I am a founding member of a group that was established in 2020 to discuss our current climate regarding race. The catalyst of the group coming together was the murder of George Floyd, and the name of the group is "Conversations on Race" or "COR"-- catchy, right?
It was originally founded by a woman that I have a great amount of respect for. Aside from our personal, close relationship, she is a woman who believes in others and has always been a champion of people. She enlisted two other women of color-- black women-- because she believed as a LatinX, that she should not spearhead it alone. One of them is someone I have also known for years, and we participated in a lot of altruistic work in the community. We also worked for the same department and shared expertise in employment, training and facilitation. The other woman I knew only as a personal trainer, but I knew that she was trusted and soon learned that we had a really great vibe.
My friend has been candid about the fact that she established the group because of the hurt and pain that I had expressed to her on many occasions. She also knew that I had suffered some mentally challenging days. That and the fact that she wants to see real change happen in her community is why she's my girl. She immediately asked me to be a founding member, for which I was grateful, and I hoped to have some impact.
As we began to function, a small group of us had zoom meetings to discuss how we could best make some inroads in a pretty "good ole boy" environment. Ultimately, we decided to address the community by hosting a monthly evening session. These sessions varied in topics, speakers, and what some perceived as useful dialogue. There was some grandstanding and self-serving but, that is typical of organizational work. There was also some fallout based on legitimate work schedules and plain ole disinterest.
I wanted to set this scenario not because this blog topic is about COR. As a matter of fact, the topic has nothing to do with the organization itself. However, it is within this organization that I found myself grieving horribly, and I recognized that the amount of trauma I was experiencing was hard to express to the same group that I was working with to educate others about systematic racism. The irony.
The trauma that I was experiencing, and still experience, is rooted in resentment. I began to resent this "cute" group that I felt was non-functional based on topics that may or may not be acceptable to white America. The amount of times that I heard or felt, "oh, THEY may not like that" was so jarring, upsetting, and telling, that I soon realized the group as a whole was afraid of challenging white America about their privilege.
The very system that was oppressive, cruel, hostile, stifling, and plain ole intent on ruling over POC-- the group was fearful of upsetting. I began to resent those on the team who could decide to pick up the mantle of "fighting for justice" and then lay it down when they were around their relatives or non-Black friends. I began to resent having to try and explain my pain to people who could, if they wanted to, research any number of books that would break down the last 400 years and the detriment caused to my people.
I began to suffer mentally. I started re-hashing conversations I have had or overheard from non-Black people that shined such a bright light on their privilege. There are two instances in particular that always pop in my head.
The first involves a middle-aged white male who owns a substantial business. He has always gloated over his work ethic and how despite his father being a businessman before him, he never benefited from it. The ridiculousness of this is so preposterous, but as many times as I have heard his rhetoric, I have never challenged him on it. The reality is that your father's name did carry some weight, and your skin color opened doors for you at the bank that a black man would never have been afforded. Even if this black man had a father who preceded him in business.
The other instance was repeated to me after I attended an event that was either political or a fundraiser or something along those lines. I was good at being in that crowd when I lived in California. I was having a discussion with two white women (I was the only black person there), and at some point defended some principle that had to do with POC. I made a statement that obviously didn't sit well with them. The next thing you know, I was told that they said I was prejudiced.
Two things about this made it laughable. First, the word prejudice is rooted in pre-judgment. White people have been showing us who they are for 400 years. If we are speaking in general terms about how I feel about them as colonizers, there is no way I can be prejudiced. If we are speaking about their behavior toward POC, again, I can't be labeled as prejudiced.
I have a zillion stories of ways in which "white privilege" shows up and owns the joint. The other night, I took myself on a date. I gathered two books, one fiction and one non-fiction (you just never know) to accompany me on this outing. To make a really long story short, a woman on my left (after a brief conversation) decided she would reach over and grab some food from my appetizer... all the while, uttering..."I am going to taste your..."
I wasn't surprised. She was white. She thought it was okay. I mean, after all, I smiled at her... exchanged pleasantries. Obviously, I was a nice little negro who understood my status in life and hers. I subsequently pushed the entire plate toward her and told her to enjoy all of it. The sarcasm was lost on her. She smiled in glee.
I thought about a half-dozen sistuhs who would still be in there cursing her tail out and teaching her some manners. I was surprised I wasn't one of them. At the minimum, I could have told her how inappropriate her behavior was. Amazing how uncivilized they can be.
Since George Floyd's murder, there have been 229 Black people killed by police. The majority were male ranging in age from 3 months to 88 years old. And we are now well aware of what happened to our brother Ronald Greene in 2019. Police claimed he died when his SUV crashed-- we now know he was violently murdered by state troopers.
I am grateful that I am able to lay this resentment at your feet. I don't blog for massive readers or to be touted as a phenomenal creator. I blog because writing, for me, is cathartic. I have been feeling so much pressure, anger, angst, anxiety, and two weeks ago, my depression actually was at an all-time low. I was not able to do much of anything, other than sit while tears rolled down my cheeks.
I leave you with a longer version (than perhaps you are used to hearing about) of James Baldwin's 1961 response, to a radio host, about being Black in America:
To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of rage almost, almost all of the time — and in one's work. And part of the rage is this: It isn't only what is happening to you. But it's what's happening all around you and all of the time in the face of the most extraordinary and criminal indifference, indifference of most white people in this country, and their ignorance. Now, since this is so, it's a great temptation to simplify the issues under the illusion that if you simplify them enough, people will recognize them. I think this illusion is very dangerous because, in fact, it isn't the way it works. A complex thing can't be made simple. You simply have to try to deal with it in all its complexity and hope to get that complexity across.
