
mortality rate. Wouldn't it be odd not to be angry? But once Wright's comments
surfaced in the national media, and excerpts from his sermons were replayed
endlessly on cable television, it was no longer possible for the Obama campaign
to sell its "we are all Americans first" message. The America that Wright
described felt like a cruel caricature to many whites. Which version of reality,
Obama's opponents asked, did the candidate endorse? Hillary Clinton sat down for
a lengthy interview with Bill O'Reilly of FOX News, and agreed with the
conservative commentator that Obama had some explaining to do. Where the country
had seen in Obama only a quiet, well-spoken Harvard educated lawyer, the Wright
episode raised questions about whether. Obama was secretly the kind of militant
black activist that many whites abhorred.
p. 228 . The Hidden Brain
When people spread racist lies about a black candidate, the obvious response was
righteous indignation, but the more effective response was apparently to
approach the problem sideways--to tell voters that the way they felt was
understandable, but to ask them to "take a chance" on the candidate. Racist
beliefs, in other words, were best left unchallenged if you wanted to persuade
someone to vote for your candidate. I started to understand why Obama's approach
had succeeded where so many other black politicians had failed; his campaign's
conscious decision not to cry foul, not to voice the righteous indignation to
which he was surely entitled, was the only way he could win.
I asked Celinda Lake about this after the election. She acknowledged that there
was a tension between fighting stereotypes and trying to get a candidate
elected. But she pointed out that if getting Obama into the White House involved
making some compromises, it was also the case that Obama's election promised to
reduce racism in the United States as nothing else could. The hidden brain
learns through blind repetition, and Obama's election meant the country and the
world would spend the next several years being bombarded with
counter-stereotypical messages about a very smart, articulate, and charismatic
black man--who happened to be the most powerful person on the planet.
...
p. 254 . The Hidden Brain
There is no use complaining about the hidden brain, or wishing it away. ...
There is nothing we can do about it. But there is something we can do about our
actions. We can choose to. allow our actions to be guided by reason rather than
instinct, choose to set up national and international institutions that respond
instantly to humanitarian crises, rather than wait far our heartstrings to be
pulled by stories of individual tragedy. If we rely on our moral telescopes,
there will be people in a hundred years who ask how the world could have sat on
its hands through so many genocides in the twenty-first century.
Making the unconscious conscious is difficult because the central obstacle lies
within ourselves. But putting reason ahead of instinct and intuition is also
what sets us apart from every other species that has ever lived. Understanding
the hidden brain and building safeguards to protect us against its vagaries can
help us be more successful in our everyday lives. It can aid us in our battle
against threats and help us spend our money more wisely. But it can also do
something more important than any of those things: It can make us better
people.
For all the ways this book has shown how the rational mind is unequal to the
machinations of the hidden brain, this is also a book that [p.255] argues that
reason is our only bulwark against bias. Our hidden brain will always make some
criminals seem more dangerous, and some presidential candidates seem less
trustworthy, because of the color of their skin. Terrorism, psychopaths, and
homicide will always seem scarier to us than obesity, smoking, and suicide. The
heartbreaking story about the single puppy lost at sea will make us cry more
quickly than a dry account of a million children killed by malaria. In every one
of these cases, reason is our only rock against the tides of unconscious bias.
It is our lighthouse and our life jacket. It is--or should be--our voice of
conscience.
p. 106 . The Hidden Brain
[At the end of a chapter about about Gender Bias:]
I asked [a transgender professor] about interpersonal dynamics before and after
her transition. "You get interrupted when you are talking, you can't command
attention, but above all you can't frame the issues," she told me. With a touch
of wistfulness, she compared herself to [a transexual who became a man]. "Ben
has migrated into the center, whereas I have had to migrate into the periphery."
Before he parted ways with [Reverend] Wright, Obama himself said he felt his church was not
particularly controversial. Wright was certainly inflammatory and given to
rhetorical excess, but this partly had to do with the theatricality of sermons
in general and the style of the black church in particular. Obama once said
Wright "is like an old uncle who says things I don't always agree with."
