A White Woman’s Lament. Part One.
This is the tale of a middle-aged white woman who has two kids, a successful partner, a university education, drives a nice car, volunteers for her local farmers market, lives in a leafy neighbourhood in the city and shops at the best stores to feed her obsession with shoes. That’s me to an onlooker. I’m relatively fit, have a membership at a gym, can afford good, fresh foods and I enjoy the benefits of health that a higher than average SES provides. So, what’s the big problem? I’m the big problem. Or at least, I’m part of the problem. A Change is Gonna Come.
The pandemic had put me into a giant, unruly pause. The George Floyd murder and the reaction globally has put me into a tailspin. I was already depressed. I can’t get to the gym, there’s shortages of fresh flowers, I’m suddenly having a glass of wine on a Monday night, I’m becoming obsessed with crosswords and screens. I don’t see my friends. I haven’t put mascara on in a month. I am part of the problem. You see?
In the face of our current awakening, I feel an inch high at fussing over my indignation with the lack of Bok Choy at the supermarket or the out of stock notice at Sephora on my favourite lip liner. You see now?
Initially, when the reaction to George Floyd’s death felt like it was all about separation vs collaboration, I assumed the middle-aged, white woman visage. Be afraid, be very afraid. Danger. Danger. What’s weird is, I had studied the Civil Rights Movement that blossomed in America in the 40’s and came into its own in the 60’s when the Voting Rights Act was finally legislated. As a storyteller and presentations skills coach, I had spent hours poring over Martin Luther King’s speeches in the context of his day, I had noticed and observed the gang deaths, police brutality, and racism towards Black citizens in many pockets throughout North America. I read extensively about slavery — marvelling at the audacity of one race’s assumption of superiority over another. But I was so busy building the cocoon that was my life that I forgot to actually reflect and think about what all this racism met to me and to my humanity. What’s Going On?
Systemic racism isn’t something that’s happening ‘over there’. It’s happening in my overgrown neighbourhood. It’s happening on the grit of downtown streets, the green of farmer’s fields and the nascent bellies of suburban community centres. It’s embedded in schools, gov policy, churches, and businesses. As educator dwaynematthews.life would say, ‘de-humanizing black people is baked-in to our history’. Now that’s not to say that we aren’t gaining some wisdom and grace as a race. Compared to past civilizations, we are becoming more adept as a people to accepting differences in each other. It’s just that now, we must leverage those differences to bring us all closer together. Especially now. Revolution.
As a child, I recall my Mom tickling my lily white toes and saying “Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe”…. Do you know how that ends? It’s disgusting. And, there we were, laughing and giggling in the morning light while I got my Racism Training. I mean, my mom was a sweet, kind and intelligent woman but, did no one think to ask about the meaning and the language of this cultural garbage they were piling into kids’ brains? Or how about that pearl; “One little, two little, three little Indians” or “Jimmy Crack Corn” about a slave whose master had died? There were jaundiced words pasted on many different cultures and races during my childhood. And, they appeared regularly in songs, books, and rhymes. This biased language also appeared in newspapers and magazines, radio and television. Because Pearl Harbour created such animosity and fear in both government and citizens, people of Japanese descent were almost all considered untrustworthy just like the Jews were considered cheap. There are multiple terms we mangled to equip us with hateful words and labels. There are all kinds of labels Caucasians’ have been coined with over the years. Like the Boogie Man, which slaves would tell their children was a bad (white) man who would abduct you if you tried to escape the plantation. Today, there’s even a term for white kids trying to adopt the perceived hipness of black kids ‘Eight Mile’ so named after the 2002 film. Now, there’s Karen. This is a label for obnoxious middle-aged white women. Gulp.
Language and its evolution are a reflection of the values and attitudes of a period in time. Thankfully, the 70’s crushed some of that hateful language and the music, art, and culture born of the freedom fighters and protesters of the 60’s and 70’s managed to blast us free of some of those ‘hater’ words. Get Up, Stand Up, for Their Rights. But, we know now that we are not done. There’s so much more to do. Respect.
Listen, what’s cool about us is that humans are everlasting. We are spongey and elastic and adapt towards what makes us feel valued and worthwhile. While change is uncomfortable and strange — we are capable of becoming comfortable, even happy and engaged, with mashing our culture and beliefs in with other humans to form the New, New. We Shall Overcome. I will start by writing because that’s something that I can do. I can face and embrace the past and think about what I can do to step gingerly towards the new, new.
I’m left with two questions and it’s why I will keep thinking and keep going with my series here. One: Why didn’t anyone intercede when they saw the Police officer kneeling on George Floyd’s throat? Two: How can I be of service? Imagine.
