The Undercover Introvert

  • Home
  • About
  • Activism
    • Racial Justice
    • Feminism
    • Politics
  • Writing
    • My Exciting Life
    • Freelancing
    • The Craft

So You’ve Been Called Out: A White Person’s Guide to Doing Better

March 22, 2020 by Tess

As someone who writes and talks about race, racism, and white supremacy a lot, I’m used to pushback whenever I point out our racist institutions or racist behavior in individuals. And as a black woman working in mostly progressive spaces, I’m also used to the constant stream of microaggression and casual racism within our ranks. Occasionally, the racism isn’t so casual at all, but those instances are somewhat rare. What’s not rare is the automatic response whenever I or another person of color dares to point out racist behavior in some of the white folks dwelling in these so-called progressive spaces. A torrent of defensiveness is unleashed at the mere suggestion that the white person in question needs to correct their conduct. This reaction is almost always amplified to outrageous levels because, on the whole, progressives believe themselves to be completely ‘woke’. Anything that puts that wokeness in jeopardy is met with brutal defensiveness.

And because this defensiveness is a constant, I’ve come to know it pretty damned well. It’s the kind of thing that never travels alone. It always arrives in the company of several tried and true excuses for why the behavior or comments weren’t problematic at all. These excuses are so common, so often used, so seemingly set in tired, frustrating stone, that you can set a clock by them.

Suffice to say, I’ve heard each and every one of these excuses more times than I can count, and they’re always brandished by self-identified allies taken fully aback by an uppity negro questioning their solidarity with black and brown folks. So, I figured, why not review them one by one? And, while we’re busy reviewing them, let’s also outline in detail why they’re complete and utter bullshit.

That’s Not What I said!!

Yes, the double exclamation point is absolutely necessary. TBH, I could’ve added upwards of three more. This gem of a go-to response also doubles as a great example of gaslighting, wherein the white person tells the black person that what she heard with her own ears (or read with her own eyes) just isn’t true. It didn’t happen that way. She has to be mistaken. Of course, she’s not mistaken, and this plaintive denial only makes a bad situation worse. That’s not what I said usually pairs well with you’re twisting my words, why are you lying?, and why are you trying to make me look bad?!

I Have Black and/or Brown Friends

There’s no piece of evidence more convincing to a defensive white person newly called out for making a racist comment than a conveniently leveraged roster of nameless, faceless black and brown ‘friends’. These alleged best buds of color serve as a convenient barrier behind which a white person can hide from any and all accountability for problematic words and actions. It’s pretty damned gross, but it happens ALL THE TIME. Black and brown folks don’t exist to shield you from blame for whatever you just did, said, or posted online, white folks. Stop doing this.

And, furthermore, I’d like to go on record by calling bullshit on these folks having black and brown friends in the first place. More like, they’ve seen black and brown folks before. They work with them or went to school with some. That’s likely it. You can’t tell me that you have genuine, deep friendships with people of color and you see no problem with using them as proof that you couldn’t utter a racist comment.

But let’s pretend that you actually do have a black friend (again, doubtful). Just because this single black individual is allegedly fine with your bullshit doesn’t mean that I am, simply because I’m also black. You do understand that’s not how this works, right? I would never expect you to act the same as another white acquaintance because you’re white too. Thinking all black people act essentially the same is part of the problem, as well as further evidence of the impossibility of you having genuine friendships with black people.

You Don’t Know My Heart

This tired excuse is usually either shouted or accompanied by tears. If typed in response to a post or comment, it comes ready with some exclamation points, is in all caps, or both. The translation for this excuse is: forget what I just said or did to you; let’s focus on who I’d like folks to think I am. Because that’s the long and short of all this defensiveness. No matter who you are, getting called out on your inappropriate behavior is uncomfortable. So is knowing that you did or said something that hurt people. I get it. We all like to think we’re good people, and many of us actually are. I truly believe that. But every single one of us was raised in a society that was built on a foundation of racism and white supremacy. Some racist shit is going to come out of your mouths, white folks, often without you realizing why it’s problematic.