But if Wright had a tendency toward overblown rhetoric, most blacks had little
problem with the emotional truth of his message: African Americans are 447
percent more likely than white Americans to be imprisoned and 521 percent more
likely to be murdered. There is a five-to-one wealth gap between whites and
blacks at birth, blacks live five years fewer on average than whites, and the
black infant mortality rate is nearly one and a half times the white infant
mortality rate. Wouldn't it be odd not to be angry? But once Wright's comments
surfaced in the national media, and excerpts from his sermons were replayed
endlessly on cable television, it was no longer possible for the Obama campaign
to sell its "we are all Americans first" message. The America that Wright
described felt like a cruel caricature to many whites. Which version of reality,
Obama's opponents asked, did the candidate endorse? Hillary Clinton sat down for
a lengthy interview with Bill O'Reilly of FOX News, and agreed with the
conservative commentator that Obama had some explaining to do. Where the country
had seen in Obama only a quiet, well-spoken Harvard educated lawyer, the Wright
episode raised questions about whether. Obama was secretly the kind of militant
black activist that many whites abhorred.
p. 228 . The Hidden Brain
When people spread racist lies about a black candidate, the obvious response was
righteous indignation, but the more effective response was apparently to
approach the problem sideways--to tell voters that the way they felt was
understandable, but to ask them to "take a chance" on the candidate. Racist
beliefs, in other words, were best left unchallenged if you wanted to persuade
someone to vote for your candidate. I started to understand why Obama's approach
had succeeded where so many other black politicians had failed; his campaign's
conscious decision not to cry foul, not to voice the righteous indignation to
which he was surely entitled, was the only way he could win.
I asked Celinda Lake about this after the election. She acknowledged that there
was a tension between fighting stereotypes and trying to get a candidate
elected. But she pointed out that if getting Obama into the White House involved
making some compromises, it was also the case that Obama's election promised to
reduce racism in the United States as nothing else could. The hidden brain
learns through blind repetition, and Obama's election meant the country and the
world would spend the next several years being bombarded with
counter-stereotypical messages about a very smart, articulate, and charismatic
black man--who happened to be the most powerful person on the planet.
...
p. 254 . The Hidden Brain
There is no use complaining about the hidden brain, or wishing it away. ...
There is nothing we can do about it. But there is something we can do about our
actions. We can choose to. allow our actions to be guided by reason rather than
instinct, choose to set up national and international institutions that respond
instantly to humanitarian crises, rather than wait far our heartstrings to be
pulled by stories of individual tragedy. If we rely on our moral telescopes,
there will be people in a hundred years who ask how the world could have sat on
its hands through so many genocides in the twenty-first century.
Making the unconscious conscious is difficult because the central obstacle lies
within ourselves. But putting reason ahead of instinct and intuition is also
what sets us apart from every other species that has ever lived. Understanding
the hidden brain and building safeguards to protect us against its vagaries can
help us be more successful in our everyday lives. It can aid us in our battle
against threats and help us spend our money more wisely. But it can also do
something more important than any of those things: It can make us better
people.
For all the ways this book has shown how the rational mind is unequal to the
machinations of the hidden brain, this is also a book that [p.255] argues that
reason is our only bulwark against bias. Our hidden brain will always make some
criminals seem more dangerous, and some presidential candidates seem less
trustworthy, because of the color of their skin. Terrorism, psychopaths, and
homicide will always seem scarier to us than obesity, smoking, and suicide. The
heartbreaking story about the single puppy lost at sea will make us cry more
quickly than a dry account of a million children killed by malaria. In every one
of these cases, reason is our only rock against the tides of unconscious bias.
It is our lighthouse and our life jacket. It is--or should be--our voice of
conscience.
p. 106 . The Hidden Brain
[At the end of a chapter about about Gender Bias:]
I asked [a transgender professor] about interpersonal dynamics before and after
her transition. "You get interrupted when you are talking, you can't command
attention, but above all you can't frame the issues," she told me. With a touch
of wistfulness, she compared herself to [a transexual who became a man]. "Ben
has migrated into the center, whereas I have had to migrate into the periphery."
