I hesitate to write about racism because I'm not sure where my white, upper-middle class, privileged voice fits in the conversation. I want to start by again, acknowledging my privilege and my need to continue learning (and unlearning). I have tried to do just that, by listening more and speaking less, participating in a book study on The Color of Compromise, and advocating for change in the way I teach my children to love others who look different than them. This is not to pat myself on the back; the work to be done is lifelong and will require more sacrifice than I've been willing to give and more uncomfortable conversations than I've been unwilling to have.
That being said, I also hesitate to remain silent because I don't want to be "about BLM" only when the next public and highly publicized injustice occurs and the wave of social media support begins. I hesitate in sharing the following stories because you shouldn't have to hear it from me to believe racism is real. I'm white and therefore, have never experienced racism. You should believe the black and brown people telling you how they experience racism, injustice, profiling, and microagressions on a daily basis (even if you don't personally know them). Also, it feels a little "exploity" (which I feel I've done in the past) to say, "Hey look at my one black friend who had to have a conversation with her teenage son about wearing a hoodie before he went out for a drive with his friend." My heart isn't to exploit my friends, or my kid's best friends who I'm going to speak about in a minute here. My heart in sharing is for my white, conservative, upper-middle class, Christian friends to read and conclude racism is real and it's time to take in active role in being anti-racist. On the topic of exploitation of black lives, if stories regarding racism have become a modern form of entertainment for us and have not moved us to action, we should be saddened and embarrassed. When They See Us, Seven Seconds, the Kalief Browder documentary, the Derek Chauvin Trial...have become Netflix binges and media sensations. We have become desensitized to the reality of five children spending a quarter of a century fighting for their innocence, another child being held at Rikers Island jail for 3 years for allegedly stealing a backpack who went on to die by suicide, and 8 minutes and 46 seconds of a knee of George Floyd's neck as he called out for his mom. The lives of black people matter. A few weeks ago I went on vacation with my family and two of Nick and Jade's friends, who happen to look different than us. Their skin is brown. The comments began at the airport when an employee jokingly told Austin to "leave [my] uterus alone." Ma'am, obviously these children are either 1. not all my husband's or 2. not all ours. Day 2, we are walking to the pool. I'm a little bit behind pushing Brayden in the stroller when someone stops me and says, "It's a really great thing you're doing fostering those children." Sir, these are my kid's friends. The assumption they are in foster care based on the fact they look different than me is...well, racist. Last, we are on the flight home and the lady in front of us says, "Wow, beautiful family. Three bio and two adopted?" What? I know she was well-meaning but wow, the 9-year-old and 5-year-old sitting right next to me have ears and can hear you. Even they were adopted, I'm not sure a well meaning stranger would need to point that out. I get it, these are small occurrences but all I can see if a life full of judgements towards a 9 and 5-year-old I love as much as I love my own kids. They are an extension of my family and it hurts to know how they will experience racism and how it will change over time. Right now, they are cute kids and it’s assumptions about their parents/family/socioeconomic status and people not taking time to learn how to properly pronounce their names. When does that shift occur? The one where you’re no longer the cute kid but a perceived threat to society because of the color of your skin. I wrote all of the above on 4/7/2021, there was no real conclusion and I hadn’t finalized my thoughts so I never posted. This was before Daunte Wright was shot and killed. I still have no real conclusion but I’ll leave you with one more story to consider. I received my first ticket when I was a graduated student at the University of Michigan. I was on my way to my internship at the hospital and rolled through a stop sign. When the officer approached the window I explained I wasn’t sure where my ID was but provided him with my insurance card. He went back to his car and as I was sitting there, I remembered my ID was in my bag in the trunk. I got out of the vehicle, popped my trunk, took my bag out, and approached the officer’s vehicle to explain I found my ID. He issued me a ticket and told me to fully stop next time. That’s privilege.
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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