If you’re called out on it, instead of taking that as a brutal indictment of your character, understand it for what it really is: an invitation for you to be better. Personal growth is something that shouldn’t stop for any of us as long as we’re alive. Don’t you want to be better tomorrow than you are today? I sure as hell do. And if I’m doing or saying something homophobic, racist, ableist, Islamophobic, transphobic, or antisemitic, I want people to call me on it. Immediately. Why would anyone want anything different?

Everyone Knows I’m Not a Racist

I just had a white woman tell me this the other day. I laughed out loud, of course, but it also made me wonder, aren’t I part of the ‘everyone’ to which you speak? Very telling. I guess you meant every white person knows you’re not racist. But I digress…

This sounds like something Donald Trump would say, TBH. And can we all agree that if you’re sputtering excuses that make you sound like Trump, there’s a problem? Allyship isn’t a state of being. It’s a journey. And the work is never done. You don’t reach a state of ‘genuine ally’ that, once attained, means you can’t behave in an ignorant, hurtful manner. Don’t brandish your DIY ally badge at me like it wipes away the impact of your terrible behavior. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you don’t get to announce to marginalized communities that you’re their ally. That’s something that gets said about you. Like coolness. Loudly proclaiming yourself cool just means you’re not cool at all. Only calling yourself cool doesn’t hurt anyone, but calling yourself an ally while refusing to listen to POCs when they point out your hurtful behavior actually is causing harm. And following that up by using the blunt end of your defensiveness as a weapon against said POC only multiplies the damage done.

I’m Fighting For You and You’re Just Being Divisive

Calling a black person divisive is a white person’s best chance at quickly ending a conversation that could be damaging to their self-image. Because defensiveness is what happens when the idea of who we are comes face to face with the reality of who we show up as in the world. When someone calls you out for racist comments or behavior, they are implicitly pointing out the gap between who you say you are and who you show yourself to be in your day to day life.

It’s always struck me as odd that the pointing out of racism is considered more divisive to some white folks than the racism itself. But, that’s the situation in which black folks and other POCs find themselves in this country. That’s bad enough, but it’s also the situation in which we find ourselves in progressive spaces and movements. And, if we point it out, woe be to divisive, ungrateful, angry, troublemaking us.

Just because you’ve never been called out before doesn’t mean you’re good to go. Since the situation so often turns nuclear when we point out racist behavior, many POCs don’t even bother to bring it up. Sometimes, it’s just easier to put it behind us and get on with our day, especially since much of the fallout usually ends up burning us. If a POC actually calls you out, keep that in mind. She probably dealt with many dozens of microaggressions before she finally broke and said something to you. She probably calculated the pros and cons using the same automatic equations POCs know all too well. Because, most of the time, it’s just not fucking worth the trouble, no matter how unfairly we’re treated.

I Don’t Even See Color

I wish I had a couple dollars for every time a white person has told me this. I’d have a fuckton of dollars. But, instead, I just have enough pent up frustration to power another thousand articles like this one.

White folks, we all see color. It’s ridiculous to pretend otherwise. What’s more, I want you to see me as black. I just don’t want you to lose your damn mind and treat me like a second class citizen solely based on that blackness. And, for the record, that’s what Martin Luther King, Jr. wanted too, despite your carefully curated understanding of his I Have a Dream speech. The Promised Land had nothing to do with being unable to see racial differences. That’s just ridiculous and lazy. It’s about treating each other the way we hope to be treated: with fairness and respect. It’s about equality, accessibility, and inclusivity in all facets of American life.

The problem isn’t that I’m black and you’re white. The problem is that we live in a society designed to benefit you because of your whiteness and oppress me because of my blackness. You didn’t have anything to do with how that system was constructed, but any racist attitudes and behavior uphold that system instead of tearing it down. Don’t you want to stop upholding that unfair, oppressive system? If so, think of being called out as a blessing. It opens a door to a better way of showing up in this world. It leads to personal growth. And once you walk through that door, you can turn to help others through it as well. Or you can ride away from that opportunity on a tidal wave of your own self righteous defensiveness, which helps no one, least of all you.

