5 Reminders From Black History Month

You (the precious few who read my words) may have noticed that I did not write in this space during Black History Month. Other than sharing tools, resources, and wisdom from black leaders/writers/thinkers through my Instagram stories, I’ve stayed mostly quiet. I want to end the month however, with five important reminders that I continue to process as a white person committed to antiracist work:

1. Sometimes solidarity means choosing quiet. As a white woman keenly aware that whiteness is the main lens through which most white Americans view life, I have to work at not centering my own thoughts and experiences in any conversation. Though I continue to speak out against racism, I am intentionally using this season to elevate, promote, share, and financially support the work and voices of my black brothers and sisters. (And just to be clear: they don’t need me to speak for them .) In the meantime, I’m figuring out what solidarity means for me right where we live.
2. I am ignorant about black inventors. Did you know that the egg beater was invented by a black man named Willis Johnson or that the hoisting and loading mechanism, which increased the efficiency of the factory and shipping industry, was invented by a black woman named Mary Jane Reynolds? Neither did I. (Why was George Washington Carver the only black inventor I could name before 2020? Because he’s the only one I ever learned. The reasons for that is a whole ‘nother post.) But the kids and I discovered these two–and several other black inventors–during this month. Google can be a great tool, guys.
3. “Impact is greater than intent.” While I don’t know the original author of this phrase, please know it wasn’t me. When a white person is called out for racist comments or for silencing the experiences of a black person, I often hear from white people, “They didn’t mean to!’ Or,“That wasn’t their intent!’ Impact however, always overrides intent. Instead of insisting that we didn’t mean to offend in order to absolve personal guilt, we who are white must make it a practice to own our racist words and actions, sincerely apologize for the hurt we’ve caused, confess the deep work required to dismantle white supremacy in ourselves and in our country, and move forward in humility. 
4. Adopting transracially doesn’t make me antiracist. While I’ve spent the bulk of my teens and adult years challenging racism, parenting brown kiddos has deepened the ache to make right what is so blatantly wrong. I’ve seen several white transracial adoptive parents shrug at this, claiming ‘love is enough’ and ‘racism doesn’t exist where I live’, while refusing to address the realities of white supremacy. Dismantling my own biases and chipping away at the systems that benefit me is lifelong work that feels impossibly hard some days. May I never be so arrogant that I let my willful ignorance dismiss me from the necessary work. (And the fact that I have the choice to opt out of antiracism work only points to my privilege.)
5. I have too few black and brown friends in real life. This is a humbling confession but I hope to be honest here. Five years ago, I didn’t need to admit this. Our church and its leadership were such a wonderful mix of black, brown, Latinx, and every shade of skin in between that our 6 yo remarked one Sunday, “Mom, our church is perfect. It reminds me of heaven–every color will be there.” I love that, for her, heaven is a diverse people serving together, caring for each other in myriad ways, and raising their multi-colored hands to God in praise.  When we moved south to Maryland, we landed in a mostly white area with a dark history that makes me often wonder whether we should relocate. Building friendships with black and brown people requires major intention on our part (and theirs). As we prayerfully explore our options, we continue to connect with neighbors and our few black and brown friends at (a predominantly white but aware-of-and-working-to-change-that) church, and through other community endeavors.  

I’m grateful for these weeks to more intentionally consider the specific antiracist work in my heart, home, community, and country. While I appreciate that February is dedicated to increased engagement with Black History, the listening and learning won’t end when the calendar page turns to March. This is lifelong, important work that continues to humble and teach me.

If you’re curious about the black voices I’m learning from and listening to these days, here is a sampling: 

Music & Poetry: 

Spoken Word Poem: Letter To My Hair (dedicated to my dear E)

Storyteller – Harper Still “cover” (Jamie Grace & Morgan Harper Nichols)

Podcast: Black& Podcast. All of their episodes are good (a few have language)–this particular episode moved me to tears: Antiracism as a Lifelong Journey: A Conversation with Our (White) Mother

Website/Blog: Marcie’s writing is lovely and profound, her tone gracious, her knowledge deep, her stories compelling. You’ll want to spend some time here:   https://www.blackcoffeewithwhitefriends.com/

Books: Stamped From the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi

This well-researched, informative read is heavy and sobering. I’m taking my time through it, processing as I go. Kendi’s latest book, How To Be an Antiracist (2019) is next on my list.