Why I Hate My Neighborhood Listserv
When my husband and I moved to Durham the summer of 2001, the first neighbor to greet us was Miss Jean.
Miss Jean was an elderly white woman who had lived across the street for most of her life.
She flagged us down. My husband and I introduced ourselves.
She asked our last names.
Okay so apparently in the old-school south, you offer your first and last names. Noted.
Miss Jean said, “Well I guess I saw y’all movin’ in last night. Y’all could have cut on your porch light. I guess you didn’t have to be doing all that mess in the dark.”
“We were trying to keep the moths and bugs to a minimum,” I said.
She squinted at us, eyes flitting from me to my husband, like she was wondering if we were as dim as that unlit porch light. Maybe it was our northern accents.
But then she sighed. “Well. I’m just glad y’all are white. There’ve been a lot of Blacks and Mexicans moving in here lately.”
My husband and I froze.
We were speechless.
Northern racism, we knew: polite racism. Unspoken racism.
This was something different.
Welcome to Durham, North Carolina?
That was 24 years ago.
A lot has changed in our neighborhood since then.
Nowadays, my white neighbors don’t say racist things out loud in the middle of the street.
Nowadays, my white neighbors use the listserv to say racist things.
Oh.
Is that not what you thought I was going to say?
Did you think I was gonna say how much less racist my neighborhood is?
Ha. Hahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa. Good one.
It’s still racist as heck around here. This is still America, after all.
And: there are also a lot of wonderful folks in our neighborhood.
Like most things, it’s both/and.
Mostly, I love our neighborhood. It’s got a lot of good things: a big park; lots of dogs; very generous, friendly folks, many of them anti-racist; cutie-patootie kids; a big brontosaurus in the woods; and we’re managing to hold onto some semblance of racial and economic diversity, despite gentrification’s looming threat.
The neighborhood listserv, though?
Oof.
To be clear: some posts on the listserv are perfectly anodyne. Alerts about lost pets or upcoming yard sales. Lemonade stands. Yes, please!
Many posts are … more problematic.
Annnnd by problematic I mean racist.
But is this just me, overthinking, overanalyzing? To research, I asked friends — people I respect, who are anti-racist and deeply involved in their neighborhoods — about their neighborhood listservs. Were they on them? What were the posts about?
I didn’t say why I was asking until after they answered.
They all gave variations of the same answer: they hated their listservs. They had to quit them. Why?
Paraphrasing a friend:
“The posts were half lost cats and the other half were ‘Why is that group of men always hanging around by the convenience store — and what can we do about it?’ It was so racist. It made me hate my neighborhood.”
To be clear: we live in pretty cool neighborhoods in a pretty progressive town. Durham voted something like 98% for Obama. We’re not talking about a MAGA town with tons of MAGA people. The majority of the white folks on these listservs are liberal. Harris voters. Obama voters. Pride parade attenders.
The racism is encoded. It’s lurking in posts about safety. White people asserting their perceived right to comfort.
Spoiler alarm: white people’s notions of comfort and safety are rooted in white supremacy and racism.
What tends to make white people feel unsafe?
One guess.
So, whatever the intentions behind these posts, the impact will almost always be harm to BIPOC or other historically marginalized neighbors.
This harm could come in different forms: the danger of police presence, threat or reality of eviction, scapegoating or vigilantism, or “just” making people feel unwelcome and unvalued in our community.
Other examples of these kinds of posts:
“People should not put basketball hoops in the street. It’s not safe. People should know better. Especially these urban kids.” (Guess what “urban kids” is code for?)
“I was leaving out the neighborhood and there were a bunch of young men dressed in red tshirts at the [xx corner of the neighborhood]. Just wanted to make everyone aware.” (Encoded. Were these young white men in red t-shirts? Of course not. This is code for “I think it was a bunch of Black men who belong to a violent gang.”)
“There’s a pair of sneakers hanging on telephone wires at [xx location]. I heard that’s a signal for a drug dealer’s house. Be safe, everyone.” (This post was followed up by a neighbor’s clarification: “I don’t know about a signal for drug deals. In this case, it was a lucky shot by my nine year old”.)
“I saw a man who looked suspicious. Tall black male wearing a hoodie.” (That one was unusual for its un-encodedness. What makes him suspicious?)
“Remember, if you hear gunshots, always call the police. That’s what they want us to do.” (Who benefits from law enforcement presence in our neighborhood? Who is in more danger?)
