Photo credit @kalinandi on Instagram
I sit here wondering if all white people feel like I do; days after forcing myself to watch the brutal murder of George Floyd, I am still reeling with anger. But mostly at myself.
Complacency is as ugly as violence, more insidious and debilitating actually. At least with violence, you’re doing something. I know violence is not the solution, but where else do we expect raw rage to go? Also, it acts as an outlet for doing something when nothing else seems to be working. For me, violence is the last resort of powerlessness.
But I’m white, so I must have power, right?
Wrong.
I have white privilege, not power.
This idea that white people have power is a misconception. In this racist system we’ve built, we’re actually all powerless. No one has real and true power. In the face of such injustice, we suffer collectively as a community. We suffer in different ways, but we all suffer. At least when history is being written, the black person can be counted among those who did something. By virtue of your skin, you’re in the ring. By virtue of my skin, I’m trying to run away from being associated with the murderous police officer. And worse, not standing up and doing anything because I’m embarrassed and ashamed of the whole fuckin thing. When history is being written about this time, I don’t want to be the one who said nothing. I’d rather say anything than nothing!
But here I stand bathing in white privilege, wanting to “do the right thing” but not wanting to “offend anyone” for fear I’ll say something dumb, inarticulate, insensitive. I probably already have. Honestly, I’m hell-terrified of saying something racist so don’t say anything at all. How ironic.
I’m not black turns into I have no right to speak up.
Wrong.
We all need to speak up during this time, no matter how dumb or racist we might sound. White people do have more systemic power so yes, I feel compelled to step up and say something, post something, gather people together for an honest conversation on race. Something!
For me in this moment of time, I write.
I write to my black brothers and sisters and recommit myself to an awareness of the blatant struggles you face every day. I get it. I mean I don’t get it at all!! But I get that I don’t need to empty my pockets at the supermarket to show the store owner I didn’t steal anything. I get that I can yell at Trooper Franiere when he pulls me over on I-90 in Massachusetts for going 70 in a 65 zone (and I did). I get that I can roll through a stop sign and maybe get a ticket without having to worry about a pistol to my temple. I get that I can walk through the streets like I own them, worried only about how fat I look in my jeans. I get that I don’t have to care about how others perceive me or how some people might actually be afraid of me. I get that when I apply for a job, I don’t have to wonder if I got the job or didn’t get the job because of my skin color.
And guess what? I get that if someone reported me for forgery, I would definitely not have the knee of a policeman jammed into the side of my neck, cutting off the very breath of my life.
Right now, I feel pretty small, tired and angry. I waffle from crying to yelling at any given moment. I can’t imagine how my black friends feel. I’m so done with this American narrative.
“Forging strong relationships with people from all walks of life is the antidote to the corrosive disease of prejudice.
-Baha’i Writings”
Let’s just get along already, no?
No.
We have a lot of work to do before we can get along.
And I commit myself to this work. But our work along this “long and thorny road beset with pitfalls” has to be done together…black and white.
“#wearebettertogether”
(I ordered the book, “How to Become an Antiracist” by Ibram X. Kendi and will start a book discussion as soon as my backordered book becomes available. Please DM me if you want to join!)
