On Racism in America | Water Street Dreams Storytelling Photography
This is my feeble attempt at sharing my heart on the issues of racism in America in 2020.
It is here. It is rampant. And it needs to stop.
Over the past nine months I have replayed last fall’s random conversation.
I remember where I was.
I remember the warm weather and sunshine on my face.
I remember looking at my new-ish friend, shaking my head, thinking,
“REALLY?
THAT IS SO WRONG!
OUR COUNTRY IS SO JACKED UP.”
I remember all the feelings.
I can’t remember if I cried on the spot
or
cried in my car
or
cried later that night,
but I do know I cried.
IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT.
All because of the color of his skin.
His beautiful skin.
My friend and her husband are white.
And they have a tall, polite,
well-educated, handsome,
17-year-old
black
son.
They live in middle-class, white America,
where their son has spent his days.
He’s known by his neighbors.
He’s not a stranger to them.
He’s a great young man.
That particular day we were chatting about the fact
that she was super tired because she’d been out really late the prior evening,
picking up her son after work.
He was on closing shift, done at 11pm,
working blocks –
maybe a mile
– from their home.
Without giving it any thought
-
and in an effort to solve the problem of a fellow mama’s weariness -
I asked if he could
just ride his bike or walk home after work
so she wouldn’t have to pick him up.
After all, he’s 17. Why not?
She looked at me with a gentle head nod and graciously smiled.
After listening to my naïve suggestion,
and filling the space between us with a quiet pause,
she quietly said
“Alysa, he can’t walk through our neighborhood at 11:30pm at night.
He’s a young black man.
In a white neighborhood.
P
eople will call the police.
He’ll be seen as suspicious.
That’s not an option for him.
That doesn’t end well.”
I was taken aback.
She shared so matter-of-factly.
She wasn’t burning with anger.
It was as if she was resigned to the fact that this
IS
his reality.
This
IS
how it works in any predominantly white neighborhood
if you're a man with black skin.
This young black man grew up in this neighborhood.
It’s
HIS
neighborhood.
The little old ladies actually know him.
And yet,
once the sun goes down
he can’t walk down HIS OWN street.
Because of his skin color.
I.CAN’T.EVEN.HANDLE.THIS.
I know many white people don’t like the term ‘white privilege’
but we as white folks HAVE to face the reality that we have privileges
because of our skin color.
We just do.
My son –
my white son
– will never know what it’s like to have
some of his basic freedoms
– like the right to walk down the street at night –
taken from him.
Jackson's free to roam our neighborhood at night,
with a hoodie on
(he’s currently in the hoodie stage).
He won’t be questioned.
He won’t provoke fear.
The cops won’t be called.
He has the luxury
– because of his skin color –
to come and go as he pleases.
And you know what?
I want this same privilege for my friends of color.
And their kids. And their kids’ kids.
In my lifetime I want to see an end to racism.
This isn’t too much to ask, friends.
We need to do better.
We HAVE to do better.
I don’t have the answers.
I know it's nuanced.
And complex.
But I do
know that we need to listen to our friends of color.
We need to assume a posture of humility.
We have to want to learn
and
we have to make time to learn.
We need to hear their stories.
We need to lament and weep.
We need to see them and hear them and know them.
We need to rush in to validate their experiences
instead of rushing to justify our own preconceived notions,
whatever those may be.
We need to let our friends of color lead
and in return we
need to follow in humility.
It's time friends.
It just is.
If I'm being honest,
I'm afraid to publicly step into this conversation.
It feels overwhelming and exhausting.
But then again, aren't my friends of color
overwhelmed and exhausted in the face of perpetual racism?
I'm afraid because I
don’t want to offend my friends of color
by somehow saying the wrong thing.
I know I’ll mess up.
I just know I will.
But I have to try.
I will try.
I will die trying.
But here's what I think is worse than us trying and messing up.
It's not saying anything at all.
I cannot sit back in quietness because
what I am hearing over and over again is this:
Our silence is deafening to our black friends.
We need to stand against racism when we see it.
We need to confront it when it's in our control to do so.
I've read a lot of books on racism the past few years.
I've listened to podcasts and sermons.
And the common theme?
When we, as white people
see racism
and we're silent about it,
it's as if we're condoning it.
That's how it feels to our black friends.
I don't know about you, but I’m willing to learn.
And grow.
And be challenged and convicted.
I am willing to be humbled.
I want to root out the sin and evil of racism in my own life
and in the systems of our country.
I want to do better.
I'm willing to try, knowing that messing up is inevitable.
This is going to take intentionality, friends.
It will take reading books.
It will take listening to our friends of color.
It will take humility.
And hope.
And grace.
Extra grace.
And kindness.
And a heart to fight for Biblical justice.
We
are
better together.
I’m in.
For the long haul.
Because I want to see justice for my friends of color.
*photo from NYTIMES
I write this post today in honor of George Floyd.
I will no longer sit silent.