My kids are teaching me about racism
A common question these days on social media is “How are you teaching your kids about racism?”
I wish I had an amazing 5 step answer that showed that I am the most woke mom ever, but I’ve got nothing.
I’m a white woman who grew up in a white town, in a white family, going to a white school, and a white church. I was never taught about slavery, lynchings, hate crimes, prejudice, white supremacy, or the genocide of indigenous people. I am an avoider who was raised by avoiders. We didn’t tackle hard conversations, pick fights, or raise our voices (except when we were shouting, “Praise the Lord”.
My life has been sheltered and safe. but the time has come when continuing to live that safe, comfortable life while ignoring the cries of my black, immigrant, and native brothers and sisters shouting “Help us, Please help us!!” is not ok.
Their cries are growing louder. The cries have come in the form of protests, riots, looting, writing, poetry, art, films, and songs of lament. Their cries have been going on for hundreds of years and everytime there is a tragic news story where a person of color is killed or wrongfully accused, we notice for a few weeks and then the white people like me forget and go back to life as usual. Why do we forget? Because we are not affected.
As a white woman, I can’t remember ever having a reason to fear the police or fear being jailed for a crime I didn’t commit. I have not feared that my children would be taken from me. I have not feared that I would be refused a job or house or promotion because of how I look or speak. I’ve never had people pass to the other side of the street when I walk by or roll up their window and avoid eye contact when I pull up beside them at a stoplight. I’ve never felt bullied or targeted by a teacher or worried that I wouldn’t graduate.
When I moved to the city, I began to encounter people of color on a daily basis. My first opportunities were through my kids. I learned that kids are really good at teaching us how to love ALL. My daughter, Tabby, has always been one of my best teachers. I remember her pushing me to call her friend Zaynab’s mom in 4th grade so they could have a play date. Her friend was Somali and her mom didn’t speak much English. Tabby was so persistent and that persistence pushed me out of my comfort zone and into a friendship with this lovely Muslim woman.
I have not done much to teach my kids about racism, but they have surely taught me. The friends my kids have made over the years in Minneapolis and St Paul have opened my eyes to whole groups of people I knew nothing about.
Austin Channing Brown in her book I’m Still Here. Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness says, “I need a love that is troubled by injustice. A love that is provoked to anger when black folks, including our children lie dead in the streets….a love that has no tolerance for hate, no excuses for racist decisions, no contentment for status quo.”
After the George Floyd killing, Tabby was the one who pushed me to join her at a protest. She encountered the kind of love Austin Channing Brown speaks of at these protests. She felt the heat and it ignited a spark in her that I am convinced can do nothing but grow. She has come home from these events and shared stories told of unacceptable injustices. Seeing her passion has ignited a spark in me too. We all have a choice to make. Will we engage in this discussion about poverty, race, and immigration, or will we ignore it or deny it?
I am now finally ready to listen and learn from my black brothers and sisters. I’m ready to stop hiding and show up. “Showing up” looks different for everyone, but however looks, I hope it leads to a world where more people start seeing black as beautiful.