Dear White People, Part I:

Dear White People;

How I love you.
Oh, how I love you.

You were the bodies that brought me into being, you were the hands that cradled my head when I was sick. You were the teachers that taught me the magical and wonderful things of the world.  You were the friends that played with me on the playground, the first boys I fell in love with. You were the patient and kind voices that taught me what was right from wrong, that supported and uplifted me all the days of my life.

I am thankful to come from you, and I am thankful to be you. I am neither ashamed of who I am nor would I wish myself any other way. I was brought forth into life as a white woman by the will of God, and even though we have a marred and twisted history, and even though we struggle now, his remarkable image is also branded into who we are a people, and we are loved by him.

So I begin this:
Dear White People, I love you. 

That being said, that being the banner over which I write this - I ask that together we approach this letter I am writing with our arms laid down. I know that recently, I have posted some things on my various forms of social media that have seemed really harsh and angry toward you as a people, and I suppose they were. I know many of you have voiced that you disagree with my opinions, my decisions to participate in the Black Lives Matter movement, and that you fear I have fallen victim to the ‘liberal’ agenda, that I have betrayed my own, and while I understand why you would think these things, because I am you, and I know how we think, I would invite you to please give me the benefit of the doubt and hear me out.

I would like to tell you the story of how I got here. 

I, like many of you, am a Christian. I have heard the mysterious and miraculous Story, for it was you that told it to me, and my soul could do nothing else but give itself completely to my God. As many of you know, much of my journey toward Jesus began in college. I grew up in north Georgia, a beautiful little town that was my home for nearly 20 years of my life. I grew up without much access to cultural or racial diversity and honestly, I never questioned it. All my friends were white, all my teachers were white, all the people in my life were mostly white. Those that may remember me from that time may recall I had a fascination with culture, with people that lived and looked differently from me. This curiosity was a big propellor in pushing me toward a school called Georgia State University in the heart of downtown Atlanta; itself being the most diverse campus in the southeast. 

You may also remember that I quickly became swept up in a campus ministry called InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. It was within this community of roughly 40 students that my knowledge and pursuit of Jesus began to flourish in new ways. This was shaped very much by the fact that our community was a diverse one with 40% of the student demographic consisting of white students, 40% black students, and 20% Asian/Asian American students. The plethora of perspective and experience from my brothers and sisters of different racial and cultural background not only enhanced my faith, but it also challenged it. It was wonderful having friends of color for the first time in my life, it truly brought a new level of depth and meaning to my life.

But do you know what? My presence in the community was not always a positive one. I hate to admit this so widely, to confess it even, but I said and did things toward my new friends of color that not only annoyed, frustrated and isolated them, it also deeply hurt them. I grew up in white suburbia - all that I knew of black folk and Asian American folk came from hyper-stereotyped movies and television shows. I simply assumed these simplified and untrue stereotypes were true of them, and often vocally said so. Not to mention, I made insensitive jokes toward them and off hand remarks, and I hate to say, I even said truly hurtful things toward my friends that not only devalued and diminished their experience, but communicated to them that I thought I was better than them.

The truth? I did think I was better them. 

Oh, it hurts like hell to type that. I am so ashamed.

I don’t think I realized at the time that I felt that way - it was almost a subconscious reality that I hadn’t yet become aware of, and still it had sunk into my conscious thought and action. All my life I was told I could do anything I wanted - I mean I looked around and the world seemed to prove this to me. All the respected leaders and celebrities and scientists and authors I read and all the characters in my books and television shows were white and looked like me, and I believed white people were the smartest and most successful in the world because we had worked the hardest. As a white woman, I was plastered all over the magazines and in all the beauty tutorials, and my hair and makeup products took over the cosmetic section of the store, and I believed white beauty was the epitome of beauty, because the whole world seemed to believe it. I never once questioned if the police pulled me over that my white face would threaten them, or make them think untrue things about me, or that it would affect them at all - I would just bat my eyelashes, maybe tear up, and get let off with a warning. I never thought someone would be suspicious of me if I shopped in their store, I just assumed they would treat me with respect, not follow me around with an untrustworthy look in their eye, but instead go out of their way to help me find what I needed.

