Welcome to Up for Debate. Each week, Conor Friedersdorf rounds up timely conversations and solicits reader responses to one thought-provoking question. Later, he publishes some thoughtful replies. Sign up for the newsletter here.

Last week, I asked, “What roles should ‘color-blindness’ and race-consciousness play in personal interactions?”

Replies have been edited for length and clarity.

Adam is of two minds:

The phrase “I don’t see color” is deservedly a joke; it’s hard to imagine growing up in America and never noticing the racial category that society has placed the person into. Occasionally, that awareness is helpful. I might have doubted a Black friend’s stories of discrimination if I didn’t have an awareness of her race and what that can mean. But, as a white person, color and race are not things I usually try to think about when I’m talking to individuals. I thought it was a good thing when, after moving to an urban area with a racially diverse population, I realized that I no longer always took note of the racial composition of the passengers when I rode city buses. To me, keeping race in the forefront of personal interactions is more likely to lead to false assumptions than real understanding.

And who prefers to be treated as a type?

So long as race means something in our society, and means something to individuals, it’s something to keep in mind. But kept in mind too much, it can create distance, not understanding.

Jaleelah believes that Americans and Canadians tend to approach interpersonal interactions differently:

This question only makes sense in the context of the U.S.A.’s “melting pot,” which replaces ethnocultural identity with racial identity. Slaves and their descendants did not choose to give up their heritage, but many white and Asian immigrants did: They either assimilated happily or assimilated to avoid discrimination. The “melting pot” framework creates taboos against asking people where they are from and being curious about their unique cultures. It dictates that people of all ethnicities should be treated as Americans, and that inquiring about their non-American ancestors and traditions is a rude form of questioning their Americanness. But while the melting pot can blur cultural differences, it cannot obscure the fact that people from different ethnic groups look different. That is why race’s role in American interpersonal interactions needs to be explored.

Ethnicity is much more relevant than race when it comes to casual conversation. In Toronto, which is highly multicultural, asking where someone is from is practically a standard icebreaker. Of course the conversation that ensues will include speaking about ethnicity. There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t “divide people”; it just helps us share basic parts of our lives and selves. Canada’s “mosaic” model makes it easier to perceive different cultural histories and values as beneficial to the identity of the country as a whole.

Karen struggles with how best to interact in Canada:

My prior hairdresser hated that people kept asking her where she was from. She was a person of colour, but she was fifth-generation Canadian on one side and seventh-generation on the other—deeply Canadian, indeed, in a country that continues to experience significant immigration. I am an immigrant—but from the U.S.A., and white, so mostly invisible. My hairdresser’s unfailing answer was “I’m from Victoria (B.C.),” and if people kept pressing, as they often did, with “But where are your parents from?,” she’d just repeat “Victoria.”

My daughter-in-law, when asked about this response, said, “I disagree, at least for myself. I like to tell people about my heritage (which is Malaysian Chinese on the one side, and Filipino on the other). I’m proud of my background.” She feels this way despite receiving significant, sometimes very overt racist comments, and despite people often assuming she is her own children’s nanny, not their mother, since, unless observed closely, her children, my grandchildren, look white. These comments hurt her, and make her angry, but don’t change her desire to discuss her background forthrightly.

It is polite in our First Nations context to describe one’s origins in the process of introductions, which in my case, allows me to say I am mostly of Northern European settler stock. Where appropriate, I can mention my plantation-owning, slave-owning maternal ancestors. But this is mostly not appropriate in majority-white contexts—people look at me like, “Why are you bringing this up?” The answer, of course, is that I am attempting to honestly locate myself as a person who has benefitted from centuries of unjust acquisition and privilege. Colour-blindness in my case would be incredibly self-serving.

Given that I live in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, where as of 2021, over 54 percent of the inhabitants were visible minorities—meaning, of course, that people of colour as a whole are a majority of our population—this question [of where a person is from] is a vexing one. I tend to ask other questions now, assuming that those who want to tell me more will do so. And I tolerate a degree of chronic anxiety about getting it right, not least because it mirrors what people of colour have [to contend with] all the time, even in a majority people-of-colour city, when dealing with us white people. Finally, most of the people of colour I meet are very gracious about all of this, so long as they can assume that one is trying to understand and engage out of a position of humility and human interest.

