‘It’s about healing’: getting real about racism

This was the sensation I felt in lockdown while looking out the window of a 23rd-story apartment in Hong Kong.

I could hear the haunting chants of pro-democracy protesters echo from the streets below, but the raised umbrellas and pain remained hidden from my view. I wondered, ‘What am I not seeing? What am I not doing?’

At the same time, growing demonstrations against police brutality were gripping my home country, the United States, and I started to ask myself these same questions.

I pensively looked out the window for answers and I saw my white privilege reflecting back at me. It was blinding. This apartment is like an ivory tower, a bubble about to burst. I want to break it like my heart breaks when I think of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Elijah McClain, and the endless list of black lives lost as a result of racism. There must be more to understand, I thought, because I’ve never feared for my life in that way. I feel ready to unlearn, to finally see and speak out, but I would need help.

I scrolled through Facebook and found a familiar, beautiful face — Tiffany, my old friend and classmate from the Global Leadership Center, an eloquent, unapologetic black woman with an energy I’ve always loved. She recently earned a Ph.D in Communications with a specialization in Diversity and…