The first sound I heard when I awoke yesterday was the honking of the Snow Geese passing over my roof. I went outside and observed wave after wave of them, flying in formation above my house. There must have been hundreds. That’s the great thing about living directly under the Pacific Flyway. A couple of times each year, I glimpse the geese making their way to and from their nesting homes up north. Yesterday, they were taking full advantage of the break in the atmospheric river that had pummeled Northern California for about a week. Living in such an unsteady time as this, I find something reassuring in the habits of the migratory birds. 

The other day, I learned that a banana stuck to the wall with a piece of duct tape was sold at auction by Sotheby’s for $6.2 million, exceeding the estimate by $5 million. (See Wishes and Woke Roulette.) Without considering that it was possible to build upon such an absurdity, I checked my email. I subscribe to a service that provides updates on what individual literary agents are looking for, and I went online to look at the wishlist for one of them. Imagine my surprise, when I clicked on her X-Twitter feed, and saw that for the week of November 18-25, she would not accept submissions from white people. Earlier this year, I stopped buying a particular brand of flour, because the company sponsored a cooking competition that was only open to People of Color (POC). Whether or not you believe that this sort of gesture by the agent and the grain mill is a well-intentioned ploy to level the playing field for people that they have categorized by race or ethnicity, it reflects an attitude that is, at best, condescending. 

How do we evaluate achievements of newly published authors or celebrated cooks who are POC, when the gatekeepers show a lack of faith that they can cut it, when pitted against white people? Talk about absurd…. It goes without saying that I disavow discrimination against anyone for their physical characteristics or cultural heritage. Yet discriminating based on race is exactly what the literary agent and flour company are doing. They haven’t sent all “whites” to the back of the bus. No. Whites are not even allowed on the coach. 

If the goal of the literary agency and the flour mill is “balance” or “equity” (as opposed to publishing great literature or producing fine quality flour), there are other ways to get there. However something akin to a combination of self-reflection and effort would be required. Put aside, for a minute, the promise of equality espoused in the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution, because the solution comes from something more basic: Start acknowledging the humanity of the people in front of you and be a little curious about them.

When I was working my way through college, I got a part-time job in the heart of Berkeley’s gourmet ghetto, in a shop that traded in freshly roasted coffee and an array of cheese that would fulfill an epicurean’s dream. A good, basic cup of coffee for a reasonable price is a great equalizer. Our customers came from many different countries and all walks of life. Naturally, with Berkeley being the home of a great university, we served a lot of professors and students.

I bet most of those professors would have been surprised to hear the shopkeeper’s childhood stories of witnessing atrocities committed by Japanese soldiers during World War II in his village in China. Or that his family fled to Taiwan when Mao Tse-tung rose to power. And that he was a reporter in Taipei and rose from that position to become the newspaper editor and a college professor. Most of our customers never spoke to him beyond asking for a hunk of Gruyère and a wedge of Emmental for their fondue pots.

A popular produce market was just down the road. The flower stand on the sidewalk next to its parking lot did a brisk business. One day, a well-dressed older woman, who was one of our regular customers, came into the store and asked me if I had heard that a flower shop was opening on the corner. “That black man who runs the stand has another thing coming, if he thinks that anyone is going to buy flowers from him instead of the cute white woman right across the street!” she declared.

That black man was named Allen, but I suppose my customer never bothered to have a conversation with him, anymore than she had ever really spoken to the owner of the store where I worked. When Allen wasn’t selling flowers, he was a voice coach, teaching people to sing opera. The next time I saw him, I repeated to him what the lady had said. After that, I seldom saw Allen, because he hired a cute white woman to sell his flowers in Berkeley and opened a second stand in the neighboring town.

One afternoon, I was having lunch with a woman who lived near the coffee store. She was the director of an annual juried craft market, which was a major fundraiser for a National Public Radio affiliate. Although she loved her job, the governing board had instructed her to increase participation of black craftspeople, and she believed that their demands were unreasonable. “I can’t!” she wailed. “There just aren’t enough black people applying for entry!”

“What are you doing to increase applications in the black community?” I asked.

“Huh? What can I do? I can’t force anyone to apply,” she said, defensively.

“No, but you can do outreach,” I replied. “There are lots of ways to do this. Advertise on some Oakland radio stations. Contact the pastors of churches. Offer to make some presentations to wood-shop and art classes at the local community college.”

Her only response was dagger eyes.

To the literary agents and flour mills out there, who are trying to fix the inequities that they see in the world, I say start regarding people as individuals and stop pigeonholing us all into prejudged groups. It wouldn’t hurt to put some time and effort into making contact with a wider audience. I’m happy to brainstorm this with you, if you’re interested. For example, the agent can easily find opportunities to conduct free seminars at community colleges in New York on how to write a pitch letter. The flour mill can hold its cooking competitions at homeless shelters, which may not be full of POC, but certainly would have residents who may be down on their luck and would appreciate a hot meal. The last thing you should be doing is insulting the integrity of the very people you have identified as lacking the personal power to raise themselves up. 

Sometimes I watch those migrating geese and think it would be nice to take flight and land somewhere warm and secure. Yet I’m enough of a realist to know that my challenges will follow me wherever I go. And I’m not too obtuse to appreciate the irony of the fact that the winter safe harbor for those geese flying overhead is just a few miles from my home.