“I’m disappointed by what Melanie said. I feel like we all comfort people when they are upset.” This was deja vu. It was the same moment I encounter whenever a White person is uncomfortable with a statement made by a person of color that contradicts that of a White person and/or supports a person of color’s position. It was the moment where my head shakes in what may appear as disbelief but in fact is frustration, as my heart drops. I could not help but think; if I slapped you one day and then cried and apologized, would you hug me and rush to make sure I felt better about wronging you? If I offended you as a White woman and I apologized, would your first instinct be to embrace me with forgiveness for all to see?
I realize that she nor I can truly know the answer to that question until we are in the situation, but I have some pretty good guesses. I know that I have said that I would never hug a White person who made offensive comments to or about me because they would not be worthy of my embrace, time or attention. I know that it is not my job to make White people feel better about their place of privilege and how they weaponize it against us. I know that I know this but like Phyllis Unterschuetz , I knew…until I forgot.
Days after a White colleague made a string of comments during a racial “sensitivity” group (notice the air quotes around sensitivity) that make your jaw drop….you know- the kind that make you focus on your shoes and purposefully avoid other people’s gazes as you sigh deeply and wonder “what did I just hear?!” ….yeah those. Anyway, after paralyzing a room with them she came to my office to talk to me. She took a seat and started to explain herself. By explain I mean, fumble over her words, describe her racist upbringing, and resume talking about how miraculous Black women are for achieving success and “beating the odds”, all while crying and saying how much she valued me. She appeared deeply bothered by the revelation that her comments may have been hurtful and that I may have mistakenly been offended. I watched it unfold, uncomfortable and annoyed, but I liked her…so before I knew it, I was passing her tissue and standing up to hug her while telling her it was okay; even though both she and I knew it was not.
It was not okay that it happened. It was not okay that she was dumping her guilt all over my desk and that I was cleaning it up. It was not okay that I was being asked to ignore my wounds and tend to hers. It was not okay that I hated going to work every day because of comments like hers. None of it was okay… but I said it was…. even though it felt like a betrayal to my Blackness. I remember my arms falling from around her and awkwardly returning to my seat, crestfallen, telling her that “we’re fine” even though I felt like shit.
I relived that moment as I listened to my classmate discuss being “disappointed” and then another agree that it was almost human nature to comfort people when they were upset. I thought back to multiple situations where Blackness was attacked and as the victims lay wounded, no one rendered first aid. Not the attacker at the sight of the injury, or the bystanders that witnessed the attack. So, who exactly are these humans that rush to comfort those who are upset? Pastor Gray talks about “validating humanity without highlighting brokenness.” My experience has been that the only humanity seen is that of the injured White person who “fell victim” to the hands of the Black person, broken by their overemphasis on race and reaching for handouts instead of their bootstraps.
I wanted to interject and say “you are missing the point. That is not the same thing. When a white person is confronted after saying something offensive, they tend to defend their intent, not apply pressure to stop the bleeding or offer any form of a band aid.” I wanted to tell them that “you cannot compare this to when you offer comfort to a patient or a crying friend. You are making your discomfort with what a Black woman said more important than what she said.” But I didn’t say a thing. Why bother? They could not hear me. They were too busy translating my words into a language they understood. “It’s okay for Black people to hug us when we wrong them. It is what we expect them to do for us.” Hell, it is what we have always done. I felt alone in my silence, frustration and fear.
That is one of my favorite quotes by Audre Lorde. Yet I am always afraid. Afraid of making waves, afraid of being labeled, afraid of punching when I should be hugging, afraid of what happens when I speak up, afraid of feeling awful if I don’t. How can I believe that Audre Lorde has given me a call to action yet depending on the day, forget? How do I struggle to manifest her words even though my personal goal is to embody this sentiment, speak when it is hard, and allow my words to elicit the kind of discomfort that brings about insight, understanding and in the best of times, change?
I hate to admit it, but I have given more hugs than punches. My silence has given White people the undeserved privilege of a pass. It has told them “you do not have to feel bad for the wounds you just caused. You do not have to be accountable for the effect your attitude will have on the marginalized communities you may serve.” Nothing could be further from the truth and I hate that I have been too afraid at times to face it.
So today I use my voice; not to fight every battle but to own how I receive words or actions without feeling responsible for anyone’s cultural journey. This has always been my call to action; to give voice to the voiceless. So, for my ancestors, my son and my community, here I stand, daring to be powerful, using my strength in the service of my vision, and learning to become less and less afraid one class, one day, one moment, at a time.
Rest in Power to all the Kings and Queens who suffered in order for the world to finally admit that if we didn’t say it, they wouldn’t believe that
Black Lives Matter
And to the White people reading this….. use your indignation to combat the systems that manifest the divide you hate to be told about, so you can spend less time defending a privilege you like to ignore and more time enjoying the differences that everyone brings to the table.