Image Source

Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: casual racism, lists, racism, white privilege, white supremacy

Racism 101: White Privilege

February 2, 2020 by Tess

I post a lot about race, and not just because I’m a glutton for punishment, although I’m sure that plays a significant role. I’m a black woman in a country that was built with the unpaid blood, sweat, and tears of people that looked like me. Those same people were ‘liberated’ after the Civil War, only to be crushed beneath the bootheel of Jim Crow for the next hundred years, a campaign of abject oppression and terror, the echoes of which we can still feel reverberating to the present day.

When you’re black in America, you can’t forget it. It’s transcendental — the condition upon which all other experiences are made possible. Your color informs your every waking movement. The moment you draw your first breath, it sets boundaries you might never overcome. It creates an alternate set of expectations and limitations, all unwritten but strictly enforced, and you disregard them at your peril. Thinking, talking, and posting about race isn’t so much an option for me as it is a requirement.

Like clockwork, in response to one of my many posts about race, a white individual will respond with a lightly admonishing comment that goes a little something like this: Why all of this divisiveness? We need to focus on one race, the HUMAN RACE.

Quaint, right?

What I feel upon reading dismissive, somewhat Pollyanna responses like this to my lived experience as a black individual in this country isn’t so much annoyance (or shock, because this is a pretty standard response, if I’m being honest), as it is bone weariness. The kind of weariness you feel after working a long day only to find your car won’t start and your phone is dead, meaning you’ll need to walk a few miles home in pouring rain and lashing wind. This mental and emotional exhaustion can be all consuming, because it feels like no matter how many times you explain slavery’s enduring legacy, how systems of oppression work (and how this is distinct from individual racists), why it’s damaging to say you don’t see color, there will always be responses like this aimed at making you feel ashamed for always dwelling on race.

White folks, let me tell you, living your life without needing to take race into constant consideration is the very definition of privilege. It’s a magical realm of existence that’s completely closed off to black folks, to Hispanic folks, to Asian folks, to indigenous folks. We have to think about race all the time. Our lives depend on it. Our freedom, our livelihoods, our very opportunity for happiness. We exist in this country at all times as nonwhite. There have been whole systems of oppression constructed to penalize us for being nonwhite. These systems have worked so well for so long, white folks no longer even see them. What they see is that nonwhite people struggle because they don’t work hard enough. They don’t value education. They are just more likely to commit crimes. They don’t speak English well. They are lazy. They waste the limitless opportunities doled out equally to every American at birth. It’s sad, really, how those nonwhites are.

White privilege is the ability to exist as a person while the rest of us exist as nonwhite people, together with all the negative stereotypes that, thanks to our deeply racist institutions, too often become self-fulfilling prophecies.

I can already hear the grumbled complaints from aggrieved white people:

That’s not fair! I’ve faced real struggles in my life!

I had to work hard for everything I have! I wasn’t given anything on a silver platter!

I grew up poor too! How can I have privilege?

Let me tell you what white privilege doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean you haven’t struggled in your lives, white folks. It doesn’t mean you haven’t known poverty. It doesn’t mean you haven’t worked hard or faced difficult situations or gone to bed hungry or survived without healthcare, a place to live, or a job that pays a decent wage. It doesn’t mean you haven’t watched, heartbroken, as your kids go without. White people can struggle. They can live difficult lives and never get ahead. But the reason for that difficulty is never their race. There aren’t centuries’ old systems in place to make sure that they fail based solely on the color of their skin. There’s a real issue of economic inequality in this country that desperately needs to be addressed, but imagine that layered on top of racial inequality, which is systemic. It is purposeful. It was put in place by white folks that did their best to make sure black and brown folks never got ahead in this country. Can you see how that’s different?

