Why Black Lives Matter to Us
I’m an American born, educated and privileged white woman. I grew up in a home where race was not discussed while prejudice was the undertone, even though to the naked eye, it looked like the opposite. I did not know this. Four years ago, I would have said for sure I was not racist, nor did I believe in white supremacy, and I hadn’t a clue what white privilege meant.
I grew up moving all over the southeastern part of our country. We lived in South Carolina, Georgia and came back for the third time to Durham, NC to settle before my seventh-grade year of middle school. My father is a United Methodist minister and my mother is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. I felt my parents were dedicated to doing right by most human standards. My father was one of the first people I ever knew to condone gay marriage and even performed a ceremony for a couple long before it was legalized in our country. My mother traveled to some of the most violent neighborhoods in Durham making sure that kids were getting to school and had proper supervision. They were good people.
I played sports, mostly running track and cross country. I went to college in South Carolina where I roomed with a former soccer player from my high school, Nikki. I was on scholarship for track and ended up hanging with a huge group of jocks most of the time. I laughed when one of my guy friends accused me of having jungle fever after seeing me laughing with one of his black teammates. I laughed when they called Nikki “white Nikki” because it seemed funny since she was clearly not white. I never questioned the confederate flags on the back of the pick-up trucks that almost every white boy drove to the prestigious small liberal arts college. I never noticed that the majority of my college was white and that the few black students that were there, were there on scholarship for athletics. We were good people. Good kids.
I got married and moved all over the Midwest, then to Louisiana, and four years ago, to Texas. My oldest son is 13 and has lived in six states. All three of my boys have attended Montessori school since the age of 3. We have lived in middle to upper class middle neighborhoods in each city and state. Until Texas, my children have, in total, known three children who looked differently than they do. Diversity was not a priority. I never thought about it. I never had to think about it. We were good people raising good kids.
In January 2017, I decided after long consideration to start dating. It had been two years since my divorce, and I was ready to see the new city of Dallas that I lived in and was excited. I signed up for two online dating apps and started swiping. I swiped right on any and all men who I found attractive and felt a spark, regardless of color or ethnicity.
In March, I got the most amazing note from a guy in Dallas and we made a phone date. His name was Etienne, or as his friends call him, E. It was the best phone date ever! It lasted about five days as we chatted continually every chance we could get! We had so much energy and laughter and we couldn’t shut our mouths! We finally met up for our first date. I drove downtown and parked at his building. He showed me around and he told me we were going to go see where Kennedy was shot. I was so excited because I hadn’t been there yet!
We walked up to the street corner and I started to cross the road (the walk symbol was not lit up, but no traffic was coming.). He grabbed me and pulled me backwards. He is a big guy, so I came flying back. “What are you doing?” I squealed. He pointed left. I looked. “What are you pointing at?” I asked. “Those are cops.” He said. “So?” I responded. “You might be able to jay walk,” he said, “but I can’t.” I stood stunned. “You’re joking, right?” I said. He said, “no.” In that moment, my privilege had never been so apparent to me.
A few weeks later, we watched Detroit. It was gut wrenching. I looked over at him and I had so many questions. I asked him if he had been treated unfairly by the cops or accused of something he hadn’t done. He told me that in his twenties he reported an accident that he and his date witnessed. They stayed around to give their account to the cops. When the police arrived, instead of investigating and questioning the people in the accident, they began to question him. Why was he driving a nice car? Why was he in that neighborhood? Why was there a white girl with him? It was unbearable for me to look at him and hear some of the things he was saying.
Last summer, when his father was in ICU, we arrived after his sister and brother in law. They informed us that only two people were allowed to go back to his room as they had been stopped by the security officer. I laughed and joked and said, “watch me get back there with your brother.” Sure enough, I waltzed right past the security officer and he did not stop me or E. When we returned, his sister shook his head and said, “white privilege.” She did not mean it disparagingly, but rather just another stated fact that I could go where she could not. We laughed but inside I felt it. It made me mad and sad all at the same time.