John describes another approach:

I’m not color-blind; I’m conscious of your race. I just don’t care. Do you want to go fishing with me this weekend? If so, I could use the help on deck. Do you want to get out of the house and go see the world, from my boat or the windshield of the truck on the way to go hunting? Then you are in. Do you want to talk about fishing for hours, comparing tactics and past success? Then we are friends. In fact, I could simplify. Are you a friendly person? If you don’t have too many friends already (and nobody has too many friends), I’m in.

On several of these trips, the subject of race has come up. And I’m better for it. I’m sure this sounds clichéd, but unless you meet people where they are, you might never know.

Jake lays out a case against interpersonal color-blindness:

Racism still affects individuals; these experiences become part of their identity, and you can’t fully understand the person without understanding that. By analogy, having been raised Mormon or being a former Division 1 athlete or having a disability will color one’s experience in a way that makes it impossible to know someone without understanding the implications.

But what logically follows departs from the constant centering of race as progressives sometimes practice it. First, this should only begin to matter if you’re close friends with someone—if you’re trying to actually know and understand them. Interactions with strangers truly should be color-blind. Second, there’s not really a need to proactively bring up a person’s identity. One should familiarize oneself—from pop culture, literature, and patient friends— with what it means to be Black or Asian or Hispanic or Indigenous (or gay or trans or a woman or disabled) to be a good citizen and a good (potential) friend to those who have those identities. But the effect should be on how one listens and reacts, not approval-seeking or showing off of how educated and understanding you are.

The goal of interpersonal non-color-blindness is to reduce gaps of understanding as much as possible, but also having the discipline to make it about making others feel more comfortable rather than making oneself seem cultured. Put that way, any excesses can be self-correcting: If part of life as a person of color in America is dealing with overbearing apologetic white people, those who care should understand that and take it into account.

Maureen argues that “color-blindness has no role in personal relationships.” She writes:

Color-blindness diminishes the enormously valuable lessons history has taught each race; it ignores the cultural treasures unique to each race; it requires us to be blind to our own race, whatever it may be, and thus, the gifts we can offer others. Race-consciousness, on the other hand, opens wide the gates of understanding. Awareness of our inherent and experiential differences sparks new ideas, solutions, and—surprise—cooperation! All races have yet to explore the potential power of race-consciousness, the exponential growth and advancement of all races. Race-consciousness is a worthy aspiration, available to each of us. May we embrace the qualities unique to each race, and those common to all.

Nan distinguishes between race and culture:

In my view, being color-blind means and feels like no longer seeing skin color as a dominant characteristic––like when people fall in love with a beautiful person, but after some years, that beauty has faded into one of many characteristics instead of the dominant one. In my friendships with people of color, the comfort factor that occurs after years working side by side makes skin color more and more irrelevant. Culture and personal experience, however, remain, as they do for all exchanges in all friendships.

Jerome, who is 80 and white, discusses his interracial marriage of more than 50 years:

When we were first married, interracial marriage was uncommon, and my wife and I felt like we were living in a fishbowl. But I can recall only one overtly racist comment ever directed at us. Interracial marriage is more common now. People don’t even give us a second glance. Perhaps I was naive about my white friends, or fortunate in my choice of white friends, but I never encountered any overt racism among them, and there was never any talk of racial politics. If I had brought up issues of race with them, I feel like they would have responded with puzzlement and disinterest. They were too busy living their lives.

After we married and moved away, seeking work and new opportunities, I naturally gravitated to my wife’s family and her friends. They seemed to have no interest in my take on issues regarding race either, perhaps for a different reason than my white friends, but in any case, they were not consumed on a personal level by racial issues. I believe that Jamelle Bouie’s assessment about being color-blind in our day-to-day relationships is correct. By and large, our better angels seem to be in charge in regard to our personal relationships, and in the interest of preserving social comity, it’s best to follow the instincts of our better angels.

