Hey White People … I Am Talking to US

Driving around Asheville and listening to the stories of the murder of George Floyd, and the protests that are springing up around the country, my heart aches.

I am sorry to say that the escalation of violence against blacks was not unexpected, and the ensuing protests and riots understandable. Over the past few years the ugly racist underbelly of this country has been brought out into the light as the rise of white supremacy ideology has made it to the main- stream. We have become a tinderbox waiting for the spark that will trigger revolution. 

I am a white, educated, middle class woman who can freely walk into any store, buy a home in any neighborhood and be welcome, and drive around without fear of being stopped for no reason. It is a privilege to live in this day to day reality without fear. I want this for everyone. 

I am ashamed of the actions and rhetoric that is being espoused in the name of my race. I turn on the news and hear magnified voices of leaders and white supremacists spewing words of hate like weapons that create division and incite violence. I believe that as a race, we must take responsibility to bring forth a different voice and point of view that fosters unity and brings justice. 

Daring To Have The Tough Conversations

For over two decades, I have been professionally facilitating diversity and inclusion programs and dialogues around the country. One of my projects was with the Alabama Power Company. The training was mandatory and everyone from the president on down to the lineman participated. Many did not want to be there. One day a big, burly, white biker guy came in, sat in the back, folded his arms tight and glared at me, like he was daring me to make him change his beliefs. It was a bit intimidating, but I continued. One of the first exercises was to share a story of a time you felt different. As we went around the circle and his colleagues began telling stories of their life, challenges they had to overcome, and incidents that had happened at work, you could feel the mood in the room soften. As people shared stories, they became more vulnerable and more real. In this human experience, people realized that there were so many more things that connected then separated us. At the end of the two-day program, the guy in the back had dropped his posturing, shared his own stories, shed a few tears himself and ended the class by giving me a hug before leaving the room. It can be easy to hate an “other,” it is almost impossible to hate someone you have shared yourself with. 

The more I learn and become aware of the dynamics of racism, the more I realize I understand so little about the everyday challenges that people of color navigate on a daily basis. While facilitating the diversity programs I also discovered that I can say things to other white people, and be heard differently, than when a person of color would say the same thing. This was especially true when calling out white privilege.  I believe I have an obligation to leverage my white identity to advocate, share my perspective and partner with people who have less position power to speak up for justice.

This is not easy. It takes a lot of courage to speak up. It is so easy as a white person to have the privilege to step back out of the fray. We say to ourselves, that is not me. I do not say or do those things. I am a good person. Although this may all be true, I believe it is not enough to just monitor our own behaviors. 

Call to Action

As we look at bringing more peace, joy, appreciation, passion and love into the world, we must also find the courage to speak out against injustice. Be a white person willing to bring an alternative voice to the conversation, and to call our white neighbors who have been perpetuating hate and violence against blacks and other minorities into accountability.

Words of Wisdom and Hope - Rev. William Barber

I was struck by a quote from Rev. William Barber in the Guardian that gives me hope that joining together we can make a difference. 

“Those of us who have faced the lethal force of systemic racism have also learned something else in the American story. We can be wounded healers. We don’t have to be arbitrarily destructive. We can be determined to never accept the destruction of our bodies and dreams by any police, person or policy. 

We have learned that there is a force more powerful. 

When hands that once picked cotton have joined together with white hands and Native hands, brown hands and Asian hands, we have been able to fundamentally reconstruct this democracy. Slavery was abolished. Women did gain the right to vote. Labor did win a 40-hour work week and a minimum wage. The civil rights movement in the face of lynching and shooting did expand voting rights to African Americans. 

If we take time to listen to this nation’s wounds, they tell us where to look for hope. The hope is in the mourning and the screams, which make us want to rush from this place. There is a sense in which right now we must refuse to be comforted too quickly. Only if these screams and tears and protests shake the very conscience of this nation –and until there is real political and judicial repentance – can we hope for a better society on the other side of this.”

This is an invitation to take a first, or for many the next step towards being an advocate for racial justice. Read “75 Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice,” and choose yours. 

Together, we can choose love over fear.