And this is where sincere white people can, I believe, make a long-term difference: by owning that these folks’ outlook and perspective IS our problem.
If we’re paying attention, then we know we can speak up at times and in places where it simply isn’t safe for a person of color to do so. Sometimes it’ll be a swing and a miss; but we need to at least step up to the plate.
There are legions of White people out there who could potentially become good white folks; but first they’ve got to know that they aren’t. And they’ve got to be shown that, and given a reason to change, and then decide to do it and find the path forward. And you’re absolutely right, the vast majority of them never will. But some can. And they will not, until and unless they are challenged and confronted and made uncomfortable by *someone they care about.* Someone from whom they cannot turn away; someone who they cannot dismiss as simply Other, and ultimately, a group of someones who make it unacceptable for them to continue as they are.
I don’t think of that work so much as education (even though that’s what I call it) as I do contagion. Awareness is viral, and those who can retreat to enclaves of safety can avoid being infected with it. So I aim to leave the spoor of information, and the symptoms of infection with it, in every space that I can access but my family and friends of color cannot. I aim to be the Trojan horse, in the viral sense. Because they’re culturally vaccinated against you — but less so against me.
Aware white people don’t want to own that. But when we don’t, well, we’re part of the problem. We’re the ones who let the racists build their windmills. We’ve got to rezone the whole ground for no damn windmills. We can’t look at racist windmills springing up and say “Fuck it, can’t do anything about that.” Because the fact is, there’s a chance we can walk right into that windmill and bring down its defenses, while someone the windmill reads as Other can only tilt at it. Why? Because these people are racist to begin with.
I’m writing as hard as I can right now, because I can’t physically take to the streets. It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. But I’ll tell you: I took a decade or so off from pushing on the struggle. And shit got worse where I live. And if I had it to do over, I’d have said a lot more things, a whole lot sooner. I’d have gone for a lot more fucking windmills. Because every single time I didn’t, either someone else had to or people began to accept living in the shadow of the windmill, and the windmills got taller and wider and more numerous.
And sometimes everyone’s standing around wishing someone would at least go after one windmill, one time, ever — and when someone finally does, then they know they can, too. And then in time, the numbers shift. We know this, because when we don’t stand up, the windmills just keep growing.
No one could possibly stand and fight every single time. But if no one *ever* does… well. Then there is no fight. There is only the loss. And for a white person who never takes up the fight and always walks away, that loss is your fundamental humanity. I won’t pay that price. I can’t afford it, personally. But my family and friends of color can afford it even less. If I sell out my humanity for White comfort, I sell out more than myself.
