(Un)Conditional Love

I am in love with a white man.

He owns his Whiteness. His Whiteness owns him. His Whiteness “never has to speak its name” (Lipsitz 1998: 1). It’s obvious in the way he moves through the world: confidently, smoothly, uninterrupted. Academics say his Whiteness is treated as property, which he has the right to wield as he pleases (Harris 1993: 104-105). He is a beneficiary of a racial contract that historically rewards his Whiteness at the expense, and through the subjugation of, my coloredness. Whiteness never stands on its own. Whiteness is created, always, against an oppositional other—in other words, a short brown woman, a dirty jungle Asian, a banana.

In other words, me.

“Bodies stand out when they are out of place,” intersectional feminist Sara Ahmed writes (2007: 159). I can’t help but question if my body will ever not be out of place standing next to his. As time passes, it becomes clear that it won’t. I reverse the gaze, making my boyfriend my research subject. His Whiteness is not just an object that can be debated in a classroom or dissected in an academic article. His Whiteness lives, it breathes, it possesses, and it smothers. He owns his body in a way I can never own mine. My body belongs to a history that bodies like his created.

In a state of constant comparison, my resentment grows like weeds. Our difference is amplified when we talk about politics or race. “Why do you take things so personally?” This is the question I dread the most. I am paralyzed until my anger pours out of me, my words combative against his ignorant, flippant remarks. My condemnation of his casual racism—so dangerous in these times—roars. Why do I take things so personally? Because when he defends racist institutions, he is performing, maintaining, justifying structural violence. During these conversations, I am reminded his white body is privileged, protected, and thus unscrutinized. I am reminded my brown body, next to his, is offensive, unnatural, and thus punished for its ‘otherness.’ Such dialogue does not warrant civil discourse.

And yet.

And yet, nevertheless, I persist—not in defeat or deference—but rather because I know that in order for my boyfriend to love me, he has to see me. He has to bear witness to my story, my history. My burden is not to tiptoe around white men’s sensibilities. Nor is it to convince my partner that I am worthy of their love and respect. I would never stand for a relationship where I am loved regardless of, because of, or in spite of. Nobody deserves to be loved based on a clause that condemns any part of their identity.

Instead, my burden is to be brave—to not stand down or stay quiet. My burden is not to recoil in judgment when he asks me to help him understand. It has taken him a lifetime to learn how to see the world through his bright blue eyes. It may take a lifetime yet for him to see how he benefits from the carefully obscured products of white supremacy. I am reminded of the words of George Lipsitz: “We do not choose our color, but we do choose our commitments. We do not choose our parents, but we do choose our politics. Yet we do not make these decisions in a vacuum; they occur within a social structure that gives value to whiteness and offers rewards for racism” (1998: vii). It is hard to escape the white privilege that allows him to exist in this world, to reject seeing me as ‘other’ when it is exactly my ‘othering’ that defines his privilege. It is hard, and yet he continues to try.

Love is about making compromises, or so it goes. Every day, I am choosing to be a partner to someone who may not see me. I write this without being able to offer a straightforward happy ending, nor any cure-all advice. I am convinced there isn’t any. My boyfriend will not magically stumble into “wokefulness.” He will not wake up one day, equipped to be a willing and helpful ally. In our relationship, some days are better than others. Perhaps some partners may be better for us than others. As it stands, this white man is my partner, who has shown me through his actions that he respects me. I am willing to struggle against his Whiteness because he tries his best to love me unconditionally. I try my best to do the same. And yet.

And yet, I know that to love someone unconditionally does not mean to love them blindly.