At age 53, I’m finally beginning to understand what it means to be privileged in my white covered skin. Only until recently in the last year—when I’ve seen the word Caucasian as one of the boxes to check, all I want to do—is white it out.
I am a melting pot mix of French, Portuguese, English and possibly a speck of one or two more. But the last thing I want to be recognized for—is being white.
My olive skin doesn’t know at all what it means to have pigment. But what I do know, is that I have a voice inside this skin—albeit merely an off-white one. And it will take me the rest of my lifetime—to simply do my part—to make this world a kinder place.
Recently, I experienced a zoom bombing that included degrading obscenities towards women and racial hatred towards people of color.
At first, the obscenities came in the form of a jazzy musical. So, I imagine, if it were just me and my gal friends in that zoom room, we would have had a good laugh. But it wouldn’t stop. And within a much larger co-ed business crowd who were all doing our best to make our Covid-connections—it was awkward.
The organizers gracefully and professionally remained calm while they removed the necessary bombers from the meeting room which only took about a minute. Whilst I presume the shock was still apparent all over my face, I hurriedly lowered my volume and hung in there wondering if the meeting was going to survive the creative yet demeaning hecklers. In the radio world, waiting for one minute can seem like an eternity.
It was shortly after the musical bombing stopped—or perhaps it was even during—when I saw the obscenities toward women quickly turn racist for all to see in the chat.
I could feel my blood pressure raise with frustration and anger. I was so pissed that blatant racism was thrown into our faces—in all caps. Including the powerfully negative and ugly N word.
Was this cyber racism in the little community zoom room I was in or was this local? Did it matter? I just couldn’t stand to be a white silence person. I quickly typed, “Can’t we delete these horrible statements in the chat?” A tiny effort to voice my compassion in that moment the only way I knew how. “It’s not possible.” A friend chimed in.
God bless the organizers. They did their best and remained professional. They kept the meeting moving by keeping the peace and energy as positive and as best they could.
But I couldn’t just sit there and ignore the written words brutally flung on the screen. I couldn’t pretend the statement didn’t exist. That racism didn’t exist.
The year 2020 has opened my eyes wide. “It is clear that I am a white woman…” is how the poem I wrote on June 4th begins. The frustrated thoughts in my mind that became clear as they landed on my tongue. The poem was significant to me. Because I was a white person who was doing nothing—by simply not being a racist.
And my mind was racing around again in this zoom meeting room. My head spun with questions in those vital bombing moments.
The sting was real. And I felt it.
Instantly, I wondered, could saying nothing here, in fact, be the white silence that is supporting systemic racism? I quickly scanned my mind for some of the many teachings I read and absorbed from The Becky Code by Catrice M. Jackson. Yes, was the answer that came into my white mind. Staying silent is not being an ally.
Quickly I realized that typing something into the chat would send the aggressive words—up and out of the chat. So, I typed in BLM and hit return. BLM return. I kept on. BLM return. BLM return. Until I realized that the meeting’s facilitator was guiding everyone to place their trivia answers into the chat. And my BLM’s disappeared.
The Black Lives Matter Movement can’t disappear. I am a thought leader. And to sit there and say nothing—felt like I was sweeping racism under the rug. Following along to the sound of the white silence.
I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to be silent. No matter how uncomfortable it felt to be the only one speaking out with my little bit of typing effort. No matter if I was possibly saying the wrong thing, at the wrong time, to the wrong people. No matter if I was placing a target on my own back. In my white eyes—I know now—that dismissing what’s really happening with silence—is part of the systemic racism that I want to help eradicate.
And as a white woman, I believe white people need to feel the sting—to feel some type of sting. And to take action and do something about it. If we are, in fact, the anti-racist person we claim to be.
So, if I had the chance to do it all over again I would. I would do exactly what I did. Be an ally. And if I hear any glimpse of white silence, racism, and everything similar under the sun—I will stand up, speak out, and care—because we all breathe the same air.
What a powerful column, beautifully written. I found myself feeling very emotional as if I were present. Good for you for speaking out and being an ally. It’s what we need more of to show hateful people we are not in that club, and we say so.
Omg Nicole. Beautifully stated. My eyes have tears.. The sound of white silence is being heard! Thank you for speaking out..!
We agree. We must fight racism and sexism wherever we encounter it.
Love you.
Thank you Nicole. I don’t think us white people can ever fully understand how much impact being black or brown has on our neighbors’ lives. My husband and I have been spending a bit of time reading, watching documentaries and movies, participating in workshops, standing in solidarity at BLM demonstrations and meeting with our police chief for a few years. I never cease to be amazed at the overt and covert hatred, suspicion, and fear of change to the status quo that I witness, even here in the suburbs. It really needs to stop.
Well said. The theatre community is also reckoning with it’s white privilege and are actively hiring, listening to, and supporting our BIPOC brothers and sisters.
Thoughtful, pursuasive, and clearly accurate, Nicole! Please feel free to repeat your words on your WATD program. Our listeners need to hear them.
Well written. I’ve been reading The Indigo Girl and recently watched The Long Story (Masterpiece.) I feel for the horrid way we treated the non whites. I was raised a Baptist to love everyone, but never knew the extent of the terrible things done long before me. Wonder why we all can’t love on another. We are all humans. I’m a variety of Eng, Irish, Scotch, Dutch, Portuguese, Native American, French. I also learned of Irish slaves. My school education left soo much out.
This is absolutely beautiful, honest, vulnerable, powerful – everything great writing is! Thank you for sharing this – it is so timely and we need to hear more from the perspective of “white” men and women wanting to stand with our neighbors of color but don’t know how to show up. Thank you for this example of one way we can try!
Oh, Nickie, you did such a wonderful thing! So very glad you tried to speak out instead of hide in “white silence”. I am a white woman on the outside, but on the inside I am Native American, Irish, Scotch, and English. We all need to speak up for all our brothers and sisters in this beautiful world. Any white person who remains silent in the face of bigotry is just silently agreeing. White skinned people need to speak out and support all other persons of any race, creed or color whenever possible. Thank you for blogging about this. Barbara L.
Beautifully written, Nicole. I was on that call with you and could not believe what I was hearing, and seeing. I later wondered what kind of people feel they have the right to act this way. I am a white woman with Irish, Scotch and English in my family. As a young woman I was surrounded by family who had nothing good to say about the black population. However, there was one exception, my paternal grandmother. Thank God I had her in my life. I will never forget the day she was showing me her dolls with their beautiful (white) porcelain faces. Then there was one doll amongst the others that stood out. She was made of black cloth and had a head of black pigtails. Whoever made her did such a wonderful job depicting a young black girl with her red checkered dress, and my grandmother LOVED that little doll. This was my first introduction to a different race, many, many years ago. One that I will never forget. The love I felt from my grandmother outweighed everything else. Without realizing it, she taught me acceptance. I will never forget the day my grandmother introduced me to her special doll.