“Those street racer motorcyclists are at it again. It’s not safe!” (Is this really about safety? Really?)
“My car got broken into. Be careful. It’s gang initiation week.” (Y’all. Y’all! “Gang initiation week” is my perennial favorite.)
This past year, our listserv lit up like a Christmas tree after a tragic incidence of gun violence in our neighborhood.
A life was taken.
Oh my GOD. The listserv went wild.
Was it neighbors posting because they were awash with grief and concern for the victim’s family?
Uh, no.
It was fear.
(I asked my husband to look at the listserv.)
“What is happening to Durham!”
“I can’t believe this happened right in our neighborhood!”
“This isn’t the Durham I know!”
Hmmm, wonder what the difference was this time?
The disappointing, collective response from the listserv, including from neighbors whom I’d hoped would know better: law, and law enforcement.
The action taken was to have police come to talk with the neighborhood about “what we can do.”
“What we can do” was code for “How can we get these dangerous drug dealers / gang members out of our neighborhood?”
(Y’all. I don’t know of all the drug dealers in our hood. But I know of some. And most of the ones I know of in the neighborhood are white. Where is the outrage over the white dealers? Not that I think anyone should go to jail for dealing weed or whatever. But come on now. Spare me the hypocrisy.)
Asking cops to join the conversation (redundant, because cops monitor neighborhood listservs like whoa for tip offs) is, of course, white people’s go-to.
Newsflash: if cops were the answer to stopping gun violence, there would not be gun violence.
The antidote to gun violence in our, or any neighborhood, is wrapping people in care, and listening, and belonging, and dignity, and all the services —and financial stability — that they need.
I wanted to scream WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN IF YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT GUN VIOLENCE IN OUR COMMUNITY. PLEASE TELL ME, I SHALL WAIT.
And okay, yes, I know, I shouldn’t be a petty bitch. Fine. Perhaps it took you this long, perhaps it took this happening nearer to your dwelling (but still several blocks away) - but okay. Welcome. Welcome.
And still I ask: how in the past six months have you started showing up for folks most affected by gun violence in Durham? Oh, you haven’t? Well, what are your plans to do so?
I’m not talking about your comfort. Your notions of your safety.
I’m talking about our neighbors, in the broader Durham sense of being neighbors, who are directly affected every day by gun violence. Since you suddenly are so concerned.
How are you showing up for those beloveds who are shot, who witness shootings, who have multiple, accumulating friends and family members taken by gun violence?
Have you sought and accepted invitations to walk alongside these community members?
Have you participated in listening sessions?
Do you belong to Durham Beyond Policing? Or the HEART Program? Or Restorative Justice Durham? Or any other organization dedicated to making this town safer for everyone?
Have you come to street vigils?
Have you come to annual homicide vigils?
Do you show up in homicide court?
Do you knock on your neighbors’ doors?
Do you reach out to neighbors whose loved ones have been taken, with flowers, or a casserole, or just to introduce yourself and say you care?
Or do you just call the cops?
Do you just want “these people” out of your neighborhood?
I’ve witnessed the answer. Which brings me to:
My working theory about neighborhood listservs:
(1) Because listservs are online, they attract and retain conflict-avoidant people. Middle-class white people tend to be conflict avoidant. This goes hand in hand with white people’s belief that we have a right to comfort. Thus: a lot of people who join —and stay— on neighborhood listservs are white, and a lot of the conversations come down to WHITE COMFORT, encoded as “safety.”
(2) In the U.S., where white people gather, white supremacy and racism will ALWAYS be operating. ALWAYS, unless we purposefully, deliberately, constantly work against it. Like, shoulders to boulders, work against it. Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum explains this using a “Moving Walkway” analogy:
(3) On listservs: many, if not most, actively anti-racist people are constantly seeing the racism. They may try to engage and educate, but often they give up because online debates tend to go nowhere. So … anti-racists leave the listserv or stay quiet, which means whoever’s left posting is operating in a “politely” racist, white-supremacist echo chamber. And not getting called on it.
Whew.
Was that a lot?
Let’s try to break it down.
“White comfort” is a power play.
Hey, I get it, I like to feel comfortable, too. It’s my favorite.
The problem is when I, as a white person with white privilege, think I have a right to my comfort. Because then I do not have to question the assumptions that underpin my comfort — or discomfort.
Guess what makes white people feel uncomfortable or unsafe?
