Erace

For as long as I can remember, I have been a smartmouthed opinionated woman. Even when I was nothing more than a little girl that only thought she knew everything. Empathy is something that matures as you age. The older I get, the more I am able to see the other side of the story. As I finish my fortieth year on this planet, the country I call home is in a societal crisis. It is division on top of division with no end in sight and it fucking hurts. Emotionally. Mentally. We are all hurting for different reasons. Pain is the single unifying factor in all of our lives. 

I have been hesitant to speak out about the obvious racial torture that has been going on since forever in the United States. What the hell do I, a privileged white girl, have to offer to this conversation? I am used to putting my life out there through my writing. I have written about every embarrassing, beautifully ugly thing imaginable that has come out of my life for the past four years. I have learned that my words are the most powerful weapon I own, so while I am feeling so helpless about what to do in these moments, I decided, like always, to dig into my own personal truth. I’ve also decided, like always, to share it with the world, whether they want it or not. 

I have used the N word on two occasions to a black person's face. I will not write that word out here, first of all because I don’t feel like I have the right to use it, and secondly I believe there are some words that don’t even need to exist anymore and that’s one of them. That being said, in my late teen years I was just blossoming into the hotheaded woman I was always destined to be. It is both a curse and a blessing. I was about seventeen years old and an older black man, maybe in his thirties that I worked with asked to borrow my car for a couple of hours while I was at work one day. He was one of my favorite coworkers, so I had no problem handing over my keys.

He returned my car as promised and that night when I got off work and was headed back home, I stopped at a gas station and reached behind the front seat of my car for my purse. That is where I always kept it while I was at work, locked up in the car because I felt like it was safer than anywhere I would keep it inside the restaurant. Stupid I know, but remember I was barely eighteen. It's not like I had much of anything for somebody to steal in the first place. 

My purse was there, but my wallet was not. Then I noticed that all the change in the cupholder was gone. Who the hell steals change? A drug addict, obviously. I was devastated that this man that I considered a good friend would steal from me. I knew where he lived, so I called this girl that also worked with us and we drove over to his apartment. I banged on his door and when he answered I asked him where my wallet was. His neck was bandaged up, almost as if someone had tried to slit his throat. He went back inside and came back out and handed me my wallet. I let loose a train of expletives that began with “YOU FUCKING N!” I may as well have punched the man. There was no anger in his eyes, only pain, sorrow, grief, and guilt.

When I think back on that night, I don’t know how I didn’t get my ass beat by someone or anyone in that apartment complex. I have always known how to cause a scene, plenty of people heard and witnessed me acting an ass, but nothing happened to me. Later that year, at the same restaurant, a different guy about my age decided to start pestering me. I don’t remember all of the details, but I do remember telling this guy numerous times to leave me the hell alone. He just kept bothering me, all the way up until the end of the night as I was walking to my car. He was taking the trash out and walking behind me doing the same shit I had asked him at least ten times earlier that shift to stop doing.

I turned around and said something along the lines of, “Stop acting like such a N.”  Again, it was as if I slapped him across the face. I don’t think he said another word to me as I stormed off to my car. His response got to me. I saw how harmful that word truly is, and I have not used it like that since. I apologized to him the next time I saw him and we never had any other issues after that, though I am sure he always saw me as a racist bitch from then on, and why not? All I did was perpetuate that very stereotype. 

Every single human that walks this Earth has had racist thoughts at one point or another. Black, white, hispanic, asian and everyone in between.  People will say, ‘Oh I don’t see color.’ That’s bullshit. Color is there. We can all see it plainly with our eyes, unless you are genuinely blind. To say you don’t see it is another way to negate a whole group of people. It can not be ignored any longer and it is why I decided to share my own experiences. I will most likely not speak publicly about the matter anymore after this. I would not feel like I have anything else to add to the dialogue. But I am listening and watching.

How many times have you looked the other way when you have seen something blatantly racist? A person tells you a disgusting joke or comments about a customer or someone at work that is just passing by and you just shrug or laugh it off because it’s easier not to start a fight with someone. It is easier not to have these awkward conversations. I am going to make a conscious effort to call these people out as I come across them. I don’t know what else I can do on a daily basis that is more positive than that. So whether it is someone in my family or just a random acquaintance, I am going to use my fat mouth to speak up from now on. Take it or leave it.

I may post a black square as my profile picture out of solidarity for Black Lives Matter. Which, by the way, obviously won’t cure racism any more than posting a pink ribbon will cure breast cancer. Showing compassion for another human being's suffering is the most powerful show of grace that we can give to one another. We can ALL be better every day. We can ALL love more. You will never hear me say ALL lives matter. Look at any list of pedohpiles and murderers and I’ll show you the lives that don’t matter. A cop that will kneel on a man’s neck while he is pleading to breathe doesn’t get to matter. A president that fires rubber bullets and tear gas at peaceful demonstrators for a photo opportunity doesn’t get to matter.