Unlearning the Past

There aren’t many things that could replace a pandemic as headline news, but the death of an unarmed black man at the hands, or in this case – the knee – of a racist policeman did. And rightly so. If you’ve read my blogs before you will know that I’m a white British female. I live in a largely white Boston suburb. There is nothing to identify me as ‘different’ in my community until I open my mouth to speak and my British accent is front and center. Even so, I carry on with my life largely unaffected by the fact that I am not an American citizen (yet).

My accent is largely seen as an attraction. It’s not unusual for me to be going about my day and be told, “I could listen to you talk all day.” It was weird to begin with, but now I smile, acknowledge the unearned compliment, and carry on without a second thought. In contrast, I have been singled out for negative treatment on a couple of occasions. Once on the steps leaving the Harvard Square T-station when a youth walking behind me intentionally put his foot on the back of my sneakers so that they slipped off of my heel with every step I took, and the second when I was sitting at a bar on Newbury Street with a friend and was told to, “Go back to where you come from,” by a customer who felt that she deserved the seat more than I did. For nothing more than full disclosure, one of those incidents involved a black person and the other involved a white person. My only differentiating characteristic in either situation was my voice.

I’ve come to realize something that I’m embarrassed to say that I hadn’t appreciated before. This is how black people in America are made to feel all the time.

The reason I mention these instances is that they were outside of the norm for me. Each time, I was jarred, I was made to feel uncomfortable, and I felt defensive about who I was. In the past week, I’ve come to realize something that I’m embarrassed to say that I hadn’t appreciated before. This is how black people in America are made to feel all the time. I don’t consider myself racist, but in the past week I have delved deep inside of myself to ask difficult questions about my personal beliefs and unconscious biases. A short time ago, I would not have considered this necessary. I treated everyone the same, wasn’t that enough? Now I understand that no, it isn’t enough. Not by a long stretch.

The tragic and unnecessary death of George Floyd on May 25th and the subsequent outpouring of anguish has shown me that some people – whites – have a head start due to the color of their skin. Now I get it: I am a white privileged female. I don’t have to think about my skin color when I choose to wear a hooded sweatshirt if I’m cold; or wonder where to carry my phone in case it could be thought to be a weapon; or consider if it is safe to go for a jog in my neighborhood, or …
In my life, “The Talk,” means the ‘birds and the bees.’ That dreaded conversation when your parents sit you down and talk to you about reproduction, and you sit and squirm with embarrassment telling them you learn it in school, and they can stop talking. I’ve discovered that, in the black community, ‘The Talk’ is something entirely different. It is telling your children how to behave – and how to survive – when their skin color automatically puts them at a disadvantage or in direct danger. It is wrong. And we must do better.

I want to say it out loud that I believe there are good police officers. I have a close friend whose husband is an officer who was called to the Boston protests. During the past week, while she worried for the safety of her husband, she was told that that now is not the time to defend the police.

I condemn occupational profiling and support all the good officers who give their lives to serve and protect. I also support anti-racism and the Black Lives Matter movement. It isn’t a choice – it shouldn’t have to be a choice for anyone.

Words are inadequate against the injustice that exists against black Americans, but we have to talk; to each other, to our children, to our parents. We have to have those difficult conversations that allow us to walk in someone else’s shoes, to begin to understand, and to make lasting change. To do that, we have to unlearn what we thought we knew, and learn again from the beginning. A simple online search will reveal many resources to support this goal. I have subscribed to several. I am engaging in respectful discussions. I am supporting the change. I will do better.