So, no, we can’t pretend we live in some post racial utopia where we all receive the same opportunities as Americans. We can’t pretend we are all just one race, the human race. That’s how the world looks through the rose-colored glasses of privilege. Not considering race in every facet of your life, with every breath that you take, is a privilege. Not fearing for your child’s safety simply because of the color of his or her skin is a privilege. Have you ever sat your child down and discussed exactly how to interact with the police because you’re afraid there could be a shoot first, ask questions later scenario, all because your child happens to be black, and sometimes that’s enough of a reason for an officer to open fire? No? That’s privilege.

No one’s asking you to apologize for slavery. But the founders of this country that built prosperity on the backs of the enslaved looked like you. The architects of Jim Crow looked like you. The folks that carefully crafted the New Deal in a way that wouldn’t benefit black Americans looked like you. The folks that waged the War on Drugs and lay the groundwork for every iteration of getting tougher and tougher on (black) crime looked like you. These white folks made damned sure to put systems in place that barred people that looked like me from ever being able to achieve the fabled life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness that they enshrined for themselves. We were meant to toil, to obey, to die when we were no longer useful. The very foundation of this nation was constructed upon that baseline inequality, and it has flourished in the centuries since those founding documents were created.

You didn’t ask for your privilege, but you have it. So, now what?

Step one: accept that this privilege is a real thing.

Step two: use the fuck out of it to challenge racism in all its forms.

Lean into your privilege like the shield of legitimacy it is and tear down the systemic inequality that still festers, relatively unhindered, in this country and all its institutions. No matter where you find yourself on the ladder of social status, you have power that black and brown folks don’t possess. Instead of pretending that power doesn’t exist, use it. Challenge other white folks. Be rabidly anti-racist. Don’t just share delusional platitudes about little black children playing with little white children and folks being judged by the content of their character instead of the color of their skin. We aren’t there yet. We’ve never been there. We aren’t even close.

Just by virtue of your skin color, you are endowed with the unique power to tear down systems that benefit you as white and oppress me as black. If black, brown, Asian, and indigenous folks could destroy these systems ourselves, trust and believe it would already be done. We need you to step in and step up. Your privilege is a battering ram that opens doors. Use it to knock down the status quo instead of buttressing it.

No one is asking you to apologize for being born white. But, goddamn it, open your eyes and see this country for what and how it is. Stop berating marginalized people for pointing out inequality because it makes you uncomfortable. Step into this fight in a meaningful way, because the fabled Promised Land isn’t guaranteed. Racism isn’t something that just fades away if we ignore it. It’s the kind of thing that metastasizes in dark spaces. It stretches out. It grows. Think of your privilege as a spotlight. Point at racism and shine the fuck away, white folks.

Image Source

Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: casual racism, definitions, racial justice, white privilege

Democrats: We Can Do Better

February 25, 2019 by Tess

I know the official Black History Month celebration is drawing to a close in a few days, but I make a point to revel in black excellence and black achievement 7 days a week, 365 days a year. There’s so much out there that we weren’t taught in schools. Immerse yourselves, y’all.

2019 marks 400 years since black folks arrived on the North American continent in chains. And though the month of February is often used to lightly touch on a few of our most famous black citizens, I’m not writing this with an aim to play along and sugarcoat things with inspiring tales of Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass.

This Black History Month has been a little rough for us, fellow Democrats. I can’t think of a time when blackface was more of a thing than when blackface was actually a thing. But, as with all trying times, this absolute dumpster fire of a crisis presents us with the space to take our own inventory, as well as with an opportunity to grow as a party.

Last year about this time, I spoke to my local Democratic Party about the need to enthusiastically celebrate black folks outside of the 28 day confines of the month of February because we’re your base voters. We turn out. We don’t vote against our own interests or let a single issue derail our ability to see the bigger electoral picture. We have a deep understanding of the historical disadvantages of our skin color and how our only path forward involves the tag team of mindful legislation and judicial intervention. For us, voting is survival. Going backwards could cost us our lives, and standing still isn’t an option. So, we hitch our wagons to the Democratic Party and keep on trucking in the direction of the Promised Land.