...
I want to tell you another story, a personal story. On its surface, it has
nothing to do with the hidden brain, bias, or sexism. But stay with me [p.107] a
second. The story has an unexpected insight into the strange canvasses that
[previously cited transexuals and other gender bias studies] have painted for
us.
Shortly after I started work on this chapter, I took a vacation wIth my family.
For me, the highlight of our destination--the tiny island of Isla Mujeres in
Mexico--was a wonderful snorkeling opportunity off the southwestern coast. When
I arrived at the snorkeling spot, it was noon. The water was calm and warm, the
December sun glorious. The coral reef that lay a short distance away had been
damaged in a recent storm, but it was growing back. At the southern lip of a
small bay, officials had cordoned off the reef from swimmers with lines attached
to buoys in order to allow the reef to grow. The cordoned-off area was about two
hundred and fifty feet from my deck chair. The lines and buoys continued out of
sight around a solid wall of rocks.
I have a complicated love affair with the water. I didn't learn to swim until I
was an adult. Well into my twenties, I carried the kind of unreasonable fear of
water that you do not have if you learn to swim as a child. A considerable part
of my enjoyment of the water lies in demonstrating to myself, over and over,
that I have conquered my mortal fear. I am a decent swimmer, but I also know my
fear has not completely disappeared. When things go wrong in the water, I easily
panic.
After several dips, I decided to take one final excursion-this time around the
edge of the bay. I felt happy and wonderful and fit; the water was calm. I
suspected some of the best snorkeling lay around the edge of the rocks, two
hundred fifty feet away. There were no signs posted that warned of any danger.
With a good lunch in my stomach, I felt I could easily swim around the edge of
the bay and back. I briefly thought about donning a life jacket and flippers,
but decided against it. The life jacket would slow me down, and flippers don't
allow for the kind of maneuverability I like when I am snorkeling over a shallow
reef.
The moment I got into the water and headed for the edge of the bay, I knew I had
made the right decision to swim without a life jacket or flippers. I felt strong
and good. I had done a lot of swimming that day already and was surprised at how
smoothly I was kicking through [p.108] the water. The trip would be child's
play; the way I was feeling, I knew I could easily swim well past the edge of
the bay. I struck out purposefully to the lip of rocks. I imagined seeing
myself from the deck chairs back on land, disappearing from view around the
rocks.
The water felt suddenly cooler as I rounded the lip of the bay. It felt
pleasant. I kept within ten or fifteen feet of the line attached to the buoys.
From my side of the line, the ocean side, I could see the coral reef growing
back within the protective arc. The water was now twenty or thirty feet deep.
The reef and the fish were lovelier and more plentiful than anything close to
the main snorkeling area. All the other swimmers were staying in the main area.
I was alone in the water and hidden from view. It felt delicious, as though I
had the whole reef to myself.
My legs and arms felt stronger than ever. Each kick took me several feet; my
technique was better than I remembered. I lengthened my stroke, feeling the pull
of cool water against my torso. I felt graceful. Without realizing it, through
steady practice, I had become a very good swimmer. I felt proud of myself.
I knew from a previous visit that there was a recreational park area to the
south with some excellent snorkeling, and I wanted to reach it before turning
around. But after swimming ten minutes or so past the lip of rocks, all I could
see when I lifted my head from the water was gray sea. Enough, I told myself.
Time to turn around.
I pivoted and started to kick my way back. A particularly lovely piece of coral
lay just beneath me. But as I watched for it to go by as I swam past, the coral
did not budge. I kicked again and again. It was as though I were swimming in
place, stuck with invisible glue to a single spot. My fear of the water, long
dormant, opened one monstrous eye.
I instantly realized my grace and skill on the way out had not been grace and
skill at all. I had been riding an undercurrent. I would now have to fight it on
the way back. The reef did not look beautiful anymore. The water looked too
deep. No one on land could see me. Why had I not worn a life jacket? How insane
not to have donned flippers. I kicked and pulled and kicked and pulled. I was
working much harder than before, but I was not traveling several feet with each
[p. 109] stroke; each effort bought me mere inches. My breathing in my own ears
sounded labored, a huge pair of bellows shouting over the din of the sea.
