I love a racist.

This is one of the many beautiful murals at Melrose Leadership Academy in Oakland, CA, which was my son’s first school. When he first started going there, I admired all the murals, but wondered, “Where are the white kids in the murals?” I confess, I was a little offended that there wasn’t more white representation. This was one of the first times in my life where I was surrounded by images of people of color instead of white folk. Now I understand how intensely important and empowering those murals are for the children who go to that school. They live in a culture where everywhere else they look, it’s all white all the time. Those murals bring pride to those who are often denigrated in our culture.

There is someone I love dearly, someone I have known a very long time, someone I knew to be gentle, kind and intelligent. On the day of the Charlottesville rally and violence, they posted a picture on Facebook of a memorial to the Confederates in Missouri that they visited. They rarely post on Facebook, and this place was several hours from where they live, so I know the visit took effort. While the violence in Charlottesville is disturbing, this post has been more disturbing for me.

It evoked a huge range of emotions — denial, shock, sadness, guilt, defensiveness, powerless, embarrassment, rage, compassion, fear — a microcosm of what some of our country is experiencing. I felt denial that I was seeing what I was seeing. I felt shock that the memorial even exists, that someone I know would purposefully visit it and share about it. I felt sadness that this is even an issue. I felt guilt that I didn’t do enough to influence this person’s life and encourage a tolerance, love, and understanding of diversity. I felt defensive and powerless because, well, what could I have done, really, especially when I’ve been away for the last 17 years? I felt embarrassment that I know a person who would go to a Confederate memorial. I felt rage at the history, systems and cultures that perpetuates racism and hate. I felt compassion because I have a glimmer of what might be going on for them. I felt fear that I am too weak or too scared to do what I know I need to do, which includes sharing my experience.

Several days and several listening times later…

Whew. So, let’s unpack some of that now, shall we?

DISCLAIMER: I’m speaking to white folk. I’m going to talk about racism and white privilege. I won’t do this perfectly. I will make mistakes when sharing about this. There are still blind spots I have to my own privilege. I will share some of my journey thus far in the best way I can today.

Racism is everywhere and in everyone. In our white-centered culture, racism is the air we breathe and the food we eat. It is so predominant, that if you grow up white, you don’t notice it. All toys, stories, images, and shows were white (and mostly male, but that’s another share for another time, not wholly unrelated). Our friends and communities were white. Heck, what is the default color of Band-Aids? We learned from birth that white is better. Period.

Yes, this is confronting. It’s much easier to hide, to crawl back into the sheltered hole of privilege and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. (Or you could just live in California. =) In fact, I did that for much of my life. It’s your choice. I’m not here to convince you of anything. You have to do your own research. I did. If you’re curious, though, here’s a brief synopsis of the journey of emotions that I’ve traveled thus far.

Denial

When I first began learning about racism and sytematic oppression a couple of years ago, my denial was strong.

“It’s not that bad, is it? How could I be racist? I love all people. How could I be privileged? I am a woman who came from a poor family.”

Shock

This was very humbling.

“Those awful things really happen to people? Oh wait. I’m a racist, too. I’m not a flag-waving white supremacist, but I’m still racist.”

Sadness

Then, sadness came.

“This is so awful. People shouldn’t have to go through what they go through, just to live. There’s so much injustice.”

Guilt

Guilt is the sense that I did wrong.

“I’ve done so wrong. I should have learned about this so long ago. Why didn’t I? How could I be so ignorant?”

Defensiveness

Defensiveness shows up when I want an excuse to not do anything.

“I didn’t ask to be white! I didn’t choose to be white!”

Powerlessness

Powerlessness shows up when I don’t know what to do.

“I’m just one person, and I’m a white person! What the hell can I do?”

Embarrassment/Shame

Shame shows up when I feel that there is something fundamentally wrong with me as a human.

“I’m white and it’s all my fault. And I have so many ‘white woman tears.’ I cry at everything. I can’t help it.”

Rage

After I’ve cleared the muck of the previous emotions, I’m often left with rage — a burning anger at the injustices of our history and our current lives. Racism divides us. It separates us from our own selves and emotions, as much as it separates us from our brothers and sisters of the global majority. Racism robs us of our humanness, which is our ability to feel compassion and love for others. When I sink into the rage at what racism has done to us, it also robs me of my ability to feel compassion, and thus is an extension of racism because it continues to foster separation. I can’t let rage paralyze me or harden me. I express my rage in safe ways through dance and in listening partnerships. These allow me to transform my rage into the strength and courage I need to live in this world with integrity and compassion.

Compassion

Treating racism with compassion is hard to do. (It’s even hard to type!) Listening to where another is coming from and what has brought them to where they are in life develops compassion. Understanding history makes compassion easier. Racism is something that is done to us. We need to understand that the concept of “whiteness” was invented by those in power during our country’s early years to increase their wealth and power. Whiteness was invented to separate poor whites from poor blacks and slaves, so that power could not be usurped. (If you’re skeptical, do some research.)

When I release my internal judgments and criticisms, I have compassion for myself. This gives me strength and courage to speak up because I know that I am secure in my own love for myself. From this place, I can extend compassion to others, and can speak up against racism in a way that is more likely to foster change because I am not attacking. Compassion does not condone, excuse, or accept unacceptable behavior. It is what allows us to set a limit, and speak up for the good of all with love in our hearts.

Did I mention that this is hard to do?

Fear

It is very scary to talk about this, to show myself and what I believe. I have a deep-rooted fear that I will be misunderstood and attacked for speaking up. Over the last several months, I have just begun to heal this fear. It will take a while. It will bounce me around the pinball machine of my emotions, and give me opportunities to work on more guilt, shame, and rage. With each round, though, I feel myself growing stronger and brighter.

Which brings us back to the beginning of this post. Yes, I love the person that this post started with unconditionally and forever, and I am looking forward to an opportunity to have a conversation with them. More importantly, though, I love myself. I am racist. I have white skin privilege, and act in racist ways I don’t even realize or see yet. I’m working every single day to bring awareness and justice to racism in my life and our world. It is my responsibility, and maybe yours, too.