What follows originated as a facebook post, and I was asked to publish it someplace linkable, so that it could be better shared. After learning what the heck THAT meant (I’m a bit Internet-elderly), I decided to do just that. Part of me wants to rework it to make it more articulate and structured and less facebook-posty, but the bigger part of me (also the lazier part) thinks maybe it should be left as is, rambling to be sure, but more reflective of how my brain and heart worked together to have their little epiphany.
HUGE DISCLAIMER: I have no adult companionship right now. Danny’s on the oil rig for the next 3 weeks, so I spend my days conversing with a 3 year old and a 3 month old. What follows is some serious train-of-thought brain vomit, but I had to get it out of there. It’s pretty rambling, but eventually it does stop circling the airport and lands the plane.
When I was younger, and found myself in a discussion of race relations, I was generally pretty defensive, and often expressed what can best be described as self-righteous indignation. “You’ve never been a slave and I’ve never been a master! I’ve never done ANYTHING oppressive or racist, and you live in the same America with the same freedoms and opportunities I’ve got … hell — you’ve got more! If we are equally qualified for a job or a scholarship, you get it, JUST because of the color of your skin … Affirmative Action: how is THAT equality!?,” was the gist of my vantage point, and I refused to entertain the idea that I was racist or part of the problem. Naturally, this was usually not the thing to say to either diffuse the situation or to make any headway in terms of seeking peace and understanding. I simply could not understand some black people’s seething anger and resentment at all white people … at ME — why me?! I didn’t do anything, right?
As I got a little older, I started to gain this thing called perspective, and by that, I mean I started to be able to access perspectives that weren’t necessarily my own. I’m not talking empathy; I won’t pretend to be able to understand or feel someone else’s reality and experience. I just mean I started to gain the ability and see the value in trying to understand someone else’s reality and experience. With that came some revelations. Yeah — it’s true. No one around today has ever been a slave or master. That part hasn’t changed. But I now understand that the history of the generations before you does have an effect on your universe, your experience, your reality, and yes, which side of the privilege coin was flipped for you. In other words, I started to understand that just because black people technically live in the same America as me, and officially have the same freedoms and opportunities that I have, that it’s not that simple, and in many ways, they really don’t.
A hundred and fifty-something years is not that long a time when you think about it. Really and truly, if you’re 20 years old, it’s feasible that your 80-year-old grandma can recall her 80-year-old grandma telling her first-hand accounts of her life as someone else’s property. Property. That’s huge when you think about it like that; we learn about slavery in school as this horrible thing that happened a very long time ago and phew — thank God THAT’S all over with, right? But for a lot of blacks, it’s not that far removed.
But that’s not my fault, right? Um, yes, right. It’s not my fault, and here’s where I used to get it wrong. Since it isn’t my fault, it’s not my responsibility to fix. Beyond that, it’s not like I could fix it anyway. And furthermore, it’s unreasonable to ASK or EXPECT me to fix it. This is how I saw it my whole life and trust me, I can still make a case for that. But here’s the thing: I changed my mind. Not about the fault thing, but about my responsibility, and my perception of the expectations of black people.
I know there are black people out there who want revenge and reparations for the sins of the past and the ripples of consequence those sins have caused; I think those folks are misguided, and I think that’s an unreasonable and frankly, a just plain wrong expectation. Some of those folks are loud. I know there are white people who are set in an attitude of, “Nuh uh — not me. Not my problem. I’m not racist, I’m sick and tired of being assumed to BE racist, and frankly, the more I hear about it, the more jaded I become.” I think those folks are misguided, too. Because I AM a white person, and by virtue of that happenstance of birth as a white person, I can identify with that attitude. I used to carry that attitude. But I know now that it’s A: not helpful, and B: only serves to keep the walls up.
