Why I’m torn about this sudden surge of Black love
From your loudest social media activist to your newly-woke corporation, suddenly everyone wants to be pro-Black. And I’m here for it.
Mostly.
Call me paranoid, but it’s really weird to be this popular.
I’m not talking about ‘appropriation popular,’ where white people emulate Black fashion, music and swag but eschew Black pain, struggle and distress. I mean popular to the point there’s a motherlode of interest about the Black experience in America, and people are more motivated than ever to dismantle the systems and institutions that have oppressed the melanated for centuries.
That’s… different. I get it, though.
For millions of us, watching George Floyd breathe his last on camera as a ruthless white cop pressed a knee into his neck was traumatic.
It jolted the nation, and then the world. It rattled white people so violently, their eyes finally opened to the harsh reality Black people had talked, sung, wailed and preached about since our ancestors were stolen, shipped, dehumanized and treated like property. Now, there seems to be widespread understanding that, “Hmm, this systemic racism thing is real.” (Also, water is wet.)
Meanwhile, Black people were collectively accosted by another wave of weariness so devastating many of us felt paralyzed. That came as demands for justice rightfully echoed across major cities worldwide, galvanizing entire communities in a series of rousing protests and riots that have seemingly begun turning the stubborn wheels of change. Critical conversations have been had. Messages of support and solidarity have been shared. Brands have rushed to release their Black Lives Matter statements, and entire city streets are emblazoned with that affirming declaration.
I’m applauding. Really. I’m happy to see white allies join the frontlines at protests. I cheer for white friends and colleagues who challenge racist rhetoric spewed by their own friends and families. And I’m pleased when white people ask what else they can do to make a difference.
I’m glad it’s happening now. I’m also sad it’s happening now.
I’m sad it took watching a man die on camera for people to finally get it. I’m sad it took 400 years of Black people being enslaved, tortured, hunted, lynched, beaten, oppressed, disenfranchised, marginalized, excessively imprisoned and publicly executed for people to finally get it.
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. We seem to be entering a new era of racial understanding, if not progress. People are willing to talk about race with more empathy and nuance than I ever thought possible in this old world of sin. (That’s a reference to this classic gospel song, FYI.)
That’s wonderful. Still, I’m wrestling with questions.
Did most white people simply not believe us? Were they really that oblivious? Did they think we were playing the race card? Over-exaggerating? Being too sensitive? Perpetuating the biggest hoax of all time?
Was our pain not worth their attention?
I’ve chided myself for bemoaning what could’ve been: “We’re here now, Jonathan,” I tell myself. “Just be glad about that.”
And I am. There’s nothing wrong with forging ahead, but there’s also value in acknowledging the blemishes of the past — your past — so you grow instead of just react to a new set of circumstances.
The news cycle will change. Another story will break. National outrage will cool. And I’ll still wear Black skin. Will we keep this same energy?
Time will tell. Perhaps I should stop focusing so much on what didn’t happen and focus on what is happening. But I’ll be honest: It’s hard for me.
Black people have talked about their experiences for a long, long time. If you grew up in an insulated bubble of whiteness, I can understand why systemic racism wasn’t dinner table conversation. If it doesn’t affect you directly, why talk about it?
And yet, a poignant passage of Scripture comes to mind. In Romans 1:20, the Apostle Paul writes that, since the beginning of creation, God’s invisible attributes — His divine nature, His eternal power — could be observed. That’s because, although you can’t see God, you can see the result of God. In the trees. In the sky. In the way ants build their colonies and birds construct their nests. Creation is always hinting at its Creator.
Paul goes on to say that because of these observable things, “people are without excuse.” Essentially, you can’t deny the existence of God because you’re experiencing the things He made. You’re benefiting from His decision to create day and night, land and sea, plants and animals. You.
I feel the same way about newly-woke white people right now. There is no excuse. Racism is part of the American origin story. Your origin story. Mine, too. White people can’t disregard racism like I can’t disregard children being locked in cages at the border or women being called liars when they say rich men sexually assaulted them.
I’m glad new white allies have reached an epiphany. (To the white allies who have been in the fight, I see you. I appreciate you. Thank you.) And I’m not devoid of grace.
Herbert (a.k.a. Junior), my brother from another mother, helped me recalibrate and look past my frustration. We’re both devout Christians, so he spoke to me in my love language: the Bible.
“It’s like planting a seed,” he told me, referring to a common Christian colloquialism for spreading the gospel. “Sometimes, it takes that seed years and years and years to grow. But, it’s the Holy Spirit that causes it to grow when it’s supposed to.” (That’s a reference to 1 Corinthians 3:6, FYI.)
I let that sink in. He’s right. This was all supposed to happen now. I can accept that, while acknowledging one major difference.
Non-Christians in America haven’t systematically oppressed (non-Black) Christians, but white supremacists have actively and deliberately oppressed Black people. Non-Christians in America aren’t killing (non-Black) Christians in overwhelming numbers, but white cops have disproportionately killed unarmed Black men. Non-Christians in America don’t uphold bastions of privilege that deny (non-Black) Christians rights or access, but white people — white Christians, even — extol and support laws that push the poor and underprivileged further into the margins of society.
White people have been active carriers of the same racist disease they’ve ignored.
Like the headline says, I’m torn. I believe we’ll see some kind of lasting change on the other side of this. But, I’m also concerned this torrent of Black love is a reactionary trend that could fizzle with time.
Maybe I’m too cynical. Maybe, like my friend Candace and I recently discussed, I’m so accustomed to Black people being mistreated and misunderstood that anything else feels odd, even scary.
I’m still working through the feelings. I’m still seeking God for answers. I’m still doing my best to embrace new white allies while dealing with the emotional fallout of watching George Floyd die; listening to white liberal Amy Cooper weaponize her privilege against a Black birdwatcher; and keeping myself quarantined so I don’t get infected with the virus that’s especially lethal for people who look like me.
But I’m human and flawed and angry. So, pray for me. That’s all I’ve got right now.
Author’s note: I originally published this piece on my blog.
