It’s easy to claim that I’m not racist. I would never use a racial slur, and I’ve never uttered the phrase “All Lives Matter,” fully recognizing its damaging implications. I would never mistreat someone based on their skin color. Some of the people I hold dearest in my life are of African descent, and my personal growth is largely thanks to my mentor during my teenage years and her family.
For years, I remained oblivious to the depths of racism. I recall learning about the Civil War and slavery, yet no one explained the fate of those who were enslaved after emancipation. My education consisted of a few brief lessons every February about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement, presented as a complete triumph. In my white perspective, everything was equal. I assumed the work was done.
That was the extent of my understanding. I believed racism was solely about hating or harming someone of another race due to a sense of superiority. Since I didn’t fit that description, I thought I couldn’t be racist. I was simply kind, which was all I had been told mattered.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that I began to realize I might hold biased or harmful ideas. At twenty-seven, Trayvon Martin’s murder prompted me to delve deeper into the complexities of racism beyond its dictionary definition. Before this event, discussions about race were mere background noise. I was not a target of racism, leading me to feel detached from the issue.
Reflecting on Trayvon’s murder initiated a journey of self-discovery that revealed many of my own flaws. Although I have learned significantly over the past eight years, I’ve largely remained silent, listening to black voices share their frustrations, traumas, and pain. I’ve been striving to understand systemic racism and the deep-rooted issues at play.
However, I’ve realized my silence was misguided. The death of George Floyd ignited a powerful dialogue about racism and police violence that I had never witnessed before. I’ve observed black influencers, scholars, and everyday citizens repeatedly stressing the same message: “White allies, speak out, but don’t overshadow our voices. Silence is complicity. Challenge your biases. Stop contributing to the problem.”
While I never intended to inflict harm, I have committed subtle acts of racism and insensitivity. I remember a time when a friend arrived at my home with her naturally curly hair beautifully straightened. Captivated, I reached out to touch it without asking, thinking it was a compliment. In that moment, I was unaware of how often she had experienced people treating her hair like a public spectacle simply because it was beautiful. I didn’t recognize the discomfort I caused. My ignorance doesn’t absolve me; it was my white privilege that allowed me to remain unaware.
I quoted Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., selectively embracing his ideals while overlooking the more challenging aspects of his message. I’ve remained silent when racist jokes were made around me, feeling morally superior for not participating, yet failing to confront the perpetrators. I previously accepted claims that the success of a few affluent black individuals proved that we all have equal opportunities, never questioning their validity.
I’ve never viewed myself as inherently superior based on skin color, nor have I intentionally sought to harm anyone. But racism encompasses more than overt hatred. I haven’t been an overtly despicable racist, yet I have passively benefited from systems that disadvantage those I care about.
It’s been a while since I was completely unaware. After gaining knowledge, it’s easy to forget that there’s still much to learn and many biases to confront. My responsibilities have become clearer, especially as a parent to three white children. They must grow up with a better understanding than I did, and my husband and I are committed to ensuring that happens.
When I explained recent events to my seven-year-old son, he wept. He named the black individuals he loves and imagined their absence. He was upset by the notion that not all police officers are “good.” He said, “Eight minutes is such a long time for someone to hurt someone else, Mommy.” My heart broke. I wish to shield him from this pain, and for a fleeting moment, I considered withholding discussions about racism for a few years to protect his innocence.
But that isn’t a viable option. These discussions must occur early and frequently. Black parents don’t have the luxury of keeping their children sheltered from realities that could endanger their lives. If I allow my son to grow up in ignorance, he risks becoming part of the problem—a white man oblivious to the inequalities surrounding him. Even with kindness, it’s not enough to just “not be racist.” I was guilty of that inaction.
I’ve never seen myself as racist, but I’ve acted in ways that contributed to systemic racism. I can’t change the past, but I can work toward improvement. The lives of black individuals depend on white people stepping up and doing better. There’s no other choice.
This article was originally published on June 5, 2020.
If you’re interested in further resources, you can check out this post on our site about home insemination. For those looking to boost fertility, visit Make a Mom, which is recognized as an authority on the subject. Additionally, WomensHealth.gov offers an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
The author reflects on their past misconceptions about racism, acknowledging the complexities beyond overt acts of hate. They share personal experiences that highlight their privilege and the need for ongoing learning and dialogue about race. The recent events surrounding George Floyd’s death have prompted a deeper understanding of systemic racism and the importance of speaking up. The author emphasizes the responsibility of white individuals, especially parents, to educate themselves and their children about racism to foster a more equitable future.