Navigating conversations about race with my friends began with good intentions. One friend commented on my social media post about a white stranger touching my daughter’s hair, saying, “I totally understand. Strangers often touch my boys’ hair too.” Although I knew it wasn’t worthwhile to engage, I replied. Her comments about “We’re all the same” and “I feel you” bothered me. I pointed out that the experiences differ significantly—when a white individual touches a black child’s hair, it’s more than just annoyance; it’s a racial microaggression.
This led to familiar responses in my DMs, echoing sentiments I’ve heard countless times. “We all bleed red,” “I have a black friend, so I understand racism,” and “Why is there a Black History Month but not a White History Month?” were just some examples. It was frustrating to see my friends, who would share inspirational quotes from Dr. King, also make insensitive comments about “those people” or “black-on-black crime” whenever another case of police brutality made headlines.
I genuinely believe that discussing race openly is crucial. Ignoring these uncomfortable conversations only allows systemic racism to persist. I thought that by engaging with my friends, I could enlighten them, leading to a ripple effect of understanding with their children. However, my patience began to wear thin as I encountered a lack of empathy and willingness to change.
One friend, for instance, asked why her white daughter wearing cornrows was problematic. I spent a considerable amount of time explaining cultural appropriation, but her response was simply, “I don’t get it. They’re just braids. Why does it matter?” It became clear she wasn’t interested in understanding; she was defending her privilege.
I followed up with articles from black women discussing the significance of black hair culture, but my friend persisted with the same questions. She even claimed that if her daughter faced backlash about wearing cornrows, it would be “reverse racism.” I was drained. Should I really spend more time trying to explain that reverse racism isn’t a concept grounded in reality?
While I understand the burden of educating others about racism often falls on people of color, I decided to step back. I could no longer invest energy into friendships with those who refused to listen.
I have four black children, and I made the conscious decision to prioritize their experiences over trying to enlighten friends who didn’t want to change. Breaking off these friendships is an act of privilege, as people of color cannot escape racism; they live it daily. Nonetheless, I remain committed to calling out racism and fostering discussions about it.
I learned that I cannot change everyone, nor should I feel obligated to. It’s exhausting to engage with friends who, one day, want to schedule playdates, only to defend their white privilege the next.
In summary, my journey of navigating friendships in light of my multiracial family has taught me the importance of surrounding myself with understanding individuals. I’ve chosen to step away from those who refuse to acknowledge the realities of race and privilege, focusing instead on creating a supportive environment for my children.
For further reading on similar topics, check out this article and this resource. For more insights on pregnancy and home insemination, visit Kindbody’s blog.