Behind-the-Scenes: How I am Working to be an Anti-Racist

You may not know that I was born in Houston, TX. And in Houston, our next-door neighbors were black; my best friend on my block, who lived across the street from us, was black. When we moved to Minnesota when I was 8, I instantly befriended the only black girl in my entire 3rd grade because I love black people.

For the past 20 years, I have traveled the globe, going to 25 different countries on six different continents because I love different cultures, different languages, people who don’t look like me, talk like me, or live like me.

Some of the top contacts in my phone are black friends.

My cousins are black.

And so, I too have been guilty of saying, “I don’t see color…I’m not racist…All lives matter…Why can’t we all just get along…” and all the other things us whites say when we’re uncomfortable facing the ugly racist truth about our country, and us. (If you haven’t read White Fragility yet, watch here for a 20-minute summary.)

George Floyd was murdered 8 miles from my home, in broad day light, by the very people I have grown up trusting to keep me safe: the police. And the police have lived up to my expectations because of one reason: I’m white.

I confess that it has been far too recent that I have begun to realize my own complicit dependence on a system built for me, which led to his death. His blood is on my hands.

I confess that I have banked on “being kind” as a way to “make up” for the racism my black brothers and sisters have experienced their entire lives. Simply being kind though doesn’t keep blacks protected against violence at the hands of the police, it doesn’t keep blacks safe, it doesn’t ensure blacks have clean water to drink, it doesn’t provide quality clinics or hospitals for blacks, it doesn’t ensure adequate roads and infrastructures for blacks, it doesn’t provide quality education for blacks, it doesn’t provide loans to blacks. Simply put, “being kind” alone does not ensure that blacks in America have access to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

In the past 3 years, I have talked more about contacting my city about putting a speed hump in front of our home because people drive too fast down our residential street, than I have about contacting anyone about the violence black people in America experience at the hands of our police, let alone the systematic racism that plague our states’ and country’s policies and laws.

So now what? I’m doing a LOT of listening to blacks. I’m having a LOT of conversations with blacks. I’m praying for my own changed heart, wisdom, and boldness. I’m acting on what I hear. I’m writing to those who have been elected to serve in our city, state, and national offices. And I’m not letting perfection get in the way of progress. I’m using my white privilege to share the voice of so many who can’t be heard, let alone breathe, because of centuries of racism in America.

Comment below if you would like some resources to do your own work.