All these things are the symptoms and reality of white privilege. Now I know that word scares the hell out of most of you or makes you angry. I know you hear those words and think that they are just an excuse for people of color to blame white people for their misfortunes in the world. I know you hear those words and remember how you worked harder than anyone you know to get to where you are and that it isn’t fair of people of color to use those words to diminish your hard work by blaming your race for your success. I know what you are thinking. But bear with me here.

I didn’t know what white privilege was at the time, but it was impacting every interaction I had with my new friends of color. And every little thing I said, every little action I did that snubbed them or devalued them, every time I ignored, stereotyped or overlooked their experience, and every time I silenced them, chipped away more and more at the fabric of our community. I wasn't doing this intentionally or out of malice - I wasn't trying to hurt them... but the reality is, it is not always our intentions, but it is what we say and do that has the lasting impact on others, whether for good or bad. I remember one time joking on at a small group meeting with some other students about how my extended family would be shocked and disappointed if I married a black man, and one of the black students, a friend, at the table turned away and started crying, and I didn’t notice, and I just kept going making jokes. Afterwards, my staff worker with InterVarsity, Nick, a white man, took me aside.

“Emmie, I want to invite you to think about the impact your words and your jokes may be having on the black members of our community,” he said.

Naturally I was livid. How dare he bring race into this? She knew it was a joke! She needs to stop being so sensitive. It's not like racism is even a thing anymore! Everyone knows it ended with the Civil Rights Movement!

Of course, I didn't realize at the time the impact of my words. I didn't recognize the trauma of racism, micro-aggression, and white supremacy that my friend had lived with since the day she was born. I didn't understand that in joking about how my family wouldn't like me to marry a black man, I was reinforcing the narrative that black men are scary, threatening, and 'less than.' And I didn't realize, I didn't recognize, I didn't understand because even while harboring racist and prejudiced thoughts myself, I continued to buy into the 'colorblind theology.' I didn't know because I didn't care to know. I didn't 'see' race; therefore, I invalidated her experience and refused to acknowledge that even with all our good 'colorblind' intentions, we as a white society still treat non-white peoples as 'others' that are to be feared and categorized and misunderstood.

All that to say, I remember how defensive and angry I was that he would even have this conversation with me when it was her he needed to talk to. But as I talked it over with Nick, he graciously began bringing up other things that I had said and done that had hurt other people of color in the community. As I was listening to him explain, as I heard the stories of their pain at my expense, something inside of me shifted. It had happened more than once, more than one of my friends were hurt by some of the things I had said. My friends were hurt. People I knew and loved. Maybe what I saying was actually hurtful. And Nick loved me enough and loved our community enough to have the hard conversation with me, not to call me out or to tear me down, but to build me up, to grow me more into the likeness of Christ, and to challenge me to see things from a perspective I was not accustomed to (which frankly, we as a people should learn to do better) in order to bring deeper friendship and healing with my new friends of color.

Now here is where I call on the goodness of God. Because this is what happened:

I didn't trust what Nick was saying, and I didn't even see the validity of it entirely, and I certainly didn't understand why it was hurting others. But what I did know is that I was told by someone I respected and admired that, while I was deeply loved by him and the community, I had said and done things that had caused people to feel hurt and isolated, even if I didn't mean them to, and because I loved them, because I loved this community, and because I loved Jesus and wanted to be more like him: I agreed to do what needed to be done to reconcile with them. 

At the time, I had no idea where that would take me. I had no idea what reconciliation would really mean.

I had no idea that in that moment of openness toward what God may have for me, even though I didn't fully agree with it, that I welcomed a work of God that would bring me here to this moment. I had no idea that it would change my life forever.

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'Part Two' in next piece