I debated whether to turn around and go with the current, in the hope of
reaching the recreation area I had seen during my previous visit, and then
hauling myself onto land. But I was no longer sure if there even was a
recreation area anymore. Perhaps it had been closed-because of dangerous
undercurrents. If the recreation area did not exist, I knew I would quickly find
myself in water well beyond my swimming ability. Currents from the east and west
met in a ferocious battle near the southernmost edge of the island. Expert
often say that the best way to fight an undercurrent is to swim out and around
it. In this case, that would have meant swimming out to sea, but the thought
filled me with terror. I had to go back the way I'd come.
I was gripped by an absolute sense of the lunacy of what I had done. There were
no lifeguards in the snorkeling area, no boats. No one could see me. I lived the
usual sedentary life of many urban professionals; my athletic exploits were
mainly weekend heroics. What had made me think I was really fit enough to swim
out so far when I had already exerted myself so much that day?
I had not traveled more than halfway back to the edge of the bay when I decided
I could go no farther. I was exhausted by the current. It was all I could do to
hold the panic down, to keep pulling and kicking and breathing. I feared the
onset of cramps. And over and over, I asked myself how I could have missed the
existence of the current until the moment I turned around and had to fight it.
I don't know where the strength came from to make it back. Perhaps it was the
image of my daughter, who had just turned two, waiting for me on the shore.
When I finally stepped back onto land, I was on the verge of collapse. I had had
a narrow escape.
Perhaps it is clear to you why I told you this story. Unconscious bias
influences our lives in exactly the same manner as that undercurrent that took
me out so far that day. When undercurrents aid us, as they did when Joan
Roughgarden [a transexual mentioned previously] first arrived at Stanford, we
are invariably unconscious of them. We never credit the undercurrent for [p.110]
carrying us so swiftly; we credit ourselves, our talents, our skills. I was
completely sure that it was my swimming ability that was carrying me out so
swiftly that day. It did not matter that I knew in my heart that I was a very
average swimmer, it did not matter that I knew that I should have worn a life
jacket and flippers. On the way out, the idea of humility never occurred to me.
It was only at the moment I turned back, when I had to go against the current,
that I even realized the current existed.
Our brains are expert at providing explanations for the outcomes we see. People
who swim with the current never credit it for their success, because it
genuinely feels as though their achievements are produced through sheer merit.
These explanations are always partially true--people who do well in life usually
are gifted and talented. If we achieve success through corrupt means, we know we
got where we are because we cheated. This is what explicit bias feels like. But
when we achieve success because of unconscious privileges, it doesn't feel like
cheating. And it isn't just the people who flow with the current who are
unconscious about its existence. People who fight the current all their lives
also regularly arrive at false explanations for outcomes. When they fall behind,
they blame themselves, their lack of talent. Just as there are always plausible
explanations for why some people succeed, there are always plausible
explanations for why others do not. You can always attribute failure to some
lack of perseverance, foresight, or skill. It's like a Zen riddle: If you never
change directions, how can you tell there is a current?
Most of us--men and women--will never consciously experience the undercurrent of
sexism that runs through our world. Those who travel with the current will
always feel they are good swimmers; those who swim against the current may never
realize they are better swimmers than they imagine. We may have our suspicions,
but we cannot know for sure, because most men will never experience life as a
woman and most women will never know what it is like to be a man. It is only the
transgendered who have the moment of epiphany, when they suddenly face a current
they were never really sure existed, or suddenly experience the relief of being
carried by a force larger than themselves. The men and women who make this
transition viscerally [p. 111] experience something that the rest of us do not.
They experience the unfairness of the current.
I am no different than I was, so I should, on its face, be able to command just
as much authority to reframe issues or have my considered pinion placed on the
table as I used to," Joan Roughgarden told me. In my opinion, because of what I
have been through, I don't think my work has ever been better."
