Claudia Rankine’s Citizen explores the very complicated manner in which race and racism affect identity construction. The book invites readers to consider how people conceive of their own identities and, more specifically, what this process looks like for black people cultivating a sense of self in the context of America’s fraught racial dynamics. In this vein, Rankine is interested in the idea of invisibility and its influence on one’s self-conception. At first, the protagonist believes that racists often fail to truly see black people—whether this means literally overlooking their presence, or, more metaphorically, refusing to acknowledge their worth. However, as Citizen progresses, the protagonist adopts the philosopher Judith Butler’s idea that humans are susceptible to hurtful language because the mere act of “being” makes them “addressable,” meaning that simply existing renders people vulnerable to whatever others might say about them. With this in mind, the protagonist refigures her idea of how racism impacts identity, realizing that the problem she faces isn’t invisibility in the presence of racists, but “hypervisib[ility]”—essentially, standing out starkly as a person of color in a majority-white environment. Calling upon the author Zora Neale Hurston’s assertion that she feels “most colored when [she’s] thrown against a sharp white background,” Rankine implies that the outside world is capable of significantly altering the way people approach and view their own identities and cultural positioning.
Before considering the concept of “hypervisib[ility],” Rankine establishes what it feels like to experience what seems—at first—like cultural invisibility. From an early age, the book’s protagonist comes to realize that the people around her frequently treat her as if she’s not really there. When, for instance, a white girl (Mary Catherine) in the protagonist’s class convinces her to lean to one side so she can copy her answers on a test, the protagonist wonders why their teacher, Sister Evelyn, doesn’t notice. Thinking about this, she wonders if Sister Evelyn possibly “never actually saw [the protagonist] sitting there” in the first place, feeling as if she’s invisible to her very own instructor. Later, as an adult, the protagonist is on a train when a white man walks into a young black boy and he doesn’t even notice, despite the fact that he knocked the boy to the ground. Witnessing this, the protagonist wishes that the man would turn around and help the boy up, but she soon thinks that this would never happen because the boy is invisible to the man, who “has perhaps never seen anyone who is not a reflection of himself.” According to this idea, people like this white man only acknowledge individuals who look like them and in whom they recognize themselves. In turn, it becomes clear that the protagonist has already grasped the notion that the external world is somehow related to a person’s sense of self, intuiting that there is a relationship between a person’s race, the way they navigate the world, and how they conceive of themselves.
Of course, the difference between the white man who knocks over the black boy and the protagonist herself is that the man allows his sense of self to influence the way he interacts with the world, whereas the protagonist’s interactions with the world are what influence her sense of self. Put another way, the white man experiences a certain level of privilege because being part of the racial majority in the U.S. means he never has to second-guess his own cultural positioning. But this isn’t necessarily the same way the outside world brings itself to bear on black people, who often feel diminished by racist societal structures. And yet, this feeling of diminishment doesn’t mean that black people are “invisible”—in fact, the protagonist eventually comes to believe that black people are especially visible, since the color of their skin opens them up to all kinds of mistreatment and injustice. To that end, the protagonist comes to feel “hypervisible,” a notion that aligns with Rankine’s thoughts about Venus and Serena Williams, the famous professional tennis players who are among the sport’s only people of color. Watching the way the tennis community mistreats the Williams sisters leads Rankine to further consider the experience of being black in a “historically white space.” Thinking this way, she turns to a line written by the author Zora Neale Hurston: “I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.” This idea suggests that “historically white space[s]” have the power to reorient the way black people feel about their own identities. By being “hypervisible,” it seems, people of color suddenly find themselves scrutinizing who they are from the external, foreign, and often critical perspective of their white peers.
Interestingly enough, this kind of thinking changes the protagonist’s feeling of invisibility in “white space[s],” but it doesn’t change the overall idea that identity is profoundly influenced by the surrounding circumstances. In this regard, a person’s sense of self is dependent upon context, and this is why it’s so problematic that racism continues to flourish in the world at large—after all, if a person’s sense of self is formed in relation to the relevant social environment, then the conditions of that environment will bring themselves to bear on that person’s entire self-conception. This, Rankine intimates, is why racism poses such a threat to black peoples’ identities, since it’s capable of distorting the way they see themselves.
Identity and Sense of Self ThemeTracker
Identity and Sense of Self Quotes in Citizen: An American Lyric
You never really speak except for the time she makes her request and later when she tells you you smell good and have features more like a white person. You assume she thinks she is thanking you for letting her cheat and feels better cheating from an almost white person.
Sister Evelyn never figures out your arrangement perhaps because you never turn around to copy Mary Catherine's answers. Sister Evelyn must think these two girls think a lot alike or she cares less about cheating and more about humiliation or she never actually saw you sitting there.
Yes, and you want it to stop, you want the child pushed to the ground to be seen, to be helped to his feet, to be brushed off by the person that did not see him, has never seen him, has perhaps never seen anyone who is not a reflection of himself.
The beautiful thing is that a group of men began to stand behind me like a fleet of bodyguards, she says, like newly found uncles and brothers.
What does a victorious or defeated black woman's body in a historically white space look like? Serena and her big sister Venus Williams brought to mind Zora Neale Hurston's "I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background."
Not long ago you are in a room where someone asks the philosopher Judith Butler what makes language hurtful. You can feel everyone lean in. Our very being exposes us to the address of another, she answers. We suffer from the condition of being addressable. Our emotional openness, she adds, is carried by our addressability. Language navigates this.
For so long you thought the ambition of racist language was to denigrate and erase you as a person. After considering Butler's remarks, you begin to understand yourself as rendered hypervisible in the face of such language acts. Language that feels hurtful is intended to exploit all the ways that you are present.
The past is a life sentence, a blunt instrument aimed at tomorrow.
Drag that first person out of the social death of history, then we're kin.
Boys will be boys being boys feeling their capacity heaving butting heads righting their wrongs in the violence of aggravated adolescence charging forward in their way experiencing the position of positioning which is a position for only one kind of boy face it know it for the other boy for the other boys the fists the feet criminalized already are weapons already exploding the landscape and then the litigious hitting back is life imprisoned.
Will you write about Duggan? the man wants to know. Why don't you? you ask. Me? he asks, looking slightly irritated.
How difficult is it for one body to feel the injustice wheeled at another? Are the tensions, the recognitions, the disappointments, and the failures that exploded in the riots too foreign?
You imagine if the man spoke to you he would say, it's okay, I'm okay, you don't need to sit here. You don't need to sit and you sit and look past him into the darkness the train is moving through. A tunnel.
All the while the darkness allows you to look at him. Does he feel you looking at him? You suspect so. What does suspicion mean? What does suspicion do?
The soft gray-green of your cotton coat touches the sleeve of him. You are shoulder to shoulder though standing you could feel shadowed. You sit to repair whom who?