I hate being a racist, I don’t want to be one, but it wasn’t left up to me.
Like many of you, I was raised in the presence of n-word jokes, horrible, often violent jokes against Mexicans, Asians, LGBTQ+A, women, Jews, Catholics, and any other group that had the slightest difference; a veritable smorgasbord of hate. I laughed. I didn’t know better. Of course, being an adult, now I do.
I have lived my life as a non-racist, but those names, jokes, beliefs pop up in my head sometimes. If I’m cut off in traffic by someone who looks different, a derogatory name may come into my thoughts, I don’t want it there, I find it grotesque, but-nether-the-less, there it is. This is a violation of my personality and my heart, and I deeply resent it.
However, I believe denial of one’s racism is toxic to one’s self and to our culture. I desperately want to deny (and have) my racism, but it persists.
Here’s my theory, and I’d like to hear your thoughts: if we can say out loud that we are unwilling racists, maybe we can stop defending ourselves and start talking more honestly. I own that just because we are unwilling does not mean that we are not doing harm and that needs to stop. In my experience, honest self-disclosure can open whole new possibilities and greatly reduce inner turmoil. Less craziness in the brain leads to more mental flexibility and openness.
I don’t want to be in this demographic, but trying to keep it as a secret makes it more shameful and harder to dispel. When I see you and have a derogatory thought, I feel deep shame, which makes me avoid you. This is really unhealthy.
What I really want is to connect, to learn about you, to understand. So when I see you I just smile, but that doesn’t create anything but a tiny amount of passive goodwill.
A few years ago, daughter #2 came home from High School and asked me how, living in a very white community, I had raised her to be non-racist. I laughed. Our family consists of internationally adopted kids in all colors. I thought the answer was obvious.
After thinking about it, I realized that the real answer is that I kept my mouth shut whenever an evil thought arose. I chose how I want to be in the world. But my choices and my silence are not enough.
Recently when one of her long-time friends, who happens to be Asian, was visiting, I said to them that I had realized I was a racist. They immediately went into denial/comforting mode. I asked them to really listen. I told them how I was raised, and the thoughts I have against my will. I wanted them to understand that white shame is toxic to all of us, and that I’m hoping honesty can be freeing.
Reading back, I fear this is self serving. But it was truly written with a curious heart.