Last night, I got to attend a conversation between Dr. Ibram X. Kendi and Nic Stone, promoting their new book, How to Be a Young Antiracist. The conversation was one of those that stays with you, that keeps you thinking after it’s ended, that expands your understanding, that reminds you why we are all doing this work. I am so freaking grateful that these opportunities exist in our little city, and that we live in a community that actively creates them.
During the conversation, Nic Stone said something that I’ve heard many times from Black and BIPOC peoples. She commented on how there has been a different intensity of response to Tyre Nichols murder compared to George Floyd’s, and how very, very (understandably!) tired the Black community is. She then said how important it was for the Black community to take care of themselves, and that they need white people to be having these conversations / doing the work / sharing the burden. White people need to be in this work too.
And so. I’ve been sitting on this post for about a week and it seems like it’s about time to share it.
I don’t know what to do about the mass shootings and police brutality that persist in our culture, or about how we are collectively becoming almost desensitized to it, or about endlessly exhausted and traumatized we all are by the systems and culture that we have created. I imagine that none of us know what to do and the helplessness just adds to the exhaustion and trauma.
I keep thinking about Mother Teresa’s famous quote, “What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family.”
How do we create an anti-racist culture? Go home and practice with your family and friends.
Over the weekend, we were hanging out with our close friends. One of them – a white guy – told us a story in which he specified a person’s ethnicity – Puerto Rican – that had no relevance to the story. He said, “The guy with the knife – I’m sorry – was Puerto Rican,” at which point, his partner – a Latina lady (whose ethnicity does have some relevance to this story) – laughed and said, “Why are you sorry? It’s fine.”
Before his wife said that, I was prepared with a different answer to his comment; after she spoke, I was uncomfortably quiet as I listened to the rest of the story, hoping that the guy’s ethnicity would, in fact, have some relevance. It did not. Other than, perhaps, reinforcing a negative stereotype.
I still didn’t say anything.
The next day, I was still thinking about it, and felt a desire to apologize to the other friends of color that were there and may have also been feeling bad about this comment, but maybe were not in the mood to do the labor of educating our white friend. I thought about it more and realized that I mostly wanted to give it to let them know that I was one of the “good white people,” that I was different than the white guy that made the comment. I also realized that they didn’t need me to apologize. They need me to *do better.*
Why didn’t I say anything? I wish that there was a really good answer to this. This particular situation had the added layer of me always being uncomfortable about correcting people of color when they reinforce white supremacy, but mostly, it was the same reasons that white people always have for not saying things: it’s awkward. We don’t want to make things uncomfortable. We don’t want to make our friends feel bad. We don’t want to look like the white person that is “censoring” or “policing” other white people’s behavior. In short, we don’t want to break the “white people code” that we’ve all been conditioned into, in which we let each other say racist things and uphold white supremacy characteristics.
And so, I’m calling myself in. This work is too urgent for me to “let things go” or “not be in the mood for uncomfortable convos” or be “too tired and pregnant” to deal that day. The truth is, anti-racism work is like all spiritual work: it’s not easy or comfortable, but it is important and profound and transformative and worth it. And, let’s be clear: This is not “charity work.” This is not so that we can feel good about ourselves for “helping.” White supremacy and racism are hurting *all of us.* This is about us all getting free together.
I’m also asking my fellow white people and white friends: What would you do? What would you have done or said in that situation? What would you do or say now? Would you circle back to the white friend? What about to his Latina partner? (Black and BIPOC friends are obviously welcome to weigh in, too; just wanted to acknowledge that this is not your work to do.)
Also! If you like having these kinds of convos with other white people doing the work, join our Cultivating Care group on February 12th (and on the first Sunday of the following months) to join a community of allies / accomplices / co-conspirators who are deeply committed to racial justice work.
She Won't Stop Talking 