Our relationship was very private for a long time. We enjoyed our alone time so much and preferred to stay off social media.
Over time, as people began to find out I was in a relationship, I learned a lot. These are comments made to me by strangers, acquaintances, friends and family over the last three years since I met Etienne.
“You don’t look like the kind of woman that would date a brother!”
“Black men (actually the ‘n” word was used) only want one thing from a white woman.”
“You are too good to be dating a black guy.”
“He is beneath you.”
Head shaking and looking me up and down, “Why the hell would you waste all that on someone like him?”
“No white man will ever date you again.”
“You dated a black man? Ewe. I don’t date girls that have been out with brothers.”
“I was raised to believe that white people don’t date outside of their race. It’s wrong.”
“White men will never date you again because they will see you as ‘tarnished.’’
“I’m not racist, I just don’t find black men attractive.”
Those are just the ones that I can remember, I’m sure there are more. Each phrase, each comment, showing me at an even deeper level how naive and asleep I had been in my life on the topic of race.
My crime is not being a bad person. My crime is disconnecting. My crime is not being outraged. My crime is pretending that being white doesn’t give me more privilege than black people have. My crime is staying quiet. My crime is not fighting my ass off for my friends’ black children like I would want them to fight for mine if the tables were turned. My crime is pretending I don’t have long standing beliefs buried underneath all the fluff. My crime is saying I’m not racist, but never bothering to dig and look at how it might be true. My crime is ignoring stories like Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner and Tamir Rice.
My kids are having a very tough time with what is happening in America right now. They continue to ask if Etienne is ok. They ask if he will get hurt by the police and want to know why all the bad stuff is happening to black people. I explain that there have been centuries of injustices on the part of white people towards black people. I tell them that we need to understand that we started this and are going to be the ones to fix it. They say, “his skin is just a different color, why does that matter?”
They are baffled because what they experience is a man who has steadily made his way into their lives and into their hearts. A man with integrity, intelligence, and connection to them. A man who takes an interest and shows this by knowing them on a deep level. They know love. They know connection. They know laughter. This gift of a man is their friend. Someone they trust and get excited to spend time with. Someone they want to share good news with and share disappointment. He is a human that touches their lives in a deep way. A man they see treat their mother with respect, compassion, partnership and love. They know and trust in his goodness.
Everyone keeps saying, “I’m not racist, I have black friends. I don’t see color. Black lives matter.” Well, from one white person to another, I can tell you that I would have said the EXACT same thing four years ago, and I would have so much evidence to back it up. I don’t think that makes me a bad person, just a very undiscovered one. I made a commitment to myself and to my boys six years ago that I would do anything and everything to stay awake; awake to my truth, awake to my emotions, and awake to my growth.
I’m awake and committed to not going to sleep again. My hope for you is that, at the very least, you will assess on an authentic level where you are racist; where you do hold feelings of white supremacy, and how your white privilege has allowed you to be asleep on topics that are literally killing innocent people. Our children get to do better than we have done and that will start with us doing better than our parents did. It is not enough to march and make a gesture on social media. This will take real accountable action at a legislative level. Join me in researching all the ways that we as white people can turn this conversation around and let’s make sure we are voting accordingly. Let’s make sure that in our businesses and in our personal lives we are having the tough discussions with ourselves and our loved ones.
Let me finish by saying, please stop asking your black friends what to do. Please stop sharing your sadness with them. They do not need the burden of our questions or our sadness. They need to grieve what they have known for a very long time. Send them encouragement. Ask what you can do for them. Ask them how they feel. But do NOT burden them with your guilt or selfish feelings about how you have handled your stuff historically. Please call me if you need to get that shit off your chest!
It’s up to US to do our work, our research and our digging. I pray we dig so deep and so wide that when my boys are adults, their children will never have to ask them why someone with different color skin would be treated differently than them.
Until Next Time,
