A Hat: How I learned Race Was Dangerous

A Cultural Autobiography Part 2

In the early 90s, I consumed Black culture the way a lot of urban white kids my age did, without context, without relationship, without being aware of what I was consuming or why. Hip-hop was mainstream. Public Enemy and Tribe were everywhere. MTV had flourished after letting Black artists onto the network.

And then there was the hat. A simple black cap with a white or gold X. It was everywhere in pop culture. It looked rebellious, subversive, cool. So I bought one. I didn’t yet understand that this “X” wasn’t just a fashion statement, but it was tied to Malcolm X, to Spike Lee’s upcoming film, to a whole world of history, pain, brilliance, and struggle that I knew nothing about.

I just knew it looked good. And I wanted to belong to whatever world it seemed to gesture toward.

Someone older but not quite an adult pulled me aside one day. Out of concern, he asked, “do you know what that is? He explained the connection to Malcolm X, to the movie coming out, to the weight behind the symbol. The tone wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t angry. It was… cautionary. A soft warning.

“Be careful”

What I heard underneath was: This might get you into trouble with folks.

But that just made it better to a 15- year-old. Part of me was intrigued. Maybe even supportive, in a vague adolescent way. I remember checking out Alex Haley’s book from the library (I doubt I finished it, but I remember wanting to).

Still—after that conversation, nothing shifted. I kept wearing the hat… for a little while.

But not for long.

A few months later, I had moved from the city to the suburbs. I was walking alone when a car full of older teenagers slowed down beside me.

They slowed the car way down, rolled down the window. They yelled “WIGGER!” And they promised they’d be back before squealing away. I knew exactly why. Not because of who I was but because of what was on my head. This was not the first time or the last that this would be used to describe me. This time the word struck hard and fast. It was threatening.

And it made the message unmistakably clear, but on a level I didn’t realize for several years:

It was acceptable for white kids to enjoy Black art. It was not acceptable to show support for a movement for Black thriving.

I took the hat off. And I know I didn’t really put it back on.

Looking back, I can see the cultural script that was already shaping me. There has always been a broad American appetite for Black culture music, sports, fashion, language, and aesthetics. However, it has always been paired with a deep resistance to the flourishing and freedom of Black people.

The hat was cool when worn by celebrities. The hat was a threat when worn by me. It’s the same bifurcation we see today: America loves Black brilliance but resists Black justice.

Both encounters were saying the same thing, just in different registers:

· You should fear stepping into conversations about race.

· You should fear aligning yourself with movements concerned with Black thriving.

· You should fear what happens if you cross that invisible line.

And I did.

By the time I took the hat off, I had learned something deeply, unconsciously, and in a way I wouldn’t have recognized for decades: Race is dangerous to talk about. Race is something that could get you hurt. Race was something to avoid.

That fear stayed with me. It shaped the edges of my imagination. It taught me to step back—not forward—whenever race came up. Just like the jokes in the first part of my story taught superiority, the hat taught fear.

Both formed me long before I had language for any of it. And yet. Taking the hat off only worked for a while. I thought removing the symbol removed the discomfort. I thought avoiding the interactions made things safer. I thought silence was the path of least resistance.

When has fear kept you from engaging in conversations or productive activity in the world?

Where do you see a difference between consuming Black culture and supporting Black lives? How do you participate in either?

When Race Comes Home

Taking the hat off worked for a while… but like so many white Americans, race became real the moment I came home to it.

And that’s where the story will pick up next.

Check back in for the next article (3 of 11), where we explore how learning about race and culture can’t compare with the personal experience of race and culture.