Yet, racism within the Democratic Party still thrives, and we don’t deal openly with it. Most of the time, we don’t even admit that it exists. We’re happy to take a detailed inventory of the Republican Party, manufacturing outrage, enthusiastically pointing fingers, and calling for swift action whenever a member of the GOP marches into racist territory. But I’m less concerned with the bigotry festering within the opposing team than I am dismayed and frustrated by the racism going unchecked and unacknowledged in my own.

What I’m suggesting we do as a party is take a long, hard, critical look in the mirror. Because the racist actions and rhetoric that we see on the other side of the aisle exist in our ranks as well, and it’s more prevalent than we care to admit.

Fixing a problem means first admitting that there is a problem.

This trouble goes deeper than black people holding pitifully few positions of substantive leadership within the Party. It goes beyond not placing issues that disproportionately affect people of color at the center of our collective efforts. This problem is the stubborn refusal to see the Party for what it is and, further, to see how we each uphold systems of oppression in word, deed, and intention.

Slavery is America’s original sin, and it has tainted everything from the 1600s to the present day, like an insidious soundtrack underscoring every aspect of our day to day lives. This music goes mostly unheard, but we march along to that rhythm nonetheless.

If you want to see the evidence of institutional racism, you only have to choose to really look:

The ongoing environmental crisis in Flint, Michigan.

The massive disenfranchisement of black voters in Georgia during the 2018 elections.

The radically different approaches to the crack epidemic in inner city ghettos versus the opioid crisis in rural, white America.

The fact that it took the State of Florida this long to finally shed the last enduring vestige of the Jim Crow era by voting down the lifetime disenfranchisement of former felons.

I’ve been told many times by fellow Democrats that issues directly impacting people of color need to be set aside so we can focus on more ‘important’ matters. When bringing up issues surrounding the intersection of race and gender, I’ve repeatedly heard that so-called ‘identity politics’ is a cancer that makes meaningful political discourse impossible. I’ve spoken with Democrats who proudly fly, wear, and display the confederate flag, and these conversations have not gone well once I pointed out their symbol’s inherent racism.

It’s heritage, they argue. It’s history.

On that point, we agree.

It’s a reminder of a time when people who looked like you owned people who looked like me. To pretend otherwise is to attempt to rewrite history, much as was done during the Jim Crow Era when so many statues honoring confederate soldiers were erected in public spaces to remind black folks that the chains that once dehumanized them haven’t disappeared. They’ve merely transformed from literal to figurative.

The 35 car pile up that’s currently ongoing in Virginia is a national embarrassment for our party, and for us as Americans. But it speaks to a deeper problem. This kind of racism is everywhere. Governor Northam isn’t an outlier. Nor is Attorney General Herring. They are simply visible reminders of what normally remains invisible.

Black people stand before white judges who hold racist beliefs.

They see white doctors who hold racist beliefs.

They get stopped by police officers with itchy trigger fingers who hold racist beliefs.

They send their little black children to school to be taught by white teachers who hold racist beliefs.

They join progressive causes and organizations that refuse to prioritize issues directly affecting their communities, all in the name of unity.

These racists tendencies are latent. They don’t reveal themselves draped in white Klan hoods. They don’t march down the street, proudly announcing their presence. These tendencies are sneaky, and they work by infecting our interactions, our thoughts, our institutions.

As Democrats, we need to do the hard work to understand this. We need to center the voices of marginalized groups in order to begin the hard work of dismantling systems of oppression.

We are the big tent party. We are the ones demanding equality for all, but we can’t even come close to achieving that goal until we deal with the skeletons in our own walk in closets.

This isn’t just work for Black History Month. This is an undertaking to which we must commit the remainder of our lives.

First, look within, and only then move to hold your neighbor accountable.

True change is intentional. It’s labor intensive. And it means spending less time pointing fingers at others and more time reflecting on ways that you can make things better for everyone. Black people are telling you what’s wrong. You just have to listen.

