I, too, am Racist

I, too, am Racist

Meghan Elizabeth Clarke
41. White. Cisgender. Heterosexual.

Not Exempt.

“Do I fit the description?

Many of you who know me personally would say I don’t— I’m exempt from the racism, prejudice, and bigotry directed toward my Black people and currently at the forefront of the country’s attention. From the outside looking in, I’m an example of the pull yourself up by your bootstraps ideal—work hard, and you will be successful. What you don’t know is that no matter how successful I become or how hard I work; I am not exempt, simply because I fit the description. I am Black.”
-Kamaria Wilson

“When I say I am working to be anti-racist, I mean that I am actively engaging in consciously uncovering my own prejudice, speaking out against the practice of discrimination and working to end systematic racism. It’s not enough for me to be not racist, I want to be anti-racist.”
– Rosie Knight

I write this because of these two brave women. Young. Beautiful. Courageous. Fierce. Black and white.

I, too, am Racist. And grappling with what it means to be anti-racist. At least conscious of the systemic disregard of Black people in our country (oppression) and the many ways that I have had access to everything that I need to thrive (white privilege). Conscious, but not fully Awake.

Like many of you, I am appalled by the recent deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd. I am appalled by senseless death. I am appalled by our unchecked rage and aggression. I am appalled by a hatred so deep that we have forgotten that we not only belong to each other but that we are each other. Like many of you, I have been wrestling with making sense of all of the images…the protesters, the police, the frontline heroes trying to save us from ourselves, masks, no masks, social distance, no distance, is it true that people of Color in our country our 4 times as likely to die from COVID 19 and 3 times as likely to die at the hands of police? Yes, yes it is true. I am stunned, mortified, and feeling a fire building up within me (in my belly).

Enough is enough.

I have been hearing a number of my white friends and colleagues talk about the need to listen. And I get that. With deep listening, empathy and resonance, we begin to see the web of interconnection, the web that ties all of our stories together. Stories of pain and victory, stories of passion and vanquish, stories of victim and victor, stories of harm and healing. Stories are connection, stories are salvation, stories are one step closer to healing, to the divine, to truly understanding that we are each other.

And stories aren’t enough. Listening isn’t enough. It’s time to heal. It’s time to transform.  It is incumbent upon all white people to change racists systems. We cannot claim sublime ignorance. “I had no idea that life is like that for you….” no longer works because one simply needs to look up see the pain, anguish and fatigue in the Black people with whom we live and work. Abdication does not work, it’s called collusion. It’s collusion because we know better and it’s up to each one of us not to pretend otherwise.

And we wonder why Black people are fatigued? Our systems systematically diminish their existence. Every step of the way, it is a fight for access to the things that come standard to whites in our country. Fighting tooth and nails for the right to exist, for a fair shake, for a world that mirrors back and honors the sacred in each one of them (us).

I don’t know about you but I am done with empty promises and internalized white guilt. As my friend and colleague, Quanita so aptly puts it, “Blame, shame and guilt are where we go to hide from our feelings.” I am done hiding.

So what’s being called to heal within me?

Most of you have probably seen the video that went viral of Amy Cooper (a white woman) was walking her dog in Central Park and Chris Cooper (not related, a Black man) was bird-watching. For those of you who haven’t seen the exchange, it is eye opening, disturbing and laid bear a place for my own healing.

The cumulation of recent events have me considering the level to which I have been influenced by and benefited from an inherently racist society.  Although I am comfortable owning and speaking about my own white privilege, what I had not considered deeply was my own institutionalized white superiority as a white woman. And more significant to me, is the historical narrative of white women’s need for protection by white men at all costs, perpetuated by the idea that white women represent the good and moral in American society. Thus, justifying racial violence towards Black men and anyone who poses a threat to our power. So, when Quanita mentioned to me in a recent conversation, ‘You know that white women are an excuse for the maintenance of patriarchy?” I took pause. I listened and somehow, I sadly knew that she was right. This power that I hold within is not something to jest about.

As I watched the exchange between Amy Cooper and Chris Cooper, I decided to sit with Amy’s anger and pain as if it were my own. I instinctually knew that it would be too easy for me to make her the ‘other’ and to immediately respond, “I would NEVER do that.” I somehow knew not to flight from the hysteria, pain or cruelty, I instinctually understood that our healing is intertwined. And I knew that pointing the finger would not bring healing, for her, for me or for any and all white women.

And though I am white and a mother, I am not the keeper of virtuosity for our society, I do not subscribe to the historical narrative that paints the picture of me as needing to be protected from anyone and certainly not from Black men. We cannot, as white women, underestimate the impact of this legacy of harm. It was and is very real.

A moment of truth

As so often happens for me, I find the pre-sleeping moments to be the time to digest everything that I experienced during that day. It is a time of reflection, a time to take inventory, a time to sit with everything that transpired. And that night was no exception. And this time, I sat with the images of Amy Cooper and I didn’t try to hide, fade or fix it. I sat with her rage, her hysteria, the thrashing dog, the call to police, the words, the accusations. I sat with her and I didn’t allow myself to take flight. I sat with it so as to transform it. Her anger is my anger, her pain is my pain….my healing is her healing, at least momentarily, at least within my own body, I chose to heal the intergenerational wound of white women in our country, the one that resides within my own skin. This is not a one and done experience, it was a conscious choice to stay in the moment and to do my part – to transform it within my own body. Amy and I went to the fire that evening and I held her hand and I reminded her and myself who we truly are. I forgave both of us for our complicity in an oppressive system and I paved a way for us to be different together.

And though I am not exempt, I am Anti-racist. An Ally. A Power broker for systemic change. I choose healing. I choose transformation.