I’ve been sitting here for awhile just staring at a blank page on my screen. Little curser thingy blinking. Condensation gathering on my glass of chardonnay. The words I want to write have to be perfect. They have to come across just the way I mean them. This is not a topic one can flub on.
Especially when you are a white woman writing on racism.
I want to begin by saying this is not a piece intent on shaming the white community or instilling white guilt on those reading this. It’s a piece based on my own perspectives from living all over this country for the last 25 years. It’s a piece with the hopeful intention to educate, enlighten and create compassion based on my own journey and personal research.
I was born 44 years ago in Jacksonville, Florida. Many would call that the deep South, I would agree for the most part. Lots of church and fried food, Country music and confederate flags. Plenty of racism. In some areas, not much has changed. I have now lived all over this country and what I can tell you is racism is thriving. Sure it seems to get better for periods of time. We are momentarily lulled into a sense of “Look we are doing the right thing.” But it’s like a flowering plant that is dormant in winter. It’s always there ready to sprout its leaves of destruction when the time comes. It’s a living breathing thing and the only ones who protest this truth are the ones that will not accept that their race continues to play a part in the why.
I knew very few black people as a child. Not for any other reason than we lived way out in the sticks and there just weren’t many living in our community. My Mam-Maw lived in town and she had a black housekeeper named Carrie for most of my childhood. I adored Carrie and she adored me. She had a big beautiful smile and the most jolly laugh. She would shake really hard when she laughed, which made me giggle more. My grandmother was very good to Carrie but there was still an underlying understanding that Carrie was different than us. I never realized what that meant until I was older. I just saw this amazingly wonderful human who loved me.
As life progressed so did my interactions with people of color. My Daddy had the most wonderful man Mr. Loomis who worked for him. Mr. Loomis would pull up to our house on random Saturday afternoons and leave us a pie. He was always bringing us a pie. I remember he would bring pumpkin pie often. I love pumpkin pie. I can only vaguely see his facial features in my aging mind but I remember he always wore a hat, it was like a straw fedora. Mr. Loomis was kind, and funny and warm. I remember his warmth.
I remember well the day my younger sister and I got into a car accident. My older sister had been driving. Before the police or our parents arrived, there was a lovely man who came to our rescue. He got us all out of the car and onto the curb. He was calming and so reassuring. I remember my sister was freaking out about the wrecked car and he said “Baby, your Mama can get another car, she can’t get another you!” He reminded me of Mr. Loomis. I was maybe 10. He was wearing overalls. I remember when my Mama got there someone said to her “That nice n***** over there helped them.” I remember the horrified look on my Mother’s face. I remember her thanking him over and over. I remember her talking about how awful she felt that he may have heard the racial slur. I wasn’t fully aware of the word but I knew it was not a good one.
It was not long after that that I became acutely aware that there were people who considered black Americans as second class citizens. I became aware every time I heard someone bad mouth them. I became aware in news stories. I witnessed things in my own neighborhood including a burning cross one night. I remember my church saying that blacks and whites were not to marry. I had been taught that God loved everyone the same so this was confusing for me.
After awhile as a child you just adapt to what you see and hear. You figure it must be true right? We whites were special. We were just better somehow. Though I never became someone who was actively racist I absolutely had racist thoughts and assumptions. It had been ingrained in me. I had been programmed by society to think something completely contrary to every experience I had had with black people thus far. Why?
When I started high school at a very diverse and inclusive arts school everything changed. I was introduced to so many eclectic unique souls. No one cared about the color of your skin, your ethnic background, your financial status, who your father or mother was or your sexual orientation. I made friends fast. One night I asked my Daddy if my friend Jennifer could come sleepover. I remember feeling obligated to tell him she was black. I remember his pause. He was unsure. He had also been programmed since the 30’s when whites and blacks were more than segregated. But Daddy agreed. Do you know what happened? My Father loved Jennifer. He liked her better than any of my school friends. I remember him telling her “Youngin, you come back anytime you want!” That moment for me resonates because I saw my Father, who was not unkind to the black community but had been taught to be wary...open his eyes. I saw him change his stance and it spawned hope that if my “set in his ways” Daddy could do it then anyone could.
After high school and through the years since then my growth and deprogramming continued at different stages. I thought I was good to go until a party I threw in Los Angeles in 2011. I was in charge of throwing the end of year theme parties for my kickball league. I always threw great parties with themes that everyone loved...except the year I threw a “White Trash Party.” Everyone was dressed up in cut-off jean shorts and mullets, John Deer Hats and overalls. I was having a great time, until I saw my black friend Roger. Roger was dressed in a black suit and tie and he had something to tell me. He told me that my “White Trash Party” made him feel excluded. He didn’t really feel invited. He told me that the title of my party especially made him feel that way. It was like having ice cold water thrown on me. My lack of education and understanding was abruptly brought to the surface.
I was stunned. It had not occurred to me. That was so not my intent! I vehemently defended myself. I told him we were making fun of white people. He went on to explain that the type of people we were representing that night were often those who were extremely racist against blacks. The thing was, Roger wasn’t trying to shame me, or punish me, he was trying to educate me. And what I didn’t realize in that moment that I have come to realize now is it didn’t matter what I thought or what my intentions were. My friend whose race had been judged and cruelly abused for a century felt a certain way and I wasn’t listening.
