We all know them - bullies - the ones who can't seem to live without terrorizing others. I bet many of you could name a few right now.
I remember a bully from fifth grade. Every day when the bell rang to release us outdoors, the bully would find me. I was genuinely afraid of that kid.
At first, he just seemed odd. He’d yell about all sorts of things, calling me names and threatening to fight me. He told me he was learning karate and promised that he would practice his moves on me. He spent much of his time punching and kicking the air to let me know he was serious. He’d get close, then chase me when I tried to run and rid myself of him. This is how much of that fifth grade year went for me and the bully.
The day he finally did punch me, it was over. I wouldn’t take it anymore. I pushed him to the ground, stepped on him, and let him know in no uncertain terms that he should never try to touch me again. When I lifted my foot off of him, he ran and told on me. I found myself sitting in the principal’s office anticipating my punishment. I feared what awaited me, but it was worth it to stand up to the bully. From that day on, he kept his distance.
Ever since then, I’ve been unable to tolerate bullies. Even in situations where it might be best to walk away, keep quiet, or ignore the situation, I cannot help but push back. It doesn’t matter if the bully's persecution has little or nothing to do with me - my instinct is to resist. However, I hold back only when not doing so would put someone I care about in physical danger or cause them irreparable harm. In such cases, the potential cost of saying or doing something far outweighs any benefit.
So what does this story of a grade school bully and my general dislike of tyrannizing have to do with the subject I normally write about - race? Well, it reminds me of what I learned about being a white person in the United States. The qualities that I attribute to the bullies I’ve witnessed are the same ones that whiteness instilled in me and expects of me.
Growing up, I learned that my lack of melanin (i.e., white skin) held meaning. Although not a conscious learning, I came to understand that white skin represented power. As a white American, I was taught that I held a position above people of color and that it was acceptable for those in this position to habitually persecute, harass, and intimidate those seen as beneath us.
I have always been a part of America's grand narrative of race, and the role I long played was that of oppressor. As I reflect on my socialization as a white person in the US, it looks like a first-class education on how to be a bully. I am constantly called back to this role as I encounter the skewed racial story that is woven throughout our culture. Tantamount to siren's song of race, it lures me back. The seduction of whiteness can be alluring, but it also leads to destruction, like a siren's song.
The American narrative of race is not a harmless story. Its effects are real, resulting in ongoing and unrelenting persecution based on race for people of color. For white people, it trains us on how to separate, dehumanize, and subjugate others. It’s a story that illustrates how to be a bully and convince yourself that you aren’t one.
It took me some time to realize that whiteness is also brutal to white people. We are not easily freed from its grip. Even when we proclaim our commitment to working against the racialized social learning we inherited, whiteness can easily overtake our best efforts. It draws us in, feeding us just enough to get us hooked so that we keep the fictive racial hierarchy alive.
It's not easy to escape. Despite my full dedication to achieving racial equity and my disdain for being counted among bullies, I still get sucked in. I find myself embodying the destructive ways that whiteness taught me and perpetuating the very imbalance I'm trying to work against.
My persistent need to speak out against what I perceive as bullying can be troublesome. Admittedly, I feel as though I'm always gearing up for conflict. There's so much wrong with the world, and too many bullies go unchecked. I struggle to discern which fights are truly mine to engage in and how to engage.
I've found that increasing my understanding is key. It's probably quite obvious that I don't have a perfect grasp on racial injustice. For a long time, however, I assumed that I knew a lot about it.
I’ve had to recognize that my lack of knowledge and experience regarding race can be problematic. It can come into conflict with my desire to end racism and even cause harm. Gaining a better understanding of racial injustice, how it's enacted, and my part in tackling it, betters the likelihood that I will actually help to bring about positive change.
Early on in my journey of increasing my racial awareness, I believed that addressing racial imbalance was solving someone else's problem - for their sake. I thought that as a white person who saw racism as wrong and who wanted to fix it, I had no responsibility for how the problem originated or persisted because I couldn't or didn't want to recognize whiteness and why it was created in the first place. I viewed racism as a problem for others, and thought that my role was only to assist in solving their problem for them.
But I was mistaken. Racism is not solely a problem for others - it’s an issue that concerns me as well. Not because I am its target, but because it is an inescapable societal issue. One that, since my birth, I’ve been unconsciously learning how to perpetuate.
Acknowledging that we white folk are responsible for creating, maintaining, and ultimately ending racial imbalance in the US has not been easy, and it still isn't. Many white people disagree with me. And they make their disagreement known.
To my white friends, I cannot definitively say that what you learned about race and being white is problematic for you. However, based on what I have learned, if we white folk are looking to be antiracist or simply trying to relate across race, it's hard to imagine how whiteness wouldn't be an obstacle. Whiteness is the backbone of racial inequity, and it permeates our lives. As white people, we are inextricably linked to racism.
My desire to correct social wrongs and stand up to bullying draws me to the struggle to end racial inequity. Opposing bullies requires that I unlearn all that whiteness taught me about being one. It also means I need to gain wisdom about how and when to engage.
Exposing how whiteness works and how it often goes unchecked is one way that I can jump in. But it’s only part of why I talk and write so much about race and, specifically, whiteness. The beautiful dream I have for who we can be together - people who equally share resources, freedom, and justice - cannot be reached without white people joining in the group project of ending racial injustice. My writing is an invitation to join in.
My white friends, we have much to do, a lot to offer, and immense learning and growth available to us. Let’s un-learn, re-learn, and jump in together.
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