The outrage this week over the murder of George Floyd, and the spotlight it has brought to police brutality and systemic racism, has made me realize the small and comfortable bubble I live in. It’s not like I didn’t know that racism existed, but it has always seemed far away; or something in movies or “over there” to me. It is something that happens in some back-woods town, in some other place.
I have struggled to watch shows about injustice and inequality because it makes me well up and feel the uncomfortable emotions of anger and sadness; and frankly lacking understanding of the mere concept of hating anyone based on sexual orientation, gender or skin colour. (Recently I couldn’t watch a Netflix documentary about a lesbian couple who hid their true relationship for a lifetime, because it made me cry too much!) I’ve preached to my kids since the dawn of time about how hating someone for skin colour or sexual orientation is like hating someone for having brown eyes or blonde hair. It makes no critical sense and is absolutely a non-issue.
But I have always said these things and felt this way from a position of truly not knowing what it is like. I am (as my son so kindly points out) a basic white chick. I have referred to HomeSense as a paradise and I collect Starbucks rewards! (I don’t enjoy the pumpkin spice latte though). I’m a middle class Canadian. I hold a long term job, in a healthcare profession. I haven’t been able to afford lavish (or frequent) vacations. I pretty much think about exercise, cooking and amazing home organizational skills. I have grown up as a semi-attractive white woman, in a lower middle class family. I have predominantly white friends (not on purpose); most of whom are educated, hold good jobs and travel more than me. However, I can truly say that I don’t want for much (as much as that son also refers to us as “poor”).
When I am out running, I have moments of tension when I come across small groups of men or when I run through secluded or “scary” places where there may be a transient population. But honestly, the base of any “fear” I’ve ever felt is fear of assault (be it physical or sexual) and these things seem like more of a woman’s reality than anything to do with my station. I have never felt fear of running through a neighborhood and looking “suspicious”. I have never thought that I wouldn’t be able to go knock on a door for help, or be allowed to use a store bathroom or any other variety of issues or restraints that have never even occurred to me.
The lynching murder of Ahmaud Arbery, while he was out running, made me cry and not be able to comprehend how that is even a possibility. These things don’t really happen do they!? But as I live my life and exist in a place where I have not really seen such things or felt any discrimination, it seems like an impossible concept.
When I think about police brutality or any sort of blatant overuse of power, I think of movies I’ve watched. Civil rights activism seems like decades ago, and before I was born. The idea is as foreign to me as women not being able to vote, or needing a husband to allow them to get a credit card! I don’t even think about these things and when I do, I feel angry and teary that these things “use to” happen.
I have thought that I was not part of the problem because I raise my kids with open minds and I treat people kindly. I have thought that I am not part of the problem because I don’t care about skin colour or all of the parts of a person that they do not choose. I am not void of prejudice however, I do judge behavior and intelligence and substance abuse. I know that I lack understanding about addiction and crime. I know that I don’t have a diverse friend group, and that I have dated only white guys (also not on purpose). I’ve seen racism happen towards natives and have heard slurs and stereotypes over my lifetime. I have called out comments about some things, but I have also ignored many. I enjoy dark humor and have laughed at jokes based on hard topics.
This week, and perhaps these past couple years, I have grown to recognize the geyser under the fault-line that is waiting to blow; with racist and bigoted rhetoric becoming mainstream and seemingly “normal” in media, song and politics. But I have paradoxically been blind to its existence and prevalence.
I don’t know what my part can be. I don’t know what I can really do to help to ease the tensions and fears that others face. I hate generalizations and ideas that “men do this”, “women do that”, or that this or that skin colour somehow dictates some sort of behavior or personality trait. But on a social level, I see these stereotypes be perpetuated and spread, and I have no idea how to make it better or to show support and acceptance; without it looking like pandering, or some sort of false dichotomy, as I attempt to relate and support from the position of a white, middle-aged Canadian woman.
I have been saddened this week, to say the least. I have been disappointed and appalled. I have had discussions with my kids about racism and their experiences and thoughts, based on what they have seen. I have discussed the concept that saying “all lives matter” is directly offensive to the statement that “black lives matter” because it misses the point. I have tried to recognize my “privilege” (as cliché and repellent as that comes off).
One thing that stuck to me today was a post that said that “It is not enough to be quietly non-racist, now is the time to be vocally anti-racist”. I generally steer clear of discussing equality, racism or political views. I don’t usually share support in one way or another, and I am rarely ever vocal about anything but women’s rights, or equality in that sense, (and hardly even then!). I “like” posts about pro-choice or gay rights. I have thought that I showed support through not being part of the problem; but this week has shown me that support through silence rides in the same seat as ambivalence.
Periscopecake 