When first married, I think we were both race-conscious on a personal level. Now, after all these years, I think we can honestly say that on a personal level, we are really color-blind. It just never enters our mind. True color-blindness isn’t easy. It takes familiarity and practice.

J. describes a change in perspective:

I always believed I was color-blind and tried my best to treat everyone the same. I’ve never made a big deal of race or espoused any type of acknowledgment practice to any person of color.

Several years ago, my nephew asked me to review and critique an admissions essay he wrote for a summer engineering program. He's the perfect mix of brains and brawn, with an easy-going personality and quick-witted sense of humor. His essay stopped me cold. My nephew is half Native American and half white. I neither thought of nor treated him as different. He’s just my nephew, whom I love and adore. I also never thought about the difficulties he faces as a child of two very different cultures. His words cut like a knife, shredding my self-perceived color-blindness and leaving it in tatters. My idealistic view of equality was naive at best and ignorant at worst. He’s faced maltreatment from both sides of his heritage. He’s too Native for some whites and too white for some Natives. That, alone, blew my mind. He described many instances and situations from his unique perspective. When I finished, I gave him a hug and suggested a few changes to wording. I reiterated how proud I was of him and thanked him for opening my eyes.

At home that night I cried for my nephew and the struggles he has faced. I cried for the stupidity of humanity and its ignorant belief that one color is superior to another. And I cried for myself, for not realizing that I’m white and I’ll never truly understand what any person of color goes through. I haven’t changed the way I treat others and never will. But for me, that is the day I realized color-blindness doesn’t exist. It's a made-up term used by those who’ll never understand the ignorance of its perceived meaning.

Seth asks, “Is it even possible to be color-blind?” He writes:

While it’s nice to aspire to be better, it’s counterproductive to aim to be something we’re not capable of. Race, like other personal traits, contributes to, but doesn’t define, who we are. We shouldn’t let race dictate how we relate to anyone, nor should it be factored out. Everybody wants to be seen and heard as an individual, and your race is one of the many elements that contribute to who you are. A better goal in our interactions would be self-awareness. Recognize our prejudices. Question our assumptions. Then relate to everybody with a sense of curiosity, openness, and compassion.

Leo stakes out a middle ground:

I don’t think there’s a “should.” There’s more of a natural sorting process. There will always be proponents on both sides of this debate, but we will naturally gravitate to those people more in line with our own thoughts and feelings. And we should be left in peace to do so. My main issue with this debate is when activists or individuals on one side or the other attempt to impose their view on others. I’m not opposed to debating the issue with people who disagree with me, but the topic is often just too heated for a calm and reasonable conversation. And there seems to be little point in such debate when modern anti-racists rush to declare anyone inclined toward color-blindness to be an evil bigot.

I am inclined toward color-blindness. I do not think that the best response to racial discrimination is more racial discrimination. I don’t think that fire is the best substance for putting out a fire. I acknowledge, however, that there may be a place, in certain circumstances, for race-consciousness. I try to remain open-minded. I believe in entertaining doubt. But if I sense that race-conscious leftists have zero receptivity toward anything I say, I avoid them. That’s how this issue impacts my interpersonal relationships.

David argues:

It shows respect to treat people as equals, and it shows arrogance to act as if one is on top of a social hierarchy—even when that may be true. I never learned much about race issues in America until I started reading history in my late 30s. The violence directed at people of color that was officially sanctioned, or condoned by silence, was shocking. I do now have a basic understanding of the systemic racism that has held African Americans and others back. That sort of “race consciousness” should inform policy choices. However, it seems to me (a 65-year-old moderately progressive white guy) that race-consciousness might get in the way of normal interpersonal interactions with people of color.

Being too self-conscious can interfere with social interactions, because one cannot be fully present. Being race conscious in personal interactions seems more likely to create barriers to understanding and relating to the individual in front of you than to invite discourse and understanding. One should be attuned to potential societal burdens experienced by others and how that may manifest, but excessive sensitivity seems to create a new form of “white man’s burden” thinking coming from the left. Like accommodating a disability for people who are not disabled, it seems patronizing.