Recently, I participated in one of the largest protests in San Francisco’s history, to march against police violence in the name of George Floyd. And I have to be honest… I never imagined a moment of this magnitude happening in my lifetime.
Life has always been difficult being a Black person in America. There have been days where I have literally dragged myself out of bed, wondering why I was trying at all. It’s not like I have been silent. I post often about police brutality and those lost to police violence. I write essays about the Black experience and the racism I have endured. I help lead a diversity committee at my workplace to address issues of equity across our institution. I consistently am in conversation about these topics with the people I love, know, and am acquainted with. And still, I often feel that my words have fallen upon deaf ears. I have been actively screaming about my Black experience in the middle of a forest, and no one has heard a sound.
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It’s hard to grapple with the fact that white people have actively had the choice to tune out racism. They haven’t had to pay attention. Until right now.
In the last week I have felt more hopeful as a Black woman in our country than I have my entire life. For the first time, I have seen a true change of heart when it comes to conversations around racism. Walking amongst the thousands of other protestors, reading their signs and T-shirts and backpacks with phrases exclaiming that they stand with Black people — I for a moment saw the mountaintop that Dr. King referred to. White people around the nation are coming to terms with their white privilege. They are listening. They are reflecting. And they are promising to not only “do better,” but to take action. Overwhelmed by this emotion, I have cried almost every day in hoping, thinking, and believing that we could actually do this.
But as much as I am hopeful, I am also struggling with a multitude of other feelings. I am confused. And I am irritated. And I am wary. Because many of the voices that I now hear righteously proclaiming “Black Lives Matter,” just weeks ago, were still arguing with me about why this phrase was problematic. And I am still hurt by them.
I am grappling with the notion that now I must forgive these people. People who told me that Black Lives Matter was a ridiculous statement and made me question if I would ever see a day where justice may come. I must forgive people whose microaggressions about my nappy hair, and my pig-like nose, and my big lips, made me question my beauty — a beauty that I share with Harriet Tubman and Angela Davis and Beyoncé. I must now forgive the same people whose racist ideas and stereotypes about Black people made me internalize this racism to the point where I hated myself for being Black.
And I do not share these feelings for white pity. I share this, because I know I cannot be the only Black person who is reckoning with the idea of forgiveness.
I keep seeing a small phrase making its way around the internet. “Normalize changing your opinion when presented with new information.” And I believe in this statement. I really do. We have to allow space for people to become awakened. We have to show empathy to those who are also products of a society built by white supremacy, and whose existence and realities have been shaped to uphold these oppressive systems. They also did not ask for this.
But it is also fair for me to hold on to my forgiveness. Because it is not easy to break bread with the people who stole my loaf and left me starving.
Especially those who have been my “friends” all along. Why, when I have continually been so vocal about my inequity — have you not heard me?
Like many Black people around the country, I have been inundated with a variety of emails, texts, calls, and DMs, in which new allies have shared their outrage, their guilt, and their love with me. And I have struggled in responding to these messages.
My partner is a behavioral therapist who works with children with autism. The core idea of his work is that all behaviors are learned, and how we respond to behaviors can either reinforce them or can discourage learning.
With this in mind, the inundation of messages made me anxious. I was nervous that if I didn’t respond to every single message of support that I received, that I would lose someone who was now down for the cause that I’ve been screaming so much about. It was at this moment that I realized that I was many white people’s only Black friend. And I was scared that if I did not reinforce that their allyship was a positive behavior, they would stop proclaiming “Black Lives Matter.”
Because so often, allyship is fleeting. It is your one hashtag and post on your Instagram story. It is the one petition you sign. Or the one call you make. Even more, it is when I am a model for your company, but you do not have anyone there to do my hair or makeup. Or when you get my name confused with other people of color at our workplace, even though I am one of only a handful of Black people. Or when a security guard at a bar yells “yessa massa” at me, and as my friend, you continue to frequent the bar anyway. All of these examples are experiences that I have had within the last two years from white allies who “love” and “support” me.
It is fair, then, that I wait and see what you do next. That after you are done posting your black square, that you also sign a petition. And share it with your friends to sign it, too. And that I wait to see if you actually donate to Black organizations and causes. That you not only buy from Black businesses, but actively seek them out the way you seek out organic products. That I wait to make sure the next time you see a Black person in a store, or a restaurant, or at a conference, or the neighborhood meeting, or interview, or doctor’s office, or classroom, or Zoom call, that you treat them in the same way that you treated the white person in front of them.
And it is okay for me to wait a few weeks to extend this forgiveness. Or a few months. Maybe even a year or two. So that I can ensure that when you said “Black Lives Matter,” you really meant it.