Like most white girls, I was socialized to be scared of “crime” and “danger.”
And in the U.S., “crime” explicitly or implicitly implicates Black or Latino men.
And here’s where it can get even thornier:
I was also taught that asserting my needs, my desire for comfort and safety, was a part of being a feminist. It was an expression of empowerment.
I did not see, could not see, that my comfort and feeling of safety was deeply, inextricably rooted in white supremacy.
Here’s an example: I get on an elevator, push the button, and as the doors are closing, a man I don’t know hops in.
White women are taught that this is dangerous to us.
Do not to ride on an elevator alone with a man you don’t know.
Especially if it’s a … a young Black man. Dun dun DUNNNNN! Danger! Danger!
Uh, no.
Turn that around.
Contrary to everything I was socialized to believe— if I am riding in an elevator with a Black man, the truth is that I am much more dangerous to him than he is to me.
Even if he’s 6’2”, 200 pounds to my 5’3”, 120.
Why? How can that be?
Because the likelihood of him attacking me is almost zero.
The likelihood of me feeling uncomfortable? Unsafe? That’s almost 100% — because that’s what I’ve been taught to feel.
So … if I decide to “be assertive”? Use my pepper spray? Or tell security guards or cops that I felt unsafe? Who are they going to listen to? Who will they believe?
Who will be leaving in handcuffs?
(See also: the case of the white woman calling the cops on a Black man for asking her to leash her dog. Oh my God, y’all. The way that white folks privilege even our pets’ comfort over BIPOC folks’ ways of being.)
I do want to say: I am a sexual assault survivor. I was raped when I was seventeen. And so I know what danger feels like — and it was not at all what I was taught to fear. The actual danger was my white, popular, funny, well-thought-of boyfriend. It was not stranger-danger.
Still, my whiteness affords me privileges that can easily put Black and Latine folks in peril — whether I am aware of it or not.
Whether I intend to endanger my neighbors or not.
And that’s why I can’t stand the listserv. Because it happens on listservs all the time. With real-world consequences.
Recently, I was on the receiving end of listserv posts centering white people’s comfort.
Was it racism? Obviously not. I’m white. White people cannot be the targets of racism. But the situation was centered on some white folks’ belief in their right to comfort. And it was informative.
I’ll be vague, because I’m no snitch.
Clarification: I am no snitch to comrades or historically marginalized folks.
Did I see someone stealing diapers? Hell no.
Did I see a weed deal between two Rastas? Hell no. I didn’t see anything.
But you want to be racist on a neighborhood listserv, or come for me or my family? I’ll snitch on you in an instant. I’m a writer. If you didn’t want to be written about, you should have behaved better.
Anyway.
Around New Year’s Eve time, but not on New Year’s Eve, there was a Very Loud Noise originating from the vicinity of my house.
Mind you: it was a Very Loud Noise. A noise. It did not hurt anyone. It was not dangerous. It was a noise.
You know what white people tend to hate?
Being called white. Ha.
You know another thing white people tend to hate?
Loud noises. Especially if they have pets or young children. And I get it: I too have pets and I once had a young child. It’s a pain in the ass when they get startled. But … I mean … that’s life?
Well, no. Some neighbors instantly went to the listserv to discuss and speculate.
Without confirming whether someone in my family was actually the source of the loud noise, a neighbor texted me one of the weirdest texts I have ever received. I was hiding in bed with a bad migraine and squinted at my phone to read a text that said something to the effect that we should know that when you live in a city you have neighbors.
Um, okay. We can agree on that?
The logical addendum to having neighbo
rs is that sometimes neighbors do things that might make other neighbors uncomfortable? Or that they don’t like? And that’s … life? In a city? With neighbors?
I was … honestly I was so, so migrainey but also started to get really upset.
I slowed down and noticed what was happening in my body and knew it was a defensive reaction.
I am enough of a polite white lady that I really, really hate it when people are pissed off in my direction, (plus I have Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria but that’s a different post) AND I’m protective of my family. Well, okay. I went back into my migraine hidey-hole...
… until it became increasingly clear that several folks on the listserv were discussing this Very Loud Noise and, because the listserv tends to be an echo chamber of white comfort, they seemed to be twisting their panties into tighter and tighter wads.
Then came more texts (to me, never my husband or son, quelle surprise), and then emails that obliquely referred to the listserv and how scary loud noises are, “especially now.”
