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How To Be A Sh*tty White Friend

Updated: Oct 25, 2022

It’s me. I’m that friend.


Picture of a frown face spray painted in black on an off white wall
Photo by Jan Prokes on Pexels

I wish I had video of the experience. Maybe I could replay it and get a better understanding of who I was in that moment. Taking video when I witness undisguised and blatant mistreatment because of race is the least I can do — tape the horrible behavior and keep records.


Much more than a missed opportunity to press record happened recently while I was in the grocery store with my friend. There was one white man working the meat counter. We walked up as he was assisting a white woman. I use ‘assisting’ loosely here — it looked a lot more like flirting. This attempted luring lasted longer than seemed appropriate and by the time he finished, several people had joined us in waiting for his attention and aid.


He wrapped it up with the woman before us and we stood ready to be served. He looked over and we caught his eye — a white woman (me) and my black friend in front of me. He stood closer to us than to any of the other shoppers who had gathered after we arrived, surely he would attend to us next. But instead of offering to assist my friend, he turned and walked away to accommodate a different patron — a white lady.


The woman he walked toward knew we were at the counter first. Basic social rules said that we should be served before her — something I attempted to communicate to her with the look on my face. She glanced over, pointed our way and said, “They were next.”


The man turned back and walked over to stand in front of us again. “What do you want?” he asked. He was curt. It was as though we had caused him insult with our very presence. My friend made her request and he retrieved her order. He tossed the packaged meat on the counter and again walked away, completely ignoring my friend’s next question.


We stood for a second, both of us a little shocked by his open rudeness and disrespect. My friend turned toward me with an exhausted look. “You needed something else, right?” I asked. “Yeah, but never mind.” We made our way to checkout both of us feeling a heaviness we hadn’t walked in with.


We knew he was capable of friendliness and helpfulness — we had just seen and heard him being overly kind and attentive to the white woman before us. And we saw this side of him again when he approached the white lady he attempted to serve out of turn and again with the white man he began to serve as we walked away — he had greeted them kindly. Why was he not this way with my friend? She was the only person who wasn’t white and the only one he treated poorly — how could it not have been about race?


And for me, it was a missed opportunity to challenge whiteness. Even if it wasn’t about race for him, it was definitely about race for me. I didn’t call him out. I didn’t speak up to the whiteness on display — his or mine — and demand civility, the smallest thing he could have offered.


“Did you see that? Should I speak to the manager?,” my friend asked. She was inviting me to engage. I could have said that I would talk to the manager — this is what I wanted to say. I could have been more present and told her that I would stand up to what we both knew was a racially laden interaction. But I didn’t.


My reasons for not doing so were silly and merely excuses; the masks we were wearing to protect us during a pandemic, made it difficult to communicate clearly; I was tired; it is her neighborhood and I don’t want to make her returning to the store difficult. But all of my reasons, they pale in comparison to the importance of standing against whiteness and affirming the beauty and worth of the ones I love.


You see, my lovely friend deserves simple kindnesses. She deserves so much more. She is generous and caring. The ways I see her extend grace to others is beautiful.


Her manner of being and the way she shows up in the world, it inspires me.

There’s also the context of our friendship. We talk about race a lot. I tell her about how I’m trying to undo whiteness in me and in the world. She tells me how distressing these racist experiences are — I see how these everyday, unceasing slights weigh on her. That day, I failed to stand with her as she faced down whiteness.


It might seem like a little thing — not confronting an unkind grocery worker who behaves in a racist way. But it isn’t. There’s something I learned about being white that held me back that day. It’s the notion that struggles with race and racial harm are not mine to address — even when I’m asked to address them.


My whole life I’ve been taking in whiteness. Whiteness is how I learned to navigate our social system of race. This learning — how the culture of whiteness shaped me — is what kept me quiet that day. I did what my white socialization taught me to do, and what all the other white people there with me did, I let the racial status quo remain as it is. I did this, even as I know that, when I choose to let whiteness go unchecked, I am not just ignoring issues of race, with my inaction I’m saying that these things are ok.


I also know that I am more than just a white person. I am someone who has witnessed racial inequity and raced based harm — there is no question, racism is real. I am a person who deeply values justice and equality and wishes to embody these things. Who I desire to be in these moments, when I witness in-your-face degradation, is so easily overtaken by the urge to align with whiteness and do nothing.


I’ve learned that I need to build my racial aptitude — to grow my skills at seeing and understanding race. I need to expand my vocabulary to better speak about race. I also need practices of responsibility and accountability. Not because I created race, or the problem of racial inequity, and not because I intend the harm it brings but because I play a part in how the problem continues.


I am answerable to how I choose to be with race and racism — the ways I show up as a white person in little moments and in big ones. I act to disentangle myself from whiteness because it stands in contrast to my values. I work to be accountable to my loved ones and the hopes that I have for how I can show them love and care.


Though whiteness might seem immense and difficult, in opposing it, I am not resisting something that also disparages my very being. People of color have long resisted whiteness — with the added labor of having to assert their humanity in the face of it. As I witness others stand up to whiteness, even as it works to keep them down, I want to do and be better.


So, the next time we spoke I brought up our grocery meat counter experience with my friend. I apologized, shared my reasons for not speaking up, and let her know that my reasoning was wrong. I told her how in that moment, I didn’t show up as a I wished I would — that I’m disappointed in myself. That she deserves better. We talked it through. The relationship is better for it and, maybe, just maybe, I’m a less sh*tty white friend. At the very least, I know what NOT to do next time.

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