Dear White People

This week has been heavy. No doubt at all there. However, as our timelines are flooded with anti-racism posts, prompts, and opinions, I wanted to take a moment to address my fellow whites—not as a white person who “gets it” or is “more woke” (gag me) telling you how to show up, but as a white woman with her own unique journey coming to terms with how her whiteness has played a part in this fixed system. The reality is, George Floyd won’t be the last Black man murdered by police and it’s way past time that we dismantle and rebuild the system. By sharing our own stories, admitting our own faults, and being real about how messy this shit is, we get better at growing up. And we become better people for those who need us most. But spoiler alert: you and I will never be done with this work. There is no anti-racist finish line.

I grew up in Johns Creek, GA. It oozed with white privilege. I did some research on the demographic breakdown 10 years ago, which was right after I graduated high school, and it looked like this: 63% White, 23% Asian, and 9% Black. My partner of almost six years is Black. But before that, he was my friend since 7th grade and one of the 9% in our hometown. We’ve seen each other through many different stages of life, each stage with its own complexities and unsettling situations. For example, the n-word was openly thrown around in high school by white friends, or while singing songs. When we first started dating, I remember having several heated conversations about racial issues—I didn’t want race to be “a thing” and our interracial status was the last thing on my mind. That’s the thing about privilege, though. You get to ignore race, you get the option to opt out of those discussions. As we were navigating our new relationship status, he never once told me how to think, but instead shared his own experiences with me. I didn’t deserve that grace, but as I learned from him and experienced racism in action, I began to understand how some of my previous mentalities were so problematic. Which brings me to the first thing I want to address: white guilt.

To put it in short, your guilt serves no purpose. As we continue the conversation around race, we have to remember that the point of acknowledging our white privilege is not so we can feel guilty about it. The point is to become aware of the things we have NOT had to experience as a direct result of our skin color. White privilege is inherited, it is given to us, it is not chosen and we can’t control whether we are born with it. When we become comfortable with admitting we’ve benefitted from a system that was designed specifically and intentionally for us, we can then take proper steps to help dismantle it through educating ourselves, advocating for Black people, and, at the very least, calling out blatant racism. So what does that look like?

Admittedly, as I went through a deeper process of educating myself (wasn’t I already educated on this???) and coming to terms with my own upbringing, I didn't quite know how to articulate racial conversations and personal viewpoints within my inner groups at first. I would get so emotional and combative, almost like I was overcorrecting for past mistakes. For example, explaining to extended family that, “YOU JUST CAN’T SING THE N-WORD, OK????” to the point of tears, knowing damn well I used to sing along to my favorite hip hop artists in college with no second thoughts on saying it myself. My inner dialogue became, “what kind of fraud are you?” or “so now that you have a Black boyfriend you have a right to speak on it?” But what we can’t do is allow our previous mistakes, the racism that was taught to us, to prevent us from having a different kind of conversation. When we know better, we do better. Unlearning racism shouldn’t be an argument or something that you’re afraid to do. It’s exactly what we have to do—unlearn the mentalities, assumptions, and stereotypes that were fostered simply by growing up white. Sidenote: this should be a given by now but if you need more on the n-word discussion, see Ta-Nehisi Coates’ crystal clear explanation, here. 

To my white friends having hard conversations with your parents or grandparents, grace and patience are key. The most important thing about these discussions is how effective they are, and I can guarantee you they will not be effective if you don’t have that patience. But let me be clear: that same grace and patience cannot and should not be expected from Black people and if you need a lesson on that, read up on tone policing and other toxic behaviors here.

Nothing upsets white people more than when someone questions their morals, or whether or not they’re a racist. If their first reaction to these conversations is defensiveness, and it very well might be, talk through why that was their first reaction. The first step toward any progress is accepting that racism is a spectrum and you don’t have to be a Nazi to have racism living inside of you. It can also take the form of subconscious attitudes e.g. fearing POC or saying you would never hook up with a Black person.

I recently learned that Black women weren’t even allowed to vote yet when my mom was born. Point being, our parents grew up in a different time, but that time was not too long ago. How can we expect Black people to just “pull up their bootstraps” or *insert ridiculous expectation here* when America has had its knee on their necks long before George? And while it certainly doesn’t excuse racist behavior,  it might take a lifetime to unlearn what was instilled in them. You might be met with a black on black crime argument (1. irrelevant and 2. there is a reason for this which will require you to read) or a stat about how many white people are killed by cops (this point is moot considering the rate per capita is incredibly disparate). So strap in and get ready to be uncomfortable. This isn’t just one conversation to check off the list. This is continuous effort. You’re tired? Good. We’ll never be as tired as Black people are of trying to prove their humanity every god forsaken day.

Where To Go From Here

One thing that makes these conversations 1000% easier is being educated. It seems obvious but before you walk into a conversation around racism, do the work yourself. PSA: there was SO much that we weren’t taught in history class. Research things like the Black Wall Street Massacre in Tulsa, the burning of Rosewood, and the story of Fred Hampton. Very quickly will things like disparities in health, income, education, and the criminal justice system start to make a lot more sense. We have to acknowledge that oppression and racial injustice were poisonous seeds planted into the soil of this country, and our full story is quite frankly ugly as hell. 

And while I wanted to share some of my story in case it helps anyone navigate this necessary work, it’s also incredibly important to listen! to! Black! organizers! Many Black educators have written books and articles on the cumulative impact of slavery, redlining, housing and job discrimination, and predatory lending—start reading them. Educate yourself about what defunding and abolishing the police (a quick thread) actually mean, and email your council reps and urge them make a change. Support minority-owned businesses, donate to advocacy groups, and show the fuck up for Black people. If you feel like we’re at a pivotal point, you’re absolutely right. But we’re just getting started. 

Books to Read

Between The World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
White Fragility by Robin Diangelo
The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander
The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates
Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi
Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams
More Than Enough by Elaine Welteroth
An American Marriage by Tayari Jones
Becoming by Michelle Obama

People to Follow

@elainewelteroth
@peytondix
@rachel.cargle
@mspackyetti
@janayathefuture
@irunwithlula
@candacereels
and soooo many more