Confessions of a Well-Meaning White Woman

I am ashamed to say this on paper and publish it for the world to see, but I've seen so many of us well-meaning white people saying, "we have to be better." Improvement starts with admitting where we have fallen short, so this is my confession, this is where I've fallen short.

Yesterday, I was called out by one of my black girlfriends on Facebook for posting images of police taking a knee during the protests. In my mind, I thought the images signified hope, but my dear friend brought up two very specific points, neither of which I had even considered up until that moment. One is the conviction that it's a PR stunt, and two is that it negates the validity of the negative feelings and fears that black people have against cops. The first reaction I had, which I kept to myself but mulled over for quite a while was, but what if it's not a PR stunt? I know she's angry but maybe some of these cops really care. My second reaction, as my heart thumped and my hands shook with discomfort was to apologize then delete her, because the child within me wants to run when faced with the challenge of having to look at myself honestly and accept that my deep-rooted actions and beliefs have caused harm to an entire race.

But then I read her comment again, and again, and again. I stared out my car window, parked outside my apartment, considering her words and the gravity of their meaning. It was then that I realized I may be far more blind to reality than I'd like to admit. I began to think about how often throughout my life I would hear about a black person being beaten or killed by a police officer and how, every time, I thought to myself, he/she/they must have done something to provoke it, cops just don't go killing people for nothing...right? I believed in equality and justice, but I clearly didn't see that I was giving preferential treatment to my fellow white people while ignoring the cries for help from the black community. It was with this thought that I had to accept that I have spent a good portion of my life, living beneath the protective veil of white privilege. I might have believed myself to be against racism, but I was propagating an opinion that was immersed in it.

Of course, this narrative didn't begin with me, it was everywhere; my family, the news, teachers, the parents of friends. It didn't begin with me, but for a very long time, I didn't question it either, and, therefore, I perpetuated it. I grew up in a suburban bubble where officer friendly came to our school once a week to visit us and my white friends were buddies with their parole officers in highschool. I worked at a local bar when I was 19 and served beers to the boys in blue at the end of their shifts and, for the most part, they tipped me well. They were always kind to me. They let me go when I cried my way out of speeding tickets. They comforted me when I got in a car accident. They turned up the volume on their radio when I rode in the back and was escorted home. These guys would never. The problem is that I failed to consider that they would just never do it to me, or my white friends, or my polite white parents.

Being a well-meaning white woman, I believed I wasn't part of the problem. I received an excellent education and was raised with compassion. I believed that because I didn't discriminate and because I welcomed people of all color into my home, that I was not racist and had nor ever would be a contributor to racism. But the fact is, when my friend said to me, you're negating our fears and experiences, you're propagating a lie, I was both devasted and shocked. I would never do that! This is her anger and frustration speaking! But that's the problem, I never really listened and when I thought about it, I knew she was 100% right on all of it. Posting pretty pictures of sympathetic police officers was basically telling the world there isn't really that big of a problem. As a white woman, I have failed far too long to listen. The black community has been screaming for help for centuries and up until now, their cries have fallen on deaf ears. It took smartphones and social media to open my eyes to these realities and that is a testimony to how privileged I truly am, it is a testimony to how very little I have actually listened.

I am not proud of this part of me nor the fact that I've carried it with me into my adult life and, although I can't turn back the clock or any of the damage I've done, I can educate myself and I can listen. Change starts within each of us. It starts with recognizing and admitting the harm that we've done and the pain that we've caused. I will never know what it's like to live in black skin, but my eyes and ears are open. To the black community; I see you; I hear you; I am with you.