**This is adapted from a speech I gave to my local Democratic Party

Image Source

Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: casual racism, politics, racial justice

What About White History Month?

February 19, 2019 by Tess

Every time Black History Month rolls around, I hear some foolishness muttered from various disgruntled melanin challenged folks about the monumental unfairness of there being no White History Month. Without fail, there are accusations of reverse racism and intense rants that wander into tangents that decry the lack of a white counterpart to Ebony magazine and BET.

After listening to several years of this, I just had to formally address those tortured souls who are angry about black folks ‘stealing’ the shortest month on the calendar.

Number one, y’all have the rest of the year. And, before Negro History Week started in 1926, y’all had the entire month of February too.

And let’s not forget that white people have traditionally had the bulk of recorded history on their side as well. From the unassailable bravery of the early settlers, to the riveting, definitely not problematic in any way founding of the country, to the steadfast belief in manifest destiny, the history of the United States is chocked full of the courageous exploits of (mostly) white men. If we think of history as a narrative with a starting point that extends backwards as far as collective memory allows and continues to the present day, then the authors of that narrative get to choose the stories that are included, the word choice, the chapter headings, the heroes, the villains, and the exclusion of the nameless rabble that are judged unsuitable to even make appearances as supporting cast members.

If we just narrow our conversation to the United States (and that in itself is problematic considering that, in the grand scheme of history, we’re relative newcomers), the authors of our American narrative are indisputably wealthy white men. Upon the birth of the nation, they were the sole group able to vote, to have a voice in the creation of our government, and to serve in office. Women were excluded. Black people were property. Free people of color (inclusive of Native Americans) were less than an afterthought that held zero political power within white society.

In the constraints of that carefully constructed tale of white male bravery, ingenuity, and perseverance in the face of adversity, where is the room for the contributions of people of color? Of women? Where is the counterbalance that’s only possible when other voices are brought to the table to share their perspectives?

In history classes from elementary to high school, we are taught that white men ‘discovered’ this continent. That they stood up to a tyrannical monarch and forged a democratic republic that would change the course of human history. That, through the divine edict of manifest destiny, the country metastasized from sea to shining sea, spreading the gifts of freedom and democracy across formerly uninhabited land.

But what of the Native Americans who were already living here when Europeans turned up? What about the black folks who toiled, unpaid and in chains, as property from the 1600’s until the Civil War granted them tentative freedom? What about women who passed from the possession of their fathers to the possession of their husbands? Where are those voices? Did these people truly contribute nothing to this country?

If the narrative we’re fed as children is to be believed, then, as a whole, no, these other people didn’t contribute much of value. There are exceptions, of course, but those merely prove the rule: white men are the focal point of history. Their deeds alone are honorable, courageous, and worthy of celebration.

Suffice to say, there’s no real need for White History Month, because we’ve basically been celebrating the illustrious history of white men 7 days a week, 365 days a year, from the time they set foot on the continent until the present day.

Things like Black History Month should be viewed as an attempt to balance scales that have been seriously out of whack for centuries. POCs and women aren’t simply supporting characters in the riveting production of white male excellence. We aren’t nameless, faceless extras in the background of a narrative about how fantastic white men have unilaterally judged themselves to be. History is more complex than that. Even within the significant constraints society placed on POCs, women, and Native Americans, they still made massive contributions to this country. And we’re finally adding their diverse voices to the narrative, enriching our overall understanding of history.

Instead of bemoaning the lack (ha!) of a White History Month, how about you question the lack of diverse voices in the history we were all taught as children? I’m furious when I learn about additional contributions made by POCs and women that were conveniently absent from the first twelve years of my education. Here’s one glaring example: I went to high school on Florida’s Space Coast, and yet the critical work of the women featured in the movie Hidden Figures was news to me.

Think about how many contributions of which we’re ignorant, about the lives and legacies we don’t bother to learn because no one bothered to teach them. It’s close to criminal.

