I’ve been in a funk for about three weeks.
I mean, Corona had me feeling some type of way all along, mostly due to the extra responsibilities she brought with her, but I could laugh and shake off the COVID-19 blues. I had a lot going on personally, but I’m used to juggling life and the stress it owns, so why can’t I shake these feelings of … can’t even name these feelings.
For a week, I’ve been battling these feelings toward the world. I’m grumpy, and my tone bites. I don’t want to talk to anyone individually, yet i want to scream to the masses. The only people I have wanted to be around have been my kids. These kids keep me rational and engage me in real honest and calm conversations about what’s going on around us. They have a way of grounding me and, at times like these, are the only reason I don’t give up on my mission to help right the country’s wrongs. But, man, these feelings are heavy.
I keep getting stuck on the fact that we’re so whitewashed. I can’t turn on a local news station and see one non-white newscaster. I can’t go to my neighborhood grocery and see one non-white clerk. My kids don’t know what it’s like to have a non-white teacher, and that’s the same experience I had in public school 44 years ago!
Change?
Why has there not been a huge change in the way my world looks?!?
I work all the time to beat down systems that oppress poor and marginalized folks. BUT I mostly work with white folks. It’s white people wanting to teach me about race relations. It’s white people who rule the non-profit world here, mirroring the very system of oppression that it’s supposed to be breaking down!
I am reading posts and comments from white “helpers” who are social workers, nurses, and teachers, fueling the “looting and riots aren’t acceptable” flames while ignoring the fact that there are generations of Americans who are angry and tired of being told how to act, how to dress, how to speak in order to fit in. How are these helpers truly doing any good in their jobs if they cannot see the underlying trauma that is the root cause of these actions? And what in the world am I going to do when one of my kids ends up in their classroom or under their care?
Our own Gov. Jim Justice, just yesterday, said, “I wanted (President Trump) to know just how welcome he is in West Virginia, and any president, you know, we should absolutely welcome all but — maybe not Barack Obama. Nevertheless, we’ll welcome any president” in the middle of a live briefing! What the hell is going on?
He Said That?
And if I’m feeling like this, how are my brown and black friends feeling? How are the people of color in the non-profit world holding it together as they’re looking at the white faces of funders? How are my friends of color feeling to know that, once again, white people feel as if they are the experts on race relations (because we’ve obviously been doing a bang up job) and have the skills and supreme knowledge of how to be a great ally? Here’s a thought: Let a brown or black person teach the freaking class! And if you don’t know any non-white folks to lead a workshop on race, then maybe lead a workshop on that.
Perhaps a lot of my feelings come from not being able to fix this. I’m a fixer by nature. I see a problem, and I am instantly brainstorming ways to solve it. But this … this whole racist attitude and hatred toward people for no other reason than how they look. I don’t know what to do, especially because it feels like nothing I do will even make a dent in it.
I’m angry because I don’t know what to do, which is just as rare as leaving me speechless.
I have been forced to pay close attention to my own white fragility, which is when a white person becomes uncomfortable and defensive when they are given information about racial injustice. I had a moment yesterday while listening to a friend when I felt my jaw clench. I found myself wanting to say, “Wait! I’m a good white person! I’m on your side!” But, instead, I left the conversation with my white fragility intact, feeling bruised.
And that, my friends, is a hard thing for me to admit.
Be honest. Be uncomfortable. Because that’s the only way we’ll ever be able to move forward.
Onward,
Amy Jo