So here’s my new attitude. Here’s what I’ve learned over the past few years, and really put together over the past few days. What I believe is that MOST black people don’t think like the ones I outlined in the paragraph above, and neither do most white people. What I think is actually the case is that black people aren’t looking for revenge, or a comeuppance for white people; they’re looking for an acknowledgement that (as the kids like to say about EVERYTHING these days in jokey ironic fashion) the struggle is real. I’ve read a lot of posts from a lot of black people over the past couple of days, and by and large, the frustration doesn’t come from the inequality, it comes from the abject REFUSAL of white people (lots of them, maybe most of them) to acknowledge that YES, white privilege is real.
I get it now. I’m listening, and I get it. Yes, I’m granted a certain number of privileges just because of who I was born to. That’s not fair. I am frequently frustrated because I can’t just fix that. It’s not my fault, but I know now that that privilege comes with some responsibility. I think a lot of white people don’t want to deal with that because they feel like acknowledging their privilege means we have to apologize for it. I can no more apologize for the color of my skin than I can the color of the sky. I don’t think that’s the point. I had to let go of the idea that recognizing the privilege carries the burden of apologizing for it, or feeling guilt over it.
I think the only burden it carries is the burden of awareness. Just being aware that my universe is different from yours gives me the ability to understand that we see the world through different filters. I may never see it through your filter, nor you through mine, but that’s okay. We don’t need that; we just need to recognize these things, and have a little understanding.
Is it bigger than that? Yeah, lots bigger. But I can’t do anything about the bigger stuff. I can’t fix anything but me, and how I walk through this world, and how I raise my kids. Being mother to a son really took this home for me. I won’t have to worry about Gus when he gets to be a teenager being treated any certain way because he’s a white male. Yeah, he’ll draw the ire of race-baiters and man-haters, but there’s no danger to his beating heart in that. That’s an annoyance he’ll have to bear, but I don’t have to live in fear for his actual life when he goes out. I mean, I do, because I think all mamas do, but what I mean is I won’t have that extra thing that frankly, mamas of black boys have. I didn’t get that at all until I had a kid, and didn’t get it really well until I had a boy. Perspective — that’s what I’m talking about.
I realize that the “all we need to do is stop the hate and love one another,” talk rings hollow for some people. I get that. But there’s truth there, too. You cannot fix the systemic issues that exist. You cannot change the minds and hearts of large groups of people who refuse to even see that those issues are there. You can’t, and really, it’s not your job to. What you can fix is your own heart and mind, and try to make YOUR little universe a better place. That’s not revolution, and it’s not fast, and it’s not easy. It calls for peace and understanding, and maybe some uncomfortable self-reflection if you’re operating on either the side of blinding anger or blinded denial. But I have to believe it can be impactful. Simply coming to this has given me a real calm about it all, where before I just felt helpless.
“What am I supposed to do when as I white person, I get told not to even voice my opinion? What am I to do when as a white woman, I get told I’m racist by people who’ve never even met me? What am I to do when the angry voices are shouting out revenge for sins I didn’t even commit?”
Nothing. Not a thing. Those minds and hearts can’t be appeased by me, and they don’t need to. Those are the folks on the other side of this issue who have yet to find that perspective they so desperately need. I don’t have to feel helpless about that anymore, because that’s not my target audience. My target audience is the black community who’s hurting and who just wants to be acknowledged and heard. And my message to that audience is this: I’m starting to get it, and I’m listening. I can’t fix the world, but I can work on fixing me … and fixing you and me … and bringing up my babies to see and know and love and do better, so they don’t have to come to these realizations in their late 30s like I did.
And here’s the fun part: there’s no guilt in that. There’s no winning and losing here. There’s no pandering to anyone’s side on a hot-button issue. There’s no politics in this. There’s no trying to appease anyone. It’s just a little bit of personal growth that hopefully will have some positive impact.
As usual, I absolutely welcome your input here, but please, for the love of Sam, remember that everyone on my friends list is someone I love. As you love me, treat my people the way I’d want them to treat you. In other words, be nice, kids; we need more nice.