We can do better.

Let’s change the narrative by consciously inviting a variety of perspectives, not just when viewing history, but when viewing the present day. Your point of view is limited to your education and beliefs. Do you actually want to learn, or do you want to keep ruminating on the same stale information you were force fed as a child? Diversity of perspective, of ideas, of storytellers should be encouraged, not feared. Only by including these formerly undervalued points of view will we gain the ability to comprehend the true richness of our shared history. Otherwise, it’s just he said-he said.

Image Source

Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: casual racism, holidays, racial justice, racism

The Whitewashing of Dr. King

January 21, 2019 by Tess

Over the past few years, I’ve been thinking about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. a great deal. Not just his legacy, though that’s part of it, but how that legacy has been received, how it’s been manipulated to fit a rapidly reconfiguring status quo.

We all have an idea of the kind of man Dr. King was, reinforced by the slow parade of teachers - from elementary to high school - discussing the salient points of his most widely known public address in which he talks about his dream for the nation and its black citizens. These formative years ultimately develop the lens through which we reflect critically on history. The old cliche is true, in that those with the power to write our history also have the power to shape how it will be packaged for future generations. Words are so powerful, even more so than memory, because once memory fades, words are all that remain to make sense of our communal past.

I’d submit that the view we have of Martin Luther King, Jr. is largely framed through glasses that have been whitewashed by those wielding the words through which history is passed down. We aren’t encouraged to see him as a revolutionary, as the radical catalyst of social change, as an end in and of himself. Instead, this formidable man is neutered and made safe by the way we’ve learned to view him today. He has become a means to society’s wider, and less noble ends. Even his words are dulled to suit purposes that are antithetical to the spirit of the movement he championed.

We never speak of Dr. King’s radicalism, which underpinned everything he did. We only speak of his civil disobedience, and only in a way in which that benign turn the other cheek mentality is indicative of his inherent humble nature. To accept violence without responding with violence is a heightened form of self control, a heightened form of obedience to the law, we’re told, from the time we first learn to read until the time we begin to formulate our own arguments, and society values an obedient negro above all else. A negro who knows his place. In this way, Dr. King’s words - sharp enough to cut through the complacency of his era when he uttered them - lose their meaning, and with it, their power.

A funny thing happens then. The microscope of history tightens its focus, eliminating the more troublesome aspects of Dr. King’s persona, and zeros in on what is most palatable to the wider - i.e. whiter - audience: a man who dreams of brotherhood, togetherness, and a world in which his little black children can hold hands with little white children. A world in which his very color can be whitewashed out of existence.

In retrospect, Dr. King is conceived as a benevolent figure, one behind whom every like minded white person would have proudly rallied. But this is disingenuous at best, straight up lies at worst. We only have to look towards the Black Lives Matter movement to see how the bulk of white folks would have responded to a throng of black people demanding freedom. We only have to look at the way Colin Kaepernick’s nonviolent actions are received by the general (white) public. These are protests that fully embody Dr. King’s call for nonviolent direct action, the kind of action that cannot be ignored. The kind of action that forces society as a whole to fully face the existence of systemic racism festering in all facets of American life. In this way, nonviolent action feels like a slap to the face. But Dr. King understood that this tension was necessary to create change, that waiting for equal rights to eventually arrive was a fool’s errand. Complete disruption of the status quo was essential because “freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

Change is born through upheaval. It isn’t comfortable, and it doesn’t fit the timeline of the oppressor. The March on Washington culminated with Dr. King’s most famous speech, and if I had a dollar for every time a white person told me that black people today should take what they mistakenly believe was Dr. King’s advice in the I Have a Dream speech, I would have enough to open a money market account with a competitive interest rate. These are the people who seem to forget that Dr. King’s protests often led to arrests. They forget that his protests were often met with brutal violence from the police. They forget that the boycotts for which Dr. King advocated brought entire cities to their knees. The man didn’t just have a dream, he had a plan, and white America hated him for it.