I want to tell you another story, a personal story. On its surface, it has
nothing to do with the hidden brain, bias, or sexism. But stay with me [p.107] a
second. The story has an unexpected insight into the strange canvasses that
[previously cited transexuals and other gender bias studies] have painted for
us.
Shortly after I started work on this chapter, I took a vacation wIth my family.
For me, the highlight of our destination--the tiny island of Isla Mujeres in
Mexico--was a wonderful snorkeling opportunity off the southwestern coast. When
I arrived at the snorkeling spot, it was noon. The water was calm and warm, the
December sun glorious. The coral reef that lay a short distance away had been
damaged in a recent storm, but it was growing back. At the southern lip of a
small bay, officials had cordoned off the reef from swimmers with lines attached
to buoys in order to allow the reef to grow. The cordoned-off area was about two
hundred and fifty feet from my deck chair. The lines and buoys continued out of
sight around a solid wall of rocks.
I have a complicated love affair with the water. I didn't learn to swim until I
was an adult. Well into my twenties, I carried the kind of unreasonable fear of
water that you do not have if you learn to swim as a child. A considerable part
of my enjoyment of the water lies in demonstrating to myself, over and over,
that I have conquered my mortal fear. I am a decent swimmer, but I also know my
fear has not completely disappeared. When things go wrong in the water, I easily
panic.
After several dips, I decided to take one final excursion-this time around the
edge of the bay. I felt happy and wonderful and fit; the water was calm. I
suspected some of the best snorkeling lay around the edge of the rocks, two
hundred fifty feet away. There were no signs posted that warned of any danger.
With a good lunch in my stomach, I felt I could easily swim around the edge of
the bay and back. I briefly thought about donning a life jacket and flippers,
but decided against it. The life jacket would slow me down, and flippers don't
allow for the kind of maneuverability I like when I am snorkeling over a shallow
reef.
The moment I got into the water and headed for the edge of the bay, I knew I had
made the right decision to swim without a life jacket or flippers. I felt strong
and good. I had done a lot of swimming that day already and was surprised at how
smoothly I was kicking through [p.108] the water. The trip would be child's
play; the way I was feeling, I knew I could easily swim well past the edge of
the bay. I struck out purposefully to the lip of rocks. I imagined seeing
myself from the deck chairs back on land, disappearing from view around the
rocks.
The water felt suddenly cooler as I rounded the lip of the bay. It felt
pleasant. I kept within ten or fifteen feet of the line attached to the buoys.
From my side of the line, the ocean side, I could see the coral reef growing
back within the protective arc. The water was now twenty or thirty feet deep.
The reef and the fish were lovelier and more plentiful than anything close to
the main snorkeling area. All the other swimmers were staying in the main area.
I was alone in the water and hidden from view. It felt delicious, as though I
had the whole reef to myself.
My legs and arms felt stronger than ever. Each kick took me several feet; my
technique was better than I remembered. I lengthened my stroke, feeling the pull
of cool water against my torso. I felt graceful. Without realizing it, through
steady practice, I had become a very good swimmer. I felt proud of myself.
I knew from a previous visit that there was a recreational park area to the
south with some excellent snorkeling, and I wanted to reach it before turning
around. But after swimming ten minutes or so past the lip of rocks, all I could
see when I lifted my head from the water was gray sea. Enough, I told myself.
Time to turn around.
I pivoted and started to kick my way back. A particularly lovely piece of coral
lay just beneath me. But as I watched for it to go by as I swam past, the coral
did not budge. I kicked again and again. It was as though I were swimming in
place, stuck with invisible glue to a single spot. My fear of the water, long
dormant, opened one monstrous eye.
I instantly realized my grace and skill on the way out had not been grace and
skill at all. I had been riding an undercurrent. I would now have to fight it on
the way back. The reef did not look beautiful anymore. The water looked too
deep. No one on land could see me. Why had I not worn a life jacket? How insane
not to have donned flippers. I kicked and pulled and kicked and pulled. I was
working much harder than before, but I was not traveling several feet with each
[p. 109] stroke; each effort bought me mere inches. My breathing in my own ears
sounded labored, a huge pair of bellows shouting over the din of the sea.