“Especially now,” meaning: because of the tragic gun violence in the neighborhood. But not centered on the tragic loss of life. Centered on white fear.
So now I’m livid because my WHITE PEOPLE PUT UP ‘BLACK LIVES MATTER’ YARD SIGNS BUT DON’T CARE ABOUT GUN VIOLENCE IN DURHAM UNLESS IT HAPPENS NEXTDOOR TO THEM, WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN THE LAST 20 OR SO YEARS button has been activated. See above.
Second, is there a worse feeling in the world than knowing you or your loved ones are being ganged up on?
I mean, yes, of course there is a worse feeling. But this one was pretty shitty.
We talked as a fam. We lost sleep. We raged. We cried.
AND HERE’S THE THING: it was a Very Loud Noise. Just a noise.
Yet we all felt so effing judged and unwelcome IN OUR OWN NEIGHBORHOOD. And we have so many privileges: we’ve lived here for decades. We own our home. We are white. We are well educated. We have all sorts of un-scary social markers, like keeping a Little Free Library and showing up for neighbors in all sorts of ways. Sure, imperfect and never-enough ways, but still. That’s our situation and yet we felt so judged, so unwelcome because we knew neighbors were speculating about us on the listserv (because other neighbors told us so. It was impossible NOT to know).
We asked ourselves: what would this experience be like if we were that poor family who had experienced a gun-violence tragedy after just moving to the neighborhood?
How much more horrible would that have felt?
We asked ourselves: imagine if we were Black, or Latine, or poor, or historically marginalized, and had recently moved into the neighborhood. Or maybe we’d lived here a long time. But we did something that made these particular white neighbors uncomfortable. Maybe we made a very loud noise. Maybe our kids played too close to their yard. Maybe our son hung out with friends on the corner and they were all wearing red t-shirts.
We WILL be talked about on the listserv.
The conversation will NOT be, “Hey neighbors, I’m realizing my fear of [xx] is rooted in white supremacy because this is about me feeling that I have a right to comfort. I’m wondering how I can use my discomfort as a growing opportunity?”
The conversation will NOT be, “Hey neighbors, how can we make everyone, including these people who are doing things that make me uncomfortable, feel welcome in our neighborhood?”
The conversation WILL center white comfort, and you will be the scapegoat.
The listserv takes place on-line but it has real-life consequences.
I’ve witnessed neighbors get evicted, or decide to move, after being the target of listserv “conversations” about “safety.”
I’ve seen the cops called.
And now more than ever: calling the cops can absolutely endanger neighbors.
Ugh. Our experience around New Year’s time made me hate our neighborhood.
Until I remembered my thesis about the listserv.
And until I witnessed the tail end of my son having a conversation with the ONE — ONE!!!— neighbor on the listsesrv who bothered to have a face-to-face conversation with any of us.
My husband and I were walking our dog. Sam came answered the door.
She asked, “Do you live here alone?”
Uh, lady, we’ve lived here for 20 years. We’ve said hello to you a million times. But okay, I can forgive face blindness.
“No, I live here with my parents,” Sam said. “But you can talk to me.”
“Well… I don’t know if you’re on the neighborhood listserv…?”
My son shook his head. He leaned against the porch railing and said, in clear, calm voice, “No ma’am, I’m not on the listserv. It’s full of racist bigotry. Now what can I help you with?”
The neighbor was surprised by Sam’s response. But by all accounts, they had a fruitful conversation.
So, I remind myself: people can change.
I remind myself: for every racist post on the listserv, there are several posts about lost pets who I dearly, truly hope find their homes.
I remind myself: for every person who posts what they would never think of as racist posts, there are many, many more delightful, anti-racist neighbors who have quit the listserv for the same reasons my friends and I have.
For every neighbor who doesn’t like the source of some very loud noises, there are tons of neighbors who look forward to gathering and making very loud noises together, twice a year, for 15 years in a row.
And I keep telling myself that, even as I walk by the listserv-posting neighbors’ houses, people can surprise you. People can change. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, they’ll join the party, they’ll see their discomfort as an invitation to grow.
Until then, I don’t know.
I could set some ear plugs out in the Little Free Library, maybe?
And I guess I could remind myself I’m not perfect, either.
(Just pretty darn close. So, so very close.)
XOXO to each and every one of you.
And a special thanks to A.B., who texted me yesterday to say, “Where the fuck is Unruly Quaker?” but, nicer.