How one white mama is calling bull***t on her inaction

I was born white, raised in a nearly all-white town, by two white-parents. I don’t remember actively talking about race when I was a kid, but knowing my mom, I’m sure we had those conversations. Most of my life I haven’t had to think about race. The one time I was stopped and searched by an officer, I didn’t have to fear for my life. No one questioned if I got into college on merit. I can go for a run and not worry about my safety. I am a walking definition of white privilege. 

That white privilege makes me uncomfortable. Racism in general makes me uncomfortable. And, like a lot of people, I tend to avoid thinking about things that make me uncomfortable. But, as my 16-month old would exclaim, waving his chubby little fingers back and forth: “ALL DONE!”. 

Here are five excuses I’ve made for not getting actively involved, and today I’m calling bullshit on myself. I’m writing this because I’m sure I’m not the only white person that’s made these excuses. While embarrassing to admit this publicly, if by doing so one single other person recognizes these excuses and decides this is the time, then… well my embarrassment matters a whole lot less than the millions of lives that are affected every day because of skin color.  

I’m not racist, so that means I’m already part of the solution.

I think this is something that I told myself out of fear. But it’s just not true. I’m not racist, which means I’ve made the first step in a very long journey. I’m not racist, so I am able to see that our country is broken and divided. I’m not racist, so I have the opportunity to do something with my privileged, white voice. I’ve seen the word “anti-racist” for the first time in the last week, and I’ve realized the distinction. Not racist is a starting point: anti-racist is being part of the solution.  

It’s not happening in my town, so there’s nothing I can do to help.

Wrong. On two counts, it turns out. The tiny, nearly all-white town that I grew up in with an intelligent, liberally-minded population? A black family last week spoke out about how they had been refused service at a local store, and about how local white kids were using the N-word. I was shocked. And that’s my white privilege – thinking that because of my experience in that small town, that there couldn’t possibly be an issue. But there was an issue: I was just blind to it. Just because I don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. And even if by some miracle it wasn’t happening in my town… it for sure is happening down the street, and one state over, and across the country.

I don’t have time to take on this cause, there’s others that are more important.

This isn’t an issue of time: this is an issue of priority. I haven’t made it a priority because racism and white privilege make me uncomfortable. Well, it’s time to get comfortable with discomfort. If I don’t make the time to stand with my black brothers and sisters, I am a part of the problem. My silence doesn’t make me uninvolved: it makes me complicit. There are other causes I champion, but this doesn’t need to be an “either/or”, it can be an “and”. Taking on the cause can mean so many things: reading to educate myself, educating my children, donating my time and money, using my voice to speak out, actively listening… and I’m sure I’ll learn more ways as I do start to educate myself.

I don’t know how to talk about race, and I don’t want to offend anyone.

Wow I’m just embarrassed even putting some of these words on the page. As a white person, am I allowed to say black? African American? People of color? What’s the “right” way to talk about race? I still don’t know, but I’m listening and learning. And not knowing is certainly not a good reason to sit on the sidelines. If I accidentally offend someone in my journey to get involved because of my own ignorance, that’s part of the learning process.

I don’t want to put myself in danger.

When I was working on the Obama campaign in 2008, I had white volunteers chased down the street by men with broken beer bottles, because they were campaigning for a black man. I had a voter open the door with a knife in his hand while I was going door-to-door. One county over, a coworker wasn’t able to canvass because down the street was a KKK headquarters that made it clear Obama staff were not welcome. So the fear of danger isn’t perceived – I’ve been there. That being said: most of us aren’t going door-to-door in white, rural North Carolina. I get to decide my own risk tolerance as I get involved, but that choice is a part of my white privilege.

To my white friends: If any of these give you a tingle of discomfort because they feel familiar, you’re not alone. And now is the chance to embrace that discomfort and to do something. A friend put it bluntly, but eloquently: “racism relies on the silence of people like you.”  Here’s a link to a list of resources I’ve compiled to help you get started on your own journey. There are resources for your own growth, and resources for how to raise anti-racist children.

To my black friends: I am sorry. I am sorry my eyes have been closed. I am sorry it has taken me this long. I am sorry for all of the excuses. I’m sorry, and I’m listening. I want to do better, and I commit to doing better. If you see me mess up along the way please: feel free to call me out, although I recognize it’s not your job, it’s mine. I stand with you.