Codeswitching to keep white people comfortable

During a recent trip to Whole Foods in Oakland, while stocking up on Thanksgiving ingredients, I overheard an employee near the checkout counter tell a customer to be careful while walking to their car. Apparently, there was a naked Black man roaming around outside, possibly armed with a knife.

The customer didn’t react much outside of a curt nod and a quiet “thanks,” before shuffling toward the exit. Not long after, during the same visit, I saw two teenagers sprint out of the store with some stolen items. Each was wearing a mask and hoodie. My first thought: “I hope they weren’t Black, too.”

As far as I knew, I was the only Black nonemployee in the store. And, for the rest of my time shopping, I could feel myself trying to convey some unrequested sign of civility to the white people around me. I was smiling with my eyes whenever another shopper’s gaze caught my own. When it was my turn to check out, I could hear myself using a voice with the worker at the register that was slightly softer, more cordial and maybe an octave higher than normal.

Some instinct was telling me to adjust my speech, my body language, all in an effort to optimize the comfort of nonBlack people around me. I was codeswitching, trying to blend in with the crowd around me by altering how I talked, or the way I was standing. It’s akin to telling someone, “I know you’ve seen Black people do bad things before, but don’t worry, I’m one of the good ones.”

I never did this so easily, so instinctively, before moving to this part of California. But codeswitching became part of my daily routine during my early days here, while taking BART from Oakland to San Francisco. I noticed how often Black people were arrested or at least escorted off of BART trains, usually leaving me as the lone Black passenger for the rest of my earlymorning rides into the city. The whole time, I could feel myself trying to smile when locking eyes with a white person. I often felt I was overthinking these moments, until I made more Black friends in the region and we commiserated over these shared experiences.

It makes me wonder: Is it possible to be Black in the Bay Area without codeswitching?

If the past few months have taught us anything in 2020, it’s that the answer is no. Just last week, a Black man in Discovery Bay was confronted by a white neighbor who asked him, “Why don’t you act like a white person in a white neighborhood?” The incident was caught on the security footage and on cell phone video.

What stuck with me was how calm the Black man in the video, Gerritt Jones, was being toward the woman on his property. His tone was familiar. I once used it while talking to a police officer who pulled me over for driving “too slow” in Berkeley. I’ve seen Black friends talk to employees this way at Starbucks, knowing it isn’t uncommon for these places to call the cops on Black people for suspected loitering. It’s the voice of reason while talking with an unreasonable person.

As Black people, we have to actively take on the role of preemptively deescalating situations. Part of the reason is because we’re aware of how few of us there are in this region, and our extended interactions with white people, good or bad, might be the only conversations they have with a Black person for days, weeks or months at a time. It’s better to be cool, calm and collected than to reciprocate their anger.

By putting on this choreographed social performance, we’re stifling who we are as people, which is the foundation of codeswitching.

Much of America is pushing for racial progress, and in the Bay Area, these efforts include local businesses trying to hire and promote Black people. It would be nice if the Black folks in the next wave in these positions don’t have to codeswitch while at work.

This might mean a Black person using their full first name, even if it’s one that happens to be unusual to white people, instead of a shortened version or nickname. Or feeling like they don’t have to dress exactly like their white coworkers, or refrain from commenting on a racebased issue within their office because they don’t want to risk appearing “angry.”

It’s a hope I shared with my parents during a recent call as they walked me through Thanksgiving dinner recipes, including my mom’s macaroni and cheese and a banana pudding.

There’s a lot I have to be thankful for this year, despite how trying 2020 has been for all of us. And this reflection on blessings has also spotlighted the things I’m hopeful for, including how the idea of codeswitching could one day be a thing of the past. All it would take is for the Bay Area’s nonBlack populace to do one simple thing: Allow Black people to act like ourselves in your presence.