"I was ignorant, but my ignorance was racist."
On this week's Bachelor roundup: WORDS MEAN THINGS
ICYMI: The season finale of the Bachelor was last night. Matt James was the industry’s “first Black Bachelor” and mid-season, Bachelor Nation broke out in flames when pictures of Rachael Kirkconnell, a leading contestant for James’ heart, attending an antebellum party resurfaced. Fast forward to last night—Rachael Kirkconnell is the chosen one. Oops. But instead of the usual Bachelor way—engagement and eventual marriage—Matt James opted out of engagement (he really dodged a bullet with that one), deciding he was not ready to propose, but that he loved Kirkconnell and wanted to continue to grow their relationship. But when news of her racist past was made public, James decided he couldn’t proceed with the relationship, and broke it off. This chaos (which has been deemed a “racial reckoning within Bachelor Nation,” lol) eventually also led to the resignation of longtime host Chris Harrison.
When all of the hullabaloo was going down, Rachael Kirkconnell put out an apology via Instagram. Let’s take a look at it here:
“At one point, I didn’t recognize how offensive and racist my actions were, but that doesn’t excuse anything. They are not acceptable or okay in any sense.” Kirkconnell acknowledges that her actions were racist, but still purports that she “didn’t recognize” that they were at the time she partook in them. Okay, sure, whatever. But then she pushes on.
“I was ignorant, but my ignorance was racist.” I have read this sentence over and over again since Kirkconnell’s statement came out, and still struggle to understand it. Something I do understand is how desperately people who have been accused of racism try to shield themselves from backlash under the guise of ignorance. “Because of my ignorance,” “I was ignorant,”—it is ignorance’s fault that they engaged in racism. But Kirkconnell already made the case for that, she already referred to her ignorance without using the word itself. “Didn’t recognize” is in essence where her ignorance exists. But her reiteration with this sentence that frankly, makes no sense, is a dissolution of any semblance of responsibility.
I don’t think this is entirely Kirkconnell’s fault— I think her actions are her fault, and she should be held responsible for them. But I think the framing of the typical “social media apology” has been streamlined in a way that is altogether ineffective at demanding real accountability. Posting some words on social media will not suddenly change you, which seems obvious, but the public demands to see an apology anyway. The apology is what is considered the first step in the racism rehabilitation process or whatever. But what are the second and third steps? The apology can be vague, lack any real specific details about what exactly they did that was harmful, and how they will materially work to change that. But under the guise of ignorance, they can get away with murder.
Let’s take a quick look at Chris Harrison’s apology:
I took a stance on topics about which I should have been better informed.
What I now realize I have done is cause harm by wrongly speaking in a manner that perpetuates racism.
All of this beating around the bush, none of it clearly outlining what exactly was the issue, and what exactly will be done. All we see is some words that feign ignorance rather than clearly stating the truth of the racism that exists behind the figurehead who posted them. Rather than acknowledging and addressing that, we are given pointless apologies. Why shouldn’t we follow up with Harrison and ask, hey, why did you think you could speak on something if you were not informed on it? What was the reason you engaged in the conversation at the offset? How exactly did what you say “perpetuate racism?” What does that mean to you? These are not easy questions—but they help get to the root of the issue.
Kirkconnell’s should be addressed in the same way. What actions of yours were racist, and how are they racist? If I could, I would just ask her what she meant by that insane sentence “I was ignorant, but my ignorance was racist.”
If ignorance is what propels people to be racist, that begs the question: Is ignorance something that is reckoned with only when there is a public outcry? Are we supposed to assume that everything that occurred prior to this public apology is “ignorance” and everything that comes after is “enlightenment?” Sometimes it feels as though people expect us to see things that way. What do you expect from them, they already apologized. Can’t we dream a little bigger? Is an apology going to protect us? Is it going to save us? Absolutely not. What did an apology ever do to create real change? No one is arguing its not a good starting point. But what comes next?
Ignorance is an easy cop out, something people can stamp onto their apology and have people shake off the gravity of the matter with an “Oh, they were young. Oh they didn’t know any better. Oh, they’ve learned their lesson now.” But how can this be enough? How can we be satiated by such endless claims to “ignorance” and “learning” when every week someone new is exposed for the exact same ignorance? And all we can manage to do is demand another apology from them? For what purpose does that apology serve?
I am thoroughly interested in the project of attributing racism to ignorance in general. Because racism is not necessarily “ignorance” in the way it is being used in these apologies. Racism is not inherent, it is its own learned subject. Attributing racist actions to “ignorance” effectively defangs the racist teachings that encouraged the racism in the first place. It is not that Kirkconnell is uneducated on the matter itself. It is that she was privy to a specific type of education which demands we look at the “who” that is educating her, and the “what” she is being taught about the matter.
Ignorance has become the scapegoat through which people have been allowed to escape the consequences of their actions and avoid thoughtful internal reflection on the “why?” of the matter. If we continue to allow ignorance to be enough of a reason, instead of demanding true accountability devoid of the claim to a lack of awareness, the cycle will continue. If we don’t challenge the racial education this specific person was engaged with, more people will undoubtedly have the same experience: enter the public eye, be scrutinized and exposed leading to pain for a community, apologize for their ignorance and move on. Rinse and repeat.
“I was ignorant, but my ignorance was racist” is SUCH an interesting sentence. It first intrigued me because of its use of “but,” which doesn’t belong in the sentence at all, and works to deflect focus from the “I” and onto the “ignorance.”
If she attributes her racism to her ignorance, then how also can her ignorance be racist? They are cyclically dependent on each other; in order for racism to exist, ignorance must— but wait, in order for ignorance to exist, racism must too?
The sentence form with blanks for visual effect:
I was ______, but my ______ was ______.
Just cut out the middle five words. It feels like this sentence is a big runaround to just saying flat out, “I was racist.” Imagine what those words would unleash. Imagine admitting that you partook in racist actions, rather than asserting it was the IGNORANCE, not the RACISM, that led to… well, racism.
So no, your ignorance was not racist, as much as you might have been pushed to believe that is the case. You were.
Okay thanks for reading. Time for some fun Bachelor tweets. Here you go:
Yes Donna! That’s the English major I know. “Just cut out the middle five words. It feels like this sentence is a big runaround to just saying flat out, ‘I was racist.’”