The darkness that our country has been under since its founding was brought to light last week because the murder of George Floyd. I debated posting something. It’s almost as if everyone who has a platform is one-upping each other with the virtue signaling. While that’s not my intention, but perhaps that’s what I’m doing here too.
I am certainly not an expert on race relations–I’ll explain why in a minute. However, many people have said that it’s important to still talk about this even if you don’t know what to say.
So, I’ll admit it. I don’t know what to say.
I grew up in an almost all-white town outside of Cleveland. I was implicitly taught that “they” were other. “They” caused their own problems. “They” live in downtown Cleveland and that’s why “We” stay in our safe little suburb. The color lines didn’t cross. Race was almost never a discussion. You stay in your corner and we’ll stay in ours.
Surprisingly, going to a predominantly white college is what really started to open my eyes about the “Other.” I came to realize that not everyone’s parents paid for their college. Not everyone was given an allowance to sneak away for a pesto sandwich off campus in between classes… or a new car that’s not only up to code, but safe. I retreated even further in to my own “We.”
I am privileged.
It was there that I saw humanity both at its best and at its worst. These “others,” white students who were there on student loans and couldn’t go shopping on weekends like my friends… These people were –quite literally– praying on street corners, yet made merciless fun of the (often Black) “townies.” (I will note that the Harmonium Project has done a fantastic job of curtailing this attitude in the years since I was there)
Apparently we all need someone to look down on.
Being a young 20-something at the time, I did not have perhaps the somewhat more sophisticated view of what I saw that I do now. I do remember wondering who the hell these people thought they were. They may have been white, but they were just as poor as the “hood rats” they looked down on.
I moved to the DC area after college to teach and managed to stay in my safe bubble for my first few years.
In one of my many hobby-dabbling phases, I decided I wanted to learn how to sew, so I took classes. Turns out that not many people want to learn how to sew these days, so my classes were often one-on-one instruction. My teacher was a lovely Black woman who, for the first time in my life, talked to me about race and privilege. She wasn’t accusatory. She was sweet, informative, and, in many ways, the nurturing mama figure I needed so badly with being away from home.
I wish I could say that I had some major enlightenment at some point in my life, but aside from my conversations with Miss Lee, I can’t point to anything specific that made me want to learn and grow. It just kind of happened.
I saw myself in Miss Lee and I saw her in me. We share a humanity. While I certainly knew that in an abstract way before, the moment I realized that concretely, things changed.
So I read. I watched. I listened.
I devoured The Help and The Secret Life of Bees, which were all the rage at the time. I cried turning the pages of Just Mercy. I informed myself reading Waking Up White. I stared a hideous blemish of American History in the face when I visited the Civil Rights Institute in Birmingham, which is steps away from the church where four little girls were murdered by the KKK in the 1960s. I read and re-read Letter From A Birmingham Jail and highly recommend you do the same.
And still, it’s not enough.
I will never apologize for being white. My fair skin tells the story of my Irish/Welsh heritage. My green eyes’ origin is a mystery, but it’s somewhere in my Celtic or German roots. The shape of my eyes turns down slightly at the ends, a trait I share with my (grand)Mama. My mousey brown hair is the same color as my sister and mom, even if we all dye it. I have the same nose as my Italian grandmother and my dad… I’ll admit it–I’m a bit stereotypical in many ways, but white is who I am.
I do know that I’m privileged.
I do know that I’ve been silent for way too long. I do know that I have a ton of learning yet to do. I do know that it should not have taken a situation this horrific, this tragic to bring this all to light.
So, I am sorry.
I am sorry for my years of silence. I am sorry for my years of intentional ignorance. I am sorry for what the Black community has been through, and for not bothering to understand. I know I don’t have the right words and I doubt I ever will.
I am part of the problem, but I’m working to be part of the solution. I hope you’ll join me.
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