If Not Now, White Folks, When?
Black people are being slaughtered. For the dead, tomorrow is too late for your activism.
Whenever my white friends confess, I didn’t know it was this bad — it being racism — my reaction is always one of surprise and sadistic glee. As a Black man, I find it surprising that yet another white person has chosen to eschew the comfort and bliss that accompanies whiteness, in an attempt to better understand the depth and breadth of racism in a world that has so welcomed them. To me, as a Black man, their confession is a joyous sight to behold. How could it not be? To be present when someone white can put into words the realization that Black people are living a dystopian version of their advantaged American dream is priceless.
The best part? The moment never gets old.
Don’t get me wrong. I take no pleasure in the suffering of anyone, but knowing that a white brother or sister has scratched the surface of feelings of angst, agita, anxiety over the abject pain, degradation, and loss Black people have endured during the last 400 years . . . gives me a sense of hope. And relief. I see the event as the place of embarkation, the starting point for that person’s journey to that place where they can appreciate the same inherent humanity in Black people that resides in them. And doing so allows…