I’m grateful for my friend Roger for having the tenacity to confront me. Because of that I understand more. I am able to not just listen but hear. It saddens me to think of the masses of people of color who probably have been taught to just put their head down and accept it. Society has done that. Over decades and decades an institution was created against a group of people that were considered inferior.
I have spent the last 20 plus years in New York City, Minnesota, Jacksonville, Los Angeles and now back to New York City. I currently live in Harlem. Is there crime? Yes there is. Do we have shootings? Yep. But so does every community in every place I have ever lived and these are committed by every color that makes up the human race. I always find it interesting when people bring up black crime rates. I’ve seen this defense tactic used many times. Those same people aren’t interested in Googling white crimes.
Statistically I am just as likely to be sexually assaulted by a white man as a black man. I actually was sexually assaulted when I was 16...by two males, both white. Children are more than double likely to be molested by a white male. Once again the chance that I will be killed by a white serial killer is more than double than a black serial killer. I am also far more likely to have my investments or life savings stolen by a white male. All horrific and life altering crimes. How come we never speak on these things or against the race of people who are the majority holder of their existence? How come every time I see a white man with a mustache and a van I don’t call the police?
Okay okay, I know what some people are going to say, “There are far more white people than black people in the country so of course their numbers will be higher.” But at best the numbers are equal. Which makes the white community just as capable and culpable of crime and danger as any other race on the planet. The difference is the white community gets away with it more often.
Here is what I have learned and know in my soul to be true; Every race has people who are bad, people who are lazy, people who just want to take advantage, people who aren’t contributing. Every race has people who do wrong, ugly, despicable, unforgivable things. But what every race does not have is this never-ending battle to prove themselves; to beg and plead for the same rights and consideration as others. What other races don’t have, is being consistently held accountable and having their every action and intention scrutinized and judged.
Our black Americans have been forced for more than a century to prove their worth to society, often with little credit. I saw a woman of color post today on Facebook that nothing has changed in 30 years since Rodney King. She expressed hopelessness that our current climate won’t change anything either. As I cannot relate to her hopelessness, her despair touched me. My heart hurt for her. I wanted to reach out and somehow magically fix all of her deep sadness.
What I have truly come to understand in my 44 years of living all over this country is this:
Racism is living large whether we acknowledge it or not. It might be veiled better in some ways or places. Many people hide theirs behind what has been determined as PC and handle their business behind closed doors. Many feel like as long as they smile and are polite they are doing their part. Many believe they aren’t racist because they don’t use the “N” word or they have black friends. None of this is enough.
Sadly there will always be groups of people who aren’t interested in relating to or understanding those who are different from them. There are those who will always pull out some statistic or a story they heard once to define an entire population. There will be those with cork in their ears refusing to listen. There will continue to be those only interested in relating to our citizens of color if they conduct themselves in a manner that has been deemed acceptable. This continues to be the reality of our country. If we look back over the last century, it’s undeniable. The facts cannot be packed away into Pandora’s Box though the attempt has been made many times.
Our Indigenous people were first, then the slaves from Africa, the Chinese workers who were paid less and treated poorly building our railroads, next the Japanese citizens during WWII, the Jewish have had no easy road here, and we have most recently added Hispanics and Asians once again since COVID-19. The open racism and disgust from so many is beyond comprehension. Where did so many white people get this entitlement? Who told us we were supreme?
At the end of the day the thing that stands out most prominently for me is through all of the aforementioned times the black community has suffered and endured unimaginable hatred and abuse. And yet all they continue to ask for is someone to hear them. In the US they have endured the worst and for the longest. They have been continually oppressed and marginalized in some way or another for over 100 years. The idea that they are beneath us, that they must work twice as hard to prove themselves, and aren’t afforded the same leniency we provide the white community daily is heartbreaking.
We use opportunity after opportunity to point out their flaws, while neatly tucking ours away. We throw in their faces any person, struggling community or crime that gives us fuel to continue to beat them down. We say “Well yeah but...” when they repeatedly prove their vital contributions to our society. We diminish crimes committed against them because it’s easier to assume a black person’s guilt than a white’s. We for decades in small and large ways have made sure that they know their place in our hearts and minds.
And then we stand here in awe when they rise up in anger and pain and despair. Like every oppressed group of people have done throughout the history of time.
Can you imagine if we did the exact opposite? Can you imagine a country where our fellow Americans of color were accepted and encouraged the same way as the white Americans have been? Can you imagine a country where they are uplifted and applauded by everyone for their undeniable contributions and successes? A place were they were given grace and understanding for their human short-comings? Can you imagine a country where they truly in their souls felt equal and welcomed? Can you imagine what we would see happen? I can.
I know there will be masses who disagree with me on this. I’m certain I will be shunned by some and shamed by others for writing this piece. But I can honestly say I couldn’t care less. I know there are thousands who will never see themselves as racist or admit they ever were but I am happy knowing I will no longer be a part of that group.
I still have much to learn and evolution to be had but my eyes are open. I am grateful to feel at peace with the track I am headed down with God as my guide. And I am committed to honoring the opportunity to raise my daughter with love and acceptance in her heart for all of mankind.
As Always, Thank You for Reading.