Member-only story
A Matter of Perspective
I Just Found Out I’m White
It’s a matter of perspective. I, as a white man, have been doing a bunch of research over the last few years since George Floyd died. Strangely enough, I’m not sure I’ve reached a complete conclusion or viewpoint of what racism is, but I want to write something about where I’m at in time for Martin Luther King Day.
The reason I just discovered why I hadn’t reached a “complete” conclusion is a mental roadblock. In addition to historical research on the “black threat” of American history, I keep reading black authors of today, like on Medium, and they keep talking about “whites.” I must admit I get a bit angry being lumped into that category.
I want to constantly say I’m not one of those whites.
I was born up North, and I just could not be one of those white Southerners, which Northerners think of as trailer park trash, racist confederates. I lived in the South and now Texas, but I’m not sure I’ve changed my mind. Sure, some of them are good — they’re not all backwoods’ bigots. Still, I just refused to be grouped into that category, “white.” Not me, my brain said when reading about “all whites.” Sure, I may get what white as “the whole race” means, but I’m different from the rest of them illiterate Marjorie Greene types spewing slurs and dog whistles.
