After a police officer murdered George Floyd in broad daylight, many of my white friends have joined protests for the first time, donated to bail funds, shared information about black-owned businesses on social media, etc. That is important work.
However, the common message that my white friends seem to share is this: You, other white people, need to stop being racist (or you can unfriend me). The message is rarely: I, a white person, have benefited from systems that oppress black people, and I need to work to dismantle those systems of oppression.
In addressing racism and white privilege, I think self-reflection is an important place to start:
When I was three years old, I volunteered with my family at our church’s homelessness ministry. Because most of the homeless families at the ministry were Somalian, I remember thinking that all homeless people were black–or that all black people were homeless. One day, a homeless white family came to the ministry, and I learned that anyone could be homeless. I remember sitting on the ground and playing with a white girl from that family. That’s the first time I remember thinking about race.
When I was in middle school, I began listening to rap music. My favorite rapper was Tupac Shakur. I even wrote my great American author paper on him. I learned more about black history, the civil rights movement, racism, discrimination, police brutality, and injustice from rap music than I learned in my entire K-12 public education.
When I was in high school, I collected books for students in Uganda. We sometimes had bake sales to raise money. I remember telling people that if they donated $1, they could save a child in Africa. The predominantly white students at my school responded better to that message than to the full, complex truth. I thought I was saying the right thing because we were able to collect more money that way. I perpetuated a white savior narrative.
As a senior in high school, I taught the preschool Sunday School class. Before our lesson, my students played with the toys in our classroom. We had around 5 dolls, and each doll had a different race/skin tone. ~80% of my students were white. I began to notice that all of my students chose to play with the whitest doll, including my nonwhite students. I started holding one of the black dolls while we played, and I talked about how beautiful she was. My students were three years old, and they were already learning about white supremacy.
I volunteered as an English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher in high school. One of my friends from that community was deported. ICE wasn’t even looking for him. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but ICE started asking him questions because of his skin color. That was when I first learned about racial profiling.
During my freshman year of college, a sociology professor taught me about privilege—about how things like my white skin allowed me to benefit while people without white skin were disadvantaged by the same systems, making it easier for me to succeed in life. I had never heard about white privilege before. In fact, I was so confused by that concept that I actually went to office hours to ask the professor to explain it again. I had worked hard in high school, graduating as one of the top ten students while involved in several extracurricular activities. I thought that I alone had earned my success. Even though I was a hard worker, my sociology professor helped me understand that there were other reasons why I was successful. I learned that I am sometimes more successful than nonwhite people who work just as hard because of the color of my skin. Society treats me better because I am white.
I taught ESL in college, too. This time, I brought a whiteboard and markers to a Home Depot parking lot where day laborers were waiting for work. One day, a white woman called the police on one of the day laborers because he was standing too close to her car. She said he was trying to steal it. He wasn’t. He did nothing wrong. I was livid, but I failed to confront that white woman.
Around my sophomore year of college, I volunteered at the Office of Presidential Correspondence. I answered the White House comment line on behalf of President Barack Obama. All I did was answer the phone, listen, and take a few notes. Sometimes people would call me the “N word.” They assumed I was black, and they hated me because of it.
From time to time, white friends or relatives have made racist comments or jokes. I have usually responded with something like, “Don’t say that” or “That’s racist.” Afterwards, I failed to educate myself on how to talk to other white people about race.
At one point in college, I remember shopping at a Target. Because I was in a predominantly black neighborhood, I assumed that the Target would not have makeup that matched my very fair skin tone. I was wrong. What Target didn’t have was makeup that matched the skin tones of the majority of people who lived in that neighborhood.
Throughout college, I attended many protests. After a police officer murdered Michael Brown in Ferguson, MO, I attended a die-in at Union Station with Howard University students. My friends and I were laying down at one end of the station when we heard that a white man was harassing black students at the other end of the station. I immediately got up, despite the black protest organizer’s instructions to keep laying down. My friends and I ran to the other end of the station. I thought I knew better, that I should protect the black students who were there. I was disrespectful and a bad ally.
When I was a missionary, I attended a conference on faith and social justice. The speaker made a suggestion about one way to address white privilege: When interviewing for a job, ask the interviewer how many people of color they have also interviewed. If the answer is zero, leave the interview. I have remembered those words at every interview since then, but I have done nothing.
I have been surrounded by white people at most organizations where I’ve worked, yet I failed to question why that was.
These are just a few examples. White privilege has given me the freedom to not think about race. I do not have to be aware of systemic racism in my daily life. I do not have to worry that I will be treated negatively because of my race. I do not have to worry that I will be stopped by police or by ICE because of my skin color. I do not have to worry that I will be murdered by a police officer in my own home or in broad daylight. I am never asked to speak on behalf of my entire race. I never feel like an outcast because of my race.
Each of the experiences I shared taught me that racism is very real and pervasive in our society–and yet, because of white privilege, I have been able to move on and live my life as if they did not happen.
As I continue to reflect on my life and consider ways that I can better address racism and white privilege, I plan to read How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi. Hopefully it will be a tool that I can use to talk to other white people about race.
All white people are part of the problem; once we admit that, I hope we can be part of the solution, too.
Law and Religion and Kittens 