I debated whether to turn around and go with the current, in the hope of
reaching the recreation area I had seen during my previous visit, and then
hauling myself onto land. But I was no longer sure if there even was a
recreation area anymore. Perhaps it had been closed-because of dangerous
undercurrents. If the recreation area did not exist, I knew I would quickly find
myself in water well beyond my swimming ability. Currents from the east and west
met in a ferocious battle near the southernmost edge of the island. Expert
often say that the best way to fight an undercurrent is to swim out and around
it. In this case, that would have meant swimming out to sea, but the thought
filled me with terror. I had to go back the way I'd come.
I was gripped by an absolute sense of the lunacy of what I had done. There were
no lifeguards in the snorkeling area, no boats. No one could see me. I lived the
usual sedentary life of many urban professionals; my athletic exploits were
mainly weekend heroics. What had made me think I was really fit enough to swim
out so far when I had already exerted myself so much that day?
I had not traveled more than halfway back to the edge of the bay when I decided
I could go no farther. I was exhausted by the current. It was all I could do to
hold the panic down, to keep pulling and kicking and breathing. I feared the
onset of cramps. And over and over, I asked myself how I could have missed the
existence of the current until the moment I turned around and had to fight it.
I don't know where the strength came from to make it back. Perhaps it was the
image of my daughter, who had just turned two, waiting for me on the shore.
When I finally stepped back onto land, I was on the verge of collapse. I had had
a narrow escape.
Perhaps it is clear to you why I told you this story. Unconscious bias
influences our lives in exactly the same manner as that undercurrent that took
me out so far that day. When undercurrents aid us, as they did when Joan
Roughgarden [a transexual mentioned previously] first arrived at Stanford, we
are invariably unconscious of them. We never credit the undercurrent for [p.110]
carrying us so swiftly; we credit ourselves, our talents, our skills. I was
completely sure that it was my swimming ability that was carrying me out so
swiftly that day. It did not matter that I knew in my heart that I was a very
average swimmer, it did not matter that I knew that I should have worn a life
jacket and flippers. On the way out, the idea of humility never occurred to me.
It was only at the moment I turned back, when I had to go against the current,
that I even realized the current existed.
Our brains are expert at providing explanations for the outcomes we see. People
who swim with the current never credit it for their success, because it
genuinely feels as though their achievements are produced through sheer merit.
These explanations are always partially true--people who do well in life usually
are gifted and talented. If we achieve success through corrupt means, we know we
got where we are because we cheated. This is what explicit bias feels like. But
when we achieve success because of unconscious privileges, it doesn't feel like
cheating. And it isn't just the people who flow with the current who are
unconscious about its existence. People who fight the current all their lives
also regularly arrive at false explanations for outcomes. When they fall behind,
they blame themselves, their lack of talent. Just as there are always plausible
explanations for why some people succeed, there are always plausible
explanations for why others do not. You can always attribute failure to some
lack of perseverance, foresight, or skill. It's like a Zen riddle: If you never
change directions, how can you tell there is a current?
Most of us--men and women--will never consciously experience the undercurrent of
sexism that runs through our world. Those who travel with the current will
always feel they are good swimmers; those who swim against the current may never
realize they are better swimmers than they imagine. We may have our suspicions,
but we cannot know for sure, because most men will never experience life as a
woman and most women will never know what it is like to be a man. It is only the
transgendered who have the moment of epiphany, when they suddenly face a current
they were never really sure existed, or suddenly experience the relief of being
carried by a force larger than themselves. The men and women who make this
transition viscerally [p. 111] experience something that the rest of us do not.
They experience the unfairness of the current.
I am no different than I was, so I should, on its face, be able to command just
as much authority to reframe issues or have my considered pinion placed on the
table as I used to," Joan Roughgarden told me. In my opinion, because of what I
have been through, I don't think my work has ever been better."
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