Confession: Racism

 

I have a confession: Realizing and naming my own unintentional racism (thoughts, actions, and inactions) has been a heartbreaking journey for me. It’s a journey that I’ve been on for years but that has come to a boiling point over the past few months. Let’s go back a few years first, and then I’ll speak to the past few months. 

 

On Monday, I wrote about how children do not see skin color. And they don’t. Not when they’re young. What I didn’t write about was how I learned this lesson many years ago. I cringe, now, to think that I led this activity, but at the time I didn’t know how incredibly hurtful it could be for my black and brown students.  

 

While teaching a song about MLK, Jr., I decided to read a book about MLK, Jr. The book talked about how white kids got to go to better schools than Martin, how Martin had to drink from separate water fountains than white people, and how Martin couldn’t go to some restaurants because of his skin color. 

 

This is where I went wrong.

 

Wanting my students to understand how this would have felt, I decided to separate them by skin color—white skin like mine on one rug, dark skin not like mine on another. Once separated, I was going to ask the two groups of students how it would feel if they were never allowed to play together or be friends with one another, and I was going to let one group of students roam freely around the room and play whatever instruments they wanted while the other group had to remain on the carpet. After talking about how unfair it was, I was going to let the second group join the first group in frolicking around the room. 

 

As a white female who has grown up with white privilege, it never dawned on me that being separated out for having a skin color different than mine might be traumatizing for my black and brown students. Testimony after testimony has shown this to be reality, however, and I’m so sorry that I ever may have hurt my kids.

 

Thankfully, what I said above is true—young children don’t see skin color. So when I asked the students to separate themselves into the two skin-color groups, each group ended up mixed with all colors of skin—friend standing with friend—and the darkest child in the room happily standing right beside me.

 

I suppose that we often only learn through our mistakes—through naming our faults, expressing sorrow for them, and vowing to do better next time. I wept on Monday for that mistake from my past, and I wept on Monday for the seeming inadequacy of my present.

 

Presently, I have found myself wondering what I can do to help heal the wounds of identity that run so deep, yet I have found myself feeling helpless more often than not. I have cried many tears over the recent, horrific events in our country—for the senseless loss and violence that has come from racial prejudice and stereotype. Yet I have still caught myself thinking judgmental thoughts more often than I care to admit. I like to think that I am not an overly judgmental person. And yet…ingrained thoughts and biases have subconsciously planted themselves into my system and sometimes unwantedly enter my brain.  

 

Once again, I find myself cringing. These words are hard to admit. Yet admit them I must. Express my sorrow. And vow to do better by being more open in the future…and the future starts now.  

 

I end today with a quote from the Inaugural Poet, Amanda Gorman. In  "The Hill We Climb," she writes:

 

We are striving to forge a union with purpose
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another

 

May it be so, friends. May it be so.