Healing from Whiteness
When the CURA facilitator for the Neighborhoods Now training, Bahieh Hartshorn, asked me, “Why are you here?” in front of a room of 20 people, I felt stumped. This training gathers local organizations around the Twin Cities area in order to develop their skills as community organizers and build connections among their organizations. So I first said something like, “I came to this work in a non-genuine way, because the community I grew up in had a lot of white saviorism. I was patted on the back for volunteering, sending lamps to kids in Africa, etc., but now I want to work within the community. I recognize that making the world an equitable place helps everyone.”
The facilitator jumped in and said, “But, personally, why are you here? Say something vulnerable.” I stumbled out a few more words, but she looked at me again and said, “No, something personally vulnerable,” and moved on.
I’m still wrestling with this question. This work is about finding community and fighting for liberation, but I am stuck between two worlds: one of privilege and one of reality. Honestly, I feel alone. I have had close friends that have been hurt by the current systems in place, such as housing, welfare, politics, and I have different views and ideologies from the community I grew up in. My family and my community are very conservative. They believed they deserved all the power and money that was handed to them and ignored how their privilege affected the world. For example, my grandparents were immigrants to the United States and became citizens in the 1960s. As immigrants to this country, they criticize contemporary waves of immigration and support Trump’s Muslim ban and border wall. In defense of their positions, they describe how they immigrated legally, even when I point out that they did so as white people and at a time when immigration from Europe was easy.
Why am I here?
I was in the middle of this ignorance of white privilege. I started to question the way things worked, but I didn’t understand life outside of white, middle class, suburban America. When I arrived at college, I slowly began to hear other people, their narratives and their perspectives. I began to see ignorance that blinded my community as well as myself to the world. For example, my friend John*, who is a white male and goes to an out-of-state college, fully funded by his parents and grandparents, was having a conversation with me about money and funding education. He described his situation in a matter of fact manner, saying, “Well, my parents are just paying it forward, and one day, I’ll be able to pay it forward for my children to go to college.” On the other hand, my friend Robert*, who is a black male, has struggled to pay for community college after his parents told him at age 18 that they couldn’t afford to help him anymore. He has been in and out of his program, trying to make money to go to school, but even when he is taking classes, he has to work full-time in order to support himself. This is an example of intergenerational wealth accumulated over time and supported by racist economic and education systems.
Why am I here?
In college my views quickly matured, and I wanted to learn how and why these silent-to-me systems in my life lifted me up, while crushing so many others in the process. This realization disconnected me from my community because of what they believe, but I still had all the lived experiences of a white, straight, cis, woman. I want to be a part of a community that is constantly working to dismantle the systems that have caused so much pain, but I was not sure what that meant.
Why am I here?
Am I here because I feel guilty about the opportunities I received? Honestly I am not sure. Possibly. A lot of people from my community certainly lead with that intention. Everyone wanted to go on a trip to Africa or Latin America and get a photo with a black or brown baby and post it on Facebook. Look at my do-gooding! At one time, I was jealous, but now I only feel angry at their exploitation of people experiencing poverty.
Why am I here?
It could also be that I recognize the possibilities open to me that my friends couldn’t access. The only way I can see to make this right is to join the fight. What am I doing with my privilege if I am not using it to bring more power to the people who did not receive it? It could have just as easily been me in their place. Being a part of Restorative Justice Community Action through my HECUA program has made me realize that I have a lot in common with the Referred Participants, people who had gotten in trouble with the law. Through their stories, it became really easy to put myself in their shoes and understand why they did what they did. Honestly, I am not sure if I would have been able to rise above circumstances in terms of getting clean or controlling my actions in a given situation. The only difference between me and the Referred Participants sometimes was the fact that I did not get caught for my actions. I could have been born into a totally different family and had no privilege. I could get into a financial crisis one day. I am not better than anyone else in this world.
Why am I here?
I kind of have an answer now. I watched this video of Janaya Kahn, a leader of the Black Lives Matter movement. She describes a new idea about her own place in this work:
“This is not why I continue to do the work. I continue to do the work because I know that black liberation is integral to the liberation for all…Our identities, that might be a good entry point, but we can’t stay there, because let me tell you something: when you stay there, all we do- all I’m doing if I’m only fighting for black people, is reframing colonialism so that it’s more convenient for someone like me.”
Why am I here?
I can talk about messed up things that have happened in my white family. My grandparents are racist, sexist, homophobic. I have a second cousin on trial for assaulting someone while they were unconscious. I have grown up in a religion lead with hate instead of love. I’m here because of the barriers in my own personal life around being a female and having an invisible disability. I am here because of the times when people have not believed my disability. I am here for the times I have been made fun of for my disability. I am here because of teachers who did not believe I could make it in school. I am here because of the harassment I have endured in the workplace and the interactions I have had with men who feel entitled to my body. But as Janaya said, my own struggles and experiences are not why I stay here.