There are those who say Colin Kaepernick should just shut up and play. There are those who look disdainfully at Black Lives Matter activists, writing them off as criminals, thugs, ingrates. There are those who scoff whenever a person of color points out the network of systemic racism snaking up from the very foundation of this country to infect every institution, every social interaction. There are also those who see the injustices with clarity, but are content to remain silent as long as they are not directly affected. Many of these people hold Dr. King in high regard. Because he’s safe to venerate through those whitewashed glasses. He’s no longer a threat to the current social order. He has been fully assimilated into white American culture. His radicalism has been erased from our collective memory, leaving only the palatable parts of his legacy behind.

And, yet, Dr. King’s words in another, less widely quoted piece of writing still resonate, as though he wrote them only moments ago:

“I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: ‘I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action’; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a ‘more convenient season.’ Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

I have paraphrased the above sentiment in many a conversation with all kinds of white folks, telling them that I was less concerned with the outwardly racist and more concerned with those who can’t understand the urgency of the current situation because they themselves are not at risk. Why stand with Black Lives Matter activists when you don’t have to worry about your black son, husband, or father being stopped by police and beaten or shot without cause? Why be uncomfortable for the seconds it takes a black NFL player to drop to one knee during the Star Spangled Banner when you can simply continue to exist within a cushy, disaffected bubble?

I have had white people tell me there are more important causes for which to fight. That racial justice can wait while we figure out these other, more vital matters. They seem willfully resistant to Dr. King’s ‘fierce urgency of now’. Because for those of us struggling beneath the heavy burden of systemic racism, there is no better time than right now to act, to fight, to demand the rights promised to all men and women in this country’s founding documents.

How can you read Dr. King’s words and not see his disappointment in the apathy of so-called white allies? In their unwillingness to truly invest in the struggle for freedom and equality for all? I feel that disappointment every day, and I worry it will turn into frustrated hostility, though Dr. King warns against that too, bidding us to never “satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.”

Dr. King kept from sinking into that pit of listless despair through his abiding faith that change would come, that people of color would be delivered to the Promised Land, though he might not live to see it himself. He advised: “oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself.” But this doesn’t come without struggle, without people willing to fight, even if it means losing their jobs, their freedom, their lives.
And the struggle continues to this day.

We don’t live in a post-racial society. The very idea is absurd, despite so many claims to the contrary. And a post-racial society is not what Dr. King was dreaming of in his famous speech. His dream was a country in which his blackness was no longer a liability, a barrier to access, a reason for him to be mistreated, jailed, beaten, or killed.

Those in charge of the present are also in charge of history, and they bend it however they like, weaving a narrative that suits the needs of the current era. In the here and now, the safe, whitewashed version of Dr. King is celebrated and oft-quoted. He receives his own day on the calendar filled with marches, breakfasts, and sermons in houses of worship.

Memory fades, and carefully curated words move in to fill the gaps.

Unless we decide to never allow ourselves to forget who this man really was. A member of the resistance. A revolutionary. An enemy of the status quo, creating such tension and discomfort that white America had no choice but to act.

And he paid with his life.

Honor Martin Luther King, Jr. by seeing him for what he truly was. And then see this country for what it truly is. A work in progress. A place where racism still runs rampant, though it wears many clever disguises. And accept that the fight for equality is ongoing, the torch passed from Dr. King to activists rallying under the Black Lives Matter banner, to those fighting for criminal justice reform, to those demanding to be seen and heard.

You can stand in the way of progress, or you can join the fight.

Image Source

Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: activism, casual racism, racial justice

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • Next Page »

About Tess

I’m a writer who spends her day making things up for pay. I also moonlight as a community organizer for free …

Recent Posts

  • American Math: Black + Female = Unqualified
  • When History Hurts Your Feelings
  • Miss Me with Your MLK Quotes if You Don’t Support Voting Rights
  • A Journey Through Time and Space
  • Open Letter to Those Ruining it for the Rest of Us

My Books

© 2022 · Tess R. Martin ·