I’m not sure why I stayed up last night, lying in bed with
my kindle, waiting for the Ferguson verdict.
I’m not sure why it was the first thing on my mind this
morning when I woke up.
There are people all
over the country right now who are in so much pain…so very much pain. There are
people who spent a dark night in tears. There are people setting fires and
screaming from a rage that comes from somewhere down deep in their soul. How
deep can rage go?
I felt like I should do something.
I am a white female who grew up in a middle-upper class
neighborhood. For as long as I stayed there, and only there, I never knew how
privileged I was. I thought the term “white privilege” was nothing but a
remnant from an era long before mine.
I was born blessed. I have never had to worry about the
thing that much of the rest of the world has to worry about. Why? I don’t know.
My whiteness and privilege have not exempted me from
suffering. I have had my own demons in the form of spiritual bankruptcy. There
are some forms of suffering that no privilege can exempt us from. I have
suffered – because I am human, and it is a human thing to do. But my suffering
is not the point here.
The point is that I can only see the world through my own context. I only have
my eyes, my experience, and my
upbringing. On my own, I can only see and make sense of the world through my
own lens.
I stare into the image on the news of a police cruiser set
on fire, and I feel deeply troubled by the limits of my own context. I am troubled by the tendencies I see as I look into my own heart. I realize I
don’t – I can’t – understand the pain of those protesting the Ferguson
decision.
I could look away. That is what we do best, when it’s ugly
and confusing, right? By the power of a remote control, I can choose my own reality.
I can simply turn it off – or turn on something less disturbing.
But there are an awful lot of people who don’t have that
option. Because they live there.
How deep can rage go?
I had to do something.
A friend came to mind. An old friend.
I messaged her – talk to me today about the Ferguson
decision.
She called and we talked for an hour.
“Letitia – tell me what
it is like to be black. I don’t get it. I can’t imagine. Your pain is not my
pain. Give me your eyes, let me see life through them. My own context is
inadequate.”
And so we unfolded our hearts. I spoke of seeing cops as
heroes. She spoke of being raised to distrust them. I spoke of being entirely
unaware of my own privilege. She spoke of having to claw her way into
opportunity. I spoke of feeling confused at why an entire community is outraged
over a criminal being shot after a scuffle with a police officer. She spoke of
case, after case, after case, where justice was not served, and of a Michael
Brown who made mistakes that were not worthy of death. I spoke of living in
comfort and never questioning it, and she spoke of living in fear.
“Amy what I
wholeheartedly believe is that there is an undercurrent of unsettled fear, and
yes even racism that has been passed down from one family to another because of
our country’s roots…Many white people aren’t even aware that they are
instinctively nervous or afraid…They simply cannot understand our rage.”
She spoke of Malcom X and Martin Luther King Jr. I spoke of
changing the hearts of humankind. We spoke of hope and despair, of making noise
until people pay attention.
Of the violence she said, I grew up in Detroit and saw violence outside my house every day when I
went outside. I don’t advocate violence. I get very upset when I see the
violence and looting….but as much as there is an undercurrent of fear in white
people, there is an undercurrent of rage in black communities. The violent
response is not sustainable for change. But it is understandable.
Again, I am back to looking at my own heart. It is
uncomfortable.
What can we do? Where do
we even start?
She responds, the
first thing that needs to be done is that all Americans need to admit that
there are still racial problems and color lines in this country. I get angry
when people pretend it doesn’t exist. So be pissed. Be pissed and make some
noise so people will pay attention.
How deep can rage go? Rage can go deep, and even deeper when
the whole world keeps telling you that your pain is invalid.
I don’t have many answers. Not to Ferguson. Not to a global
history of injustice and inequality while many continue to deny deny deny that
these things are real.
I will not put down my white privilege. I will not walk in
guilt for the blessings I have been given. I will not patronize my fellow white
folk who live so far separated from other cultures that they honestly,
wholeheartedly believe that racism is no longer a problem and that white privilege
does not exist. I have been there and still often live there. Not seeing what one cannot see does not make one malicious. It
just makes one unseeing. Putting down white people is not the answer.
But I will be grateful for what I’ve been given. And part of
being grateful will involve pointing this out to myself and to others: your story
is not the only valid one. Your context is not the only true one. Your vision
is not comprehensive. You are a fool if you think it is. And more than a fool,
because by living in the limits of your own story you are missing out on the
richness, the beauty, the passion and the depth of the world. You are missing
out on humanity, on love, on healing and all that life was supposed to be.
After our conversation, I sat in the quiet, letting these
things sink into my heart. There is an aroma of sweetness in this friendship –
this friendship where we are nothing like one another, yet we can let each
other be just as we are. This friendship where what is different makes conversation
spicier, life more beautiful, and hearts more enriched.
Her pain is still not my pain, but I see the world a little
differently – and I trust this is mutual. Today there has been a small movement
toward healing in this big broken world. Small indeed, in the face of all that
is wrong in the world. But not insignificant.
Isn’t this how the world is made better – from one heart to another?
This feels like what we should all be doing.
Social media is in a frenzy. It is enough to make anyone
want to fight – or worse, to check out and turn it off – to look away. But I
don’t want to look away this time.
What goes on in your own heart as you watch the news today,
friends? Have you examined the patterns you find there?
Did you get uncomfortable reading this?
Would you consider talking to someone outside of your story, instead of talking about them?
Listen without having
to have everything answered in a clear cut way?
The world needs more of this. I need more of this.
(Thank you Letitia for being a beautiful, deep soul and lovely human being!)
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