In 1980’s comedy Airplane, actor Lloyd Bridges has a recurring movie line where he says “I guess I picked a bad week to stop sniffling glue.” He makes the same line but inserts “smoking,” “taking amphetamines,” “drinking.” He plays an air traffic controller trying to land a runaway plane. This is how the last weeks feel to me. Each day seems to somehow out fuckery the previous day and a tube of glue doesn’t sound too shabby.
I’ve started writing about being white multiple times. I mean, I’m nearly 49, chock full of privilege, I’m the poster child for what’s wrong with the nation and yet I refuse to beat myself up about it. This does no good. I’m at a state of neither denying I am complicit while also being a little beyond knowing what to do about it. I understand the concept of white privilege and know I have it, I know I don’t think about it all the time and that that, in and of itself is the definition, but I’m usually busting my ass to stay out of my own way most days. Figuring out social change is low on my survival list. It doesn’t have to be. I’m whitey-Mc-white face .
I’m a racist. I think we all are. I can say I honestly give everyone I meet/encounter an equal opportunity, but I have judged people by their race made jokes and been a part of the problem. I don’t hate anyone, but I make assumptions, I pass judgement on broad stereotypes and I sit idly by. That doesn’t sound like hating someone for the color of their skin or being from a certain country, but it’s racism just the same.
I’m not here to bear my soul and ask forgiveness. Actions matter. Being uncomfortable matters. Honesty matters.
Being a true friend to your “I have black friends” friend is trying to recognize that you pass judgement on someone. That you have things inside and that you may not understand how they developed. It’s about trying daily to be better.
Friendship blinds by proximity. What I mean is that of course you’re not a racist with your friends of color because you have accepted them without prejudice, but do you afford that same judge free zone for a black kid in the Walmart parking lot. Or do you wonder if he’s a criminal for no reason at all? <—— that’s racist.
I have wondered when I became aware of race. I went to elementary school with exactly 2 black kids and graduated high school with one. Russell Johnson was my friend in 4th grade. One Christmas we exchanged gifts and he gave me some yarn that was woven. I remember going home and saying something to my grandmother about it not being much. She, of infinite love, informed me that maybe that’s all they had. To appreciate. I knew the worn house on railroad street the Russell lived in, but knew not of poverty, I was 8. I think we remained friends through 6th grade then I never saw him again.
Per usual this doesn’t have a nice tidy ending because it’s not over and it’s anything but tidy. It feels like it never will be. I can say this, though. I am trying. While it may over simplify things I look at it like a lot of things. Progress. Not Perfection. Doing the work daily.
I’m no activist and it’s not my battle cry, but maybe that’s the true way forward. After social media posts and reaching out to friends of color to tell them you have their back, do you just go back to normal? Or do you try to get better, truly. Do you stand up amongst your friends and family? Do you know what allies do? I’m not 100% but I’ll ask. And listen. And try.
A million little steps forward forward for change in the places they stand are far greater than one persons long jump.
Like in all things. Trying matters.
#hugsandhi5s
