I’ve been guilty of all of this. I actually just recently downloaded the book ‘White Supremacy and Me’ to read along with a private group of other white people, like me, trying to figure out how to break the cycle of our mostly comfortable white lives - ironically by discussing it comfortably with other white people. (I haven’t actually started it either, personal events these past few weeks have kept me from reading much of anything at all). So there, I’m also guilty of losing momentum. I’m guilty of sharing stories without taking the time to fully reflect, because I want to help keep the movement in something I know deep in my heart is crucial to the future of my country, and my children and all of our children. I have felt within myself, without a doubt, much confusion about who I am, the role I’ve played in this all over my 39 years of life(consciously or subconsciously). A blonde haired, blue eyed, white girl growing up in white town, thankfully being exposed to cultural differences via way of the arts in school, then later living in Brooklyn, NY in a black neighborhood during its gentrification.
I then left Brooklyn and moved to conservative, white and French-speaking Quebec City, where although beautiful and unique amongst the anglophone North-East, diversity is not so much part of the language here. The biggest outcast in Quebec may arguably be the anglophone-American. Traditionally speaking, the anglophone isn't LOVED by the quebec culture. There are deep reasons for it, and I don’t hold blame or hate towards anyone for it, but I do recall noticing the underlying feeling of isolation when I first moved here from NYC. People always used to ask when they would find out where I was from - Mais POURQUOI t’es ici?! (Now I get more of, aren’t you so happy you got out of the states when you did?!) Either way, it’s a strange feeling to be judged for your language and culture.
I worked really hard to learn French since moving to Quebec and would consider myself to be bilingual at this point. I rarely have any negative experiences now based on my language or cultural difference, or maybe I’ve just stopped paying attention. Either way, it doesn’t compare to what black people in the US have had to, and still have to deal with because from a glance I blend right in, you know. I’m white.
My 8 year old daughter during conversation the other day asked me what her babies would look like if she ever had them and I told her it depended upon how and with whom she chose to have babies (childbirth or adoption). I said, for example, if you have babies with a man who’s skin is brown then your babies will have brown skin and brown hair and most likely brown eyes but they could have blue or green eyes(and I then went on to geek out on genetics - dominant vs recessive genes, etc). Her response was ‘OK OK mommy, but what if I had babies with a ‘normal’ person?’ And my heart sunk. I know what she meant; someone who looked like her - or at least someone with white skin. It was an honest question, but I realized I hadn’t been doing my job well enough. Our ‘normal’ white life in quebec and Connecticut was keeping an entire world from her.; a world that is deeply rooted in our American culture. A world I want them to know about. I mean, I couldn’t be mad at her - for her what she sees and hears about regularly are her ‘normal’. And although we’ve discussed slavery and the cruel history of the United States, and my children have gone to school with black kids and met some of my friends who have a different skin color than ours, it made me realize that in the wold we are living in, they don’t see people of color very often. There are not many black people in Quebec nor in Farmington CT, and so it’s MY job to normalize differences for her and her sisters - NOT so that they don’t see them, but so they don’t feel that one is better or more ‘normal’ than another. Or that when they do they are able to recognize it and call themselves out. So we talked about that too.
It’s easy for me to just take a break, to sneak back into my comfortable white life, to close my eyes to the mess that is our world right now because it’s all too much. Its easy for me to take my time.. because I can. Because I don’t live with the constant fear that my husband or children may be killed by a cop when being pulled over for a burnt out tail light or driving a little over the speed limit; because where we live they look ‘normal’. I have that luxury. But THIS, this is what I need to address. That’s where the vicious repetitive cycle lies. This is what we have to break free of. I’m not totally sure of how to do it.. and honestly at times it feels as if I’m suffering from what I’d imagine vertigo to feel like; having no sense what up from down is. But I’m trying. I’m sure I’m fucking up along the way, but I am learning and I know that even when I make mistakes I will be making progress. For myself, for my children, and for all of my black brothers’ and sisters’ beautiful children. So that one day our kids will only want to celebrate and learn about one another’s differences - not see them as abnormal. So I may be making mistakes (I mean I know I am). But I promise not to stop the work. ️
