I’m Stupid About Racism. Are You?

I have a confession to make. I am stupid about racism.

I will blame my unusual childhood. I lived in an almost entirely white community (the same one I live in now, in fact) until I was 7. The only black people I knew were my uncle and cousin. Then my family moved to Liberia, where pretty much everyone but a handful of expats was black. We lived there until I was 11.

This led to me having an incredibly naïve understanding of racism.

I knew that I had privileges most of my Liberian friends didn’t, but I chalked that up to having money and American passports, which may or may not have been the case. In 4th grade, I learned about the American Civil War at the mission school I attended, so I knew white-on-black racism was A Thing. But bless my little heart, I thought the Civil War had ended it. That the North had won, African Americans had been freed from slavery, and everything had been hunky dory since.

It sounds ridiculous. But really, isn’t that what a lot of people believe?

That slavery ended in the 1860s, discrimination was outlawed in the 1960s, and now, the only people holding black people back are black people themselves?

De Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt.

This appeal to personal responsibility is a convenient thing for white people to believe, and easy to swallow if you are isolated from the struggles of the African American community. But honestly? It’s like we European Americans tripped someone then berated them for having dirt on their knees. Why are you limping? Pull yourself together, and have a little self-respect!

But as horrible as all of that is, none of it is my fault (or my problem), because I am not a racist. I have black friends and family members. It is completely unreasonable to imply that I should bear any responsibility for the sins of my ancestors, especially since most of my ancestors weren’t even in the USA in the 1860s, and those who were fought for the North. I also have some Cherokee in me, so my ancestors were oppressed too.

Or at least that’s the story I tell myself.

But here’s the thing I have come to realize: no one gives a hootenanny about whether some white lady up in Northern Wisconsin is a racist or not. Or at least, very few people do. Conversations about racism are not about whether or not I am a good person. People have bigger things to worry about than my personal virtue.

Racism in America is a systemic problem.

The problem is not that a few random crazies identify as white supremacists (although that IS a problem). The problem is that black bodies, black culture, black speech patterns, black whatever are consistently portrayed and treated as primitive, threatening, and less-than. And that has a subconscious impact on the way we view black people, whether we’re white, black, or something else.

How demeaning. What an insult to the image of God embodied in black people and black culture.

But good news! This is fixable!

If only African Americans would act, dress, and speak more like white people! If only they would adhere to the standards of respectability white people have deemed appropriate for them, and prove it by responding meekly and compliantly to any rogue racist behavior they encounter (even though most white people would not be expected to stand for that). Then we non-racists could treat them with all the respect due people who act white!

(Okay, I just winced reading my own writing. But say it ain’t so. Our attitudes are Messed. Up.)

I am stupid about racism.

And that means that instead of trying to defend people who look like me from charges of racism, I should ask myself why I feel so defensive.

That means that instead of critiquing a community I have never been a part of, I should be listening to what they have to say. I’ve never walked in their shoes, so I can’t comment on their blisters.

That means that when conversations about racially-based violence come up, I shouldn’t make excuses for the violence, or bring up black-on-black crime, or insist that what happened has nothing to do with race, or pretend that this sort of thing doesn’t happen All. The. Stinkin’. Time. just because my sheltered eyes don’t see it. It means that I should never, ever insinuate that people “playing the race card” are making mountains out of molehills for their own benefit.

That’s called gaslighting, and it’s a tactic abusers use to discredit their victims and keep them under control. So let’s not do that, K?

I’m stupid about racism, but as painful as the truth is, I don’t want to be.

How about you?

They say the first step to healing is admitting you have a problem.

(Note: I felt nervous about posting this, because it seems harsh, and some people may find it controversial. But it is nowhere near as harsh as the reality of racism, and I believe we can do better. In fact, as the body of Christ, we MUST do better.)