What happens when you've grown up in the company of individuals who freely exchanged racist jokes without any recognition that you might be personally hurt, fundamentally offended by their "humor" at the expense of "people like you"? What does it mean to have been taught to check Hispanic/Latinx on every form you've ever filled out but to have never had to worry about racial profiling?
What is the role of someone now who is very privileged but also not of utmost whitecismale privilege?
I've spent a lifetime coming to terms with the nuances of my identity and my belonging; embracing "who I am" to myself and to the world (thus I will never change my last name, but that's a story for another day). And somewhere around thirty, a sweet, knowing acceptance seeped in. Hallelujah! Yet the hard work very much continues. Because I was born into an obscenely unjust world, with racist systems and dark histories and normalized oppression.
We all were.
I cannot speak to what it feels to be white right now because I am not U.S.-white; though I have regularly been mistaken for being so, and have definitely benefitted from those assumptions (see: white privilege). Nonetheless, those of us who are not-Black need to take on the uncomfortable tasks in this moment of deep pain, trauma, and loss that's been compounded by centuries of more of the same.
We must use our collective power to transform this broken world of ours. Tu lucha es mi lucha. Below, a few actionable ideas from the U.S. I welcome your ideas, too.
- Protest this weekend! If you're able-bodied, and are able to safely assemble where you are, please get out there, know your rights, and march/rally/kneel/lie down/cheer in solidarity. Search a local blog or news site to find a protest near you.
- Acknowledge your racist biases, and then, unlearn them. It's on you to do so.
- A fellow accomplice (met on the yoga retreat pictured above) invited me to join a book group. How to Be an Anti-Racist is up first. Want more? Some recommendations by HTRAAR author and scholar, Ibram X. Kendi.
- Watch (or re-watch) Ava Duvernay's 13th and so many other films that tell untold Black stories and provide a broader context to the rage we should all feel.
- Listen to Black voices generously ushering us forward. Some of my favorites as of late: Scene on Radio's Seeing White, NPR's Code Switch, WNYC's Come Through with Rebecca Carroll, The Ringer's Higher Learning with Van Lathan and Rachel Lindsay, and Good Ancestor Podcast with Layla Saad.
- Have tough conversations. A resource for speaking with elders. A resource for speaking with kids; and another, for kids, because futures depend on their understanding. A resource for speaking with colleagues. A resource for "casual" racism. And a starting point-resource for all those least willing to engage.
- Donate effectively. Some places doing good work, and some more, on behalf of Black Americans. Supporting mental healthcare is beyond essential; and the Southern Poverty Law Center is always a good idea.
- Also, pay special attention to support Black artists and creatives and farmers and restaurants and makers and small business-owners. As we know, BIPOC communities have been disproportionally impacted by the Coronavirus pandemic, well before this most recent assortment of murders.
- Vote. Vote. Vote for local officials that promote racial justice and ensure all citizens are registered to do so.
- Rest and restore. We are, culturally, in the eye of the tornado. Our lives have slowed down to the point that society's most horrific ills can no longer be ignored by those of us not directly experiencing them. This perfect storm has seemed to have activated more people than ever before to bring transformational change to life. Take care of yourself, still. He couldn't breathe. You can. Find a restorative practice so you're best able to "keep your foot on the gas." (For me, that’s been yoga with aforementioned retreat instructor). We're in this for the long haul. Sending love.