Stand Up. Stand Alone.

I recently reached a crossroads in my life where I had to make some life-altering decisions. Standing against racism should be simple, but it truly has cost me everything. I have had to understand that making this choice has developed my understanding of what it means for my children’s Black Lives to matter to me at a foundational level. I knew the time had come for me to start the unwelcoming surgery on my heart in order to begin removing elements of white supremacy that I have held on so dearly to over the years.

How can I expect other people to value my children’s lives if I am scared to stand up and speak out against something that is life or death for them?

Comfortable Lies

Why is it that people can stand against all things that might affect the white majority, but once they are asked to stand against racism, then the automatic reply becomes that they are colorblind? Requesting that people begin to allow themselves to see color not only is shocking for them, but they view it as a violation of who they are as a person. Until we, as white people, can come to the understanding that we are the oppressors, the pure reflections of our ancestors who only valued Black bodies as property, and the ones who consistently feed life into the roots of white supremacy, then it is not possible to make forward movement.

“Racism is a lie and a belief in the lie that Black people are inferior.” — Valarie Chavis

Coming to this realization was not easy for me. The admission to the understandings mentioned above was not comfortable. My internalized racism was put on trial, and I was found grotesquely guilty beyond words. This admission began to chip away at the comfortable white foundation on which I built my life on. It all finally began to collapse the moment I saw George Floyd being casually lynched in front of America by a cop who carried out this murder with such a serial-killer-like expression of calmness and indifference.

I saw a gutwrenching demonstration of how Black life is valued less than a police officer’s job. I watched the lynch mob stand in silence with their phones out while comfortably recording a man being suffocated as he cried out for his mother. It was in this moment that the voice that had been loudly screaming out “Injustice!” inside of me finally broke through the layers of white supremacy that kept it silent for so many years. I knew I had to take the plunge into new territory that would set me apart from those who were present in my life. I knew that it was time to put on my combat boots, pick up my words, and weaponize them in a way that challenged both myself and the other white people in my life.

For my children. For their Future.

I knew the inevitable experience of personal loss and devastation was coming around the corner, and I knew it was coming fast. It was something that weighed so heavily on my heart. I could look into the future and see a wretched wasteland of what my life and relationships used to comprise.

Standing up against racism always sounded good to me in theory, but when I chose to put my family and friends on the line, I never realized how alone I would become.

How could I ever explain to my kids down the road that I backed down and kept relationships with people who accepted and supported people that demonstrated overt racism?

I had to detach the familiar life-support of friends and family that I had constructed over the years. The burden was too heavy to bear, and it was too obvious to ignore any longer. I rehearsed the feelings that I was possibly going to experience once I drew clear lines in the sand. However, I was resolute and unwavering in my stance. I knew I had to let people know that there was not an option to remain in the lives of my children if they choose to associate with people who view my children as less than human.

Hard Truth

Racism is violent.

I no longer allowed myself to speak about such violence in ways that let the white folks in my life remain comfortable. I had to address it in a way that forced me to grow. I had to own my past and present deep-rooted racist ideologies. It was time to speak about my micro-aggressions openly. It was time to own all of the internal lies of inferiority that I told myself were true about the Black community. Though my children are young, I felt as if they could internally perceive my disingenuous expressions of how much I valued their Blackness. I told myself that I valued it, but I hadn’t yet proven it. I finally understood that even though I frequently spoke out about racism, I was still complicit in perpetuating racism against the Black community.

I was still complicit in perpetuating it against my children of whom I so frequently claimed I would die for.

Change Must Happen

“First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can’t agree with your methods of direct action;” who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a “more convenient season.” — Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

These words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. finally came to life for me. I felt those truths finally burrow deep into my soul. I could feel my brain and heart create a new connection that had never been there before. I was offered a new sense of clarity of which I still feel I do not deserve. The unrelenting fire of change was birthed inside of me.

There will be a time when people who confidently express, “Black Lives Matter” will be required to prove their words.

My time had finally come.

Hollow-Point Words

People have told me that they would take a bullet for my Black children. They expressed their deep love for my family. They told me they would always be there for me.

I allowed them to love my children while they choose to believe the lie that my children are inferior. Perhaps these people do not have a full understanding of their complicity yet, but I knew it was time to provide those facts and clarify the boundaries that come along with that understanding. The decision to set these boundaries destroyed some of my flesh and blood relationships. The expectation that people value my children’s lives over supporting racism led to the rawest demonstration of true colors that I have ever experienced.

If demanding that people value my children’s Black Lives led to me walking a treacherous and lonely path for the rest of my life, then I knew I had to make that choice.

I knew the frequent, hollow-point promises from those who “loved” my family could someday become the ammunition that led to the deaths of my Black children.

Never again will I willingly allow these types of people in my children’s lives.

My children’s Black Lives Matter more than keeping relationships with people who refuse to release their grip on their colorblindness and who will choose to remain comfortable in their whiteness at the potential cost of my children’s lives.

People cannot claim that they would take a bullet for my children when they are the ones who are willing to pull the trigger.

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Previously published on medium

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