I’m a Racist (And I’m Not Ok With That)

“The opposite of racist isn’t ‘not racist.’ It is ‘anti-racist.’….There is no in-between safe space of ‘not racist.’”

Ibram X. Kendi

I’m a racist.

I’m black.

Those two statements seem oxymoronic but they are not. Ever since I moved to the United States nearly twenty years ago, I’ve tried in vain to carve out a neutral space for myself. A space where race didn’t exist.

But year after year, racist incident after racist incident, that safe space has been exposed for what it is — pure fantasy.

I know I’m not alone in yearning for a space like this. A space where we can just be race neutral and colorblind. And we continue to yearn for race neutrality even after we witness despicable acts of violence against African Americans.

Moments before he unwillingly gave his life, George Floyd was just another black man living in America. Moments after his murder, his name has become the latest in a long line of names symbolizing America’s long brutality against blacks.

As I write these words, many people are protesting on the streets yet again crying out for justice. And with Coronavirus already disproportionately devastating minorities, black people will undoubtedly bear the brunt of these protests — from possible accelerated rate of infection and death from the virus, to burning neighborhoods, to the risk of additional attacks by police.

They are demanding justice for the murder of George Floyd. They’re demanding changes in policing policies that disproportionally target blacks and other minorities. They’re are appealing to the the soul of America to begin the hard work of dismantling racist policies wherever they are found.

So why am I racist?

It wasn’t so long ago that I thought my own background as a Caribbean national shielded me from the debilitating mental and psychological effects of racism.

I grew up in a place where blacks were in the majority. I grew up in a place where blacks ran the country. I grew up with black leaders in all levels of society.

I secretly held the belief that somehow made me better than African Americans who seemed to play the “race card” at every turn.

I secretly thought that if they would just be less loud, wear their pants on their waist, and got PhDs, they would be be fine.

I once believed that racists were only to be found in fringe groups like the KKK. That most reasonable people today would never think an entire group of people inferior just because of their skin color and features.

It had to be that way. My psyche couldn’t bear the alternative.

So I became a racist. But I didn’t think I was racist. I thought I was in neutral territory. I’ve had to learn the hard way that there’s no such thing as neutral ground when it comes to race. I’m not sure there’s neutral ground when it comes to anything.

The writer Ibram X. Kendi puts it in uncomfortably stark terms:

“The most threatening racist movement is not the alt right’s unlikely drive for a White ethnostate but the regular American’s drive for a ‘race-neutral’ one. The construct of race neutrality actually feeds White nationalist victimhood by positing the notion that any policy protecting or advancing non-White Americans toward equity is ‘reverse discrimination.’”

In other words, if you’re “neutral,” you’re the most powerful force for advancing racism. If I accept Kendi’s position (and I do) then for most of my life I’ve held racist positions. And as a racist, I was well-versed in racism’s most powerful weapon—denial.

Kendi writes:

“Denial is the heartbeat of racism, beating across ideologies, races, and nations. It is beating within us.”

But I’m not racist

When heinous crimes are committed against blacks, many well-intentioned white people (and large companies or brands) do whatever they can to prove they’re not racist, to others and to themselves.

They post their support on social media. They tell their followers what they’re doing to support the cause. The tell each other what books to read, where to donate, what not to do.

Some even join protests alongside blacks fighting for justice.

This isn’t to say that these actions are wrong or unappreciated, but they often appear to be defensive moves meant to assuage a deep sense of guilt – guilt for being white, guilt for not knowing enough, guilt for not doing enough.

But what happens after all the protests die down and things go back to “normal”? All of us who have the luxury of turning away—go back to life a usual. I know because I’ve done the same.

All the while we can look ourselves in the mirror because we’ve proven once again: “I’m not racist.” Bullet successfully dodged.

And as long as we keep dodging the bullet, as long as respectable people continue to be terrified of being labeled a racist, we will continue to be slave to this never ending cycle of racial unrest.

Make no mistake, the cycle will continue to intensify, like the increasingly strong hurricane seasons thanks to climate change.

And as long as the cycle continues, no one will be safe.

Nobody.

Every one of us, regardless of where we fall on the spectrum of racial hierarchy, is traumatized. We are all grieving. A few of us are doing so loudly in the streets, but the vast majority of us are silently suffering behind closed doors.

You need not be afraid of the label “racist” because no label is capable of defining who you are. In other words, labels are not identities.

Here’s what Kendi says about the label “racist” and its true opposite, “antiracist”:

“The good news is that racist and antiracist are not fixed identities. We can be a racist one minute and an antiracist the next. What we say about race, what we do about race, in each moment, determines what — not who — we are.”

How to get to antiracism

If we ever hope to defeat our private and collective suffering, we must be willing to confront racism. But in order to do that effectively, we must also confront the racism that lurks within.

We must courageously confront or own racism by acknowledging our beliefs, actions, and inactions that have advanced or reinforced racist ideologies.

If enough of us do this, our collective consciousness will begin to transform. Only then will we have the strength it takes to finally dismantle policies that advance racism and inequity. Only then will we see the true nature of our own claim to superiority as a masking of our insecurity.

We must be willing to feel the full weight of racial discomfort before we can make any meaningful progress. Only then will we know what it means to be antiracist.

Make no mistake though, the reason why most of us are not eager to become antiracist is because we intuitively know how hard it is. Kendi says:

“Like fighting an addiction, being an antiracist requires persistent self-awareness, constant self-criticism, and regular self-examination.”

Yes, it’s hard. But there’s too much at stake for us to not try. I’m ready to try because I’m a racist, and I’m not ok with that.