The sun’s rays reflected off of our family car to show a word that represents the dark history of a country shrouded in shadows. The “n-word” had been written in the dirt that coated the hood, similar to how my daughters draw on our car windows on cold Vermont days. Six letters arranged in a sinisterly calculated way by one harmful finger were able to direct generations of hate towards us, as if it came from the conductor of an adept orchestra, which had honed its evil sound for hundreds of years. We are still feeling the blow that was delivered from a quick and fleeting, yet powerful, unidentified finger of a human being whom we may never know, leaving our lives feeling upside down. The car sat in the driveway next to our home, once an oasis of safety and place of sanctitude for our multi-racial family, living in a desert of whiteness.
Light had done its job by illuminating the darkness that exists in the world around us, demonstrating how close we are to it, always. It was a reminder that we are never safe from the pervasive tentacles of racism, trying to check us and keep us living in fear, even in our home. The word hit like a dagger through my heart, so I can only imagine how my partner, Ferene, who is a Black woman, felt when I showed it to her. I watched as she took it in with shock, which turned to rage and then to pain. The impact that we have had on the community, as we lift up Black and Brown voices, needed a strong warning from whiteness that change will not come easily and without a fight.
“This was written for me,” Ferene said as we sat in the car, explaining the intimacy of the harmful act that would have her bed ridden for days and our family rocked to its core. Our eight year old daughter, Melodie, sat in the back seat and watched mom and dad search for words while we shed tears. We engaged in a conversation that seemed very familiar to an eight year old Black girl who had a prodigious understanding of racism, which is all too common for Black youth who are forced to carry the brutal truths, while their white neighbors are shielded from these realities. After the police inspected the vehicle, I wiped the letters and dirt off the car and threw the towel in the trash. The word was gone, but the wound would remain open.
I am deeply connected to Ferene and the girls so I suffer when they are hurting and yet I can never truly know what it is like to walk in their shoes as Black women. This divide creates a different type of pain for me as I am unable to absorb the same levels of harmful energy that have been directed towards our family. I see the impact on Ferene’s mental health and know the girls will have to fight a battle that I can avoid as a white man. I watch every step of it and attempt to go to this place with them, with the knowledge that I can never fully be there. There is a helpless feeling that is heartbreaking and forces me to be mindful of my privilege and do as much as I possibly can so that others who look like me and are “surprised” that this occurred can understand how real the pain is and how prevalent this hate is. Existing in the same space, but breathing different air, has been challenging for Ferene and I. These moments take a toll on our family, as we navigate the intersection of Black and white identities. Our love also grows through a beautiful struggle that results from the meeting of our differences with each other and the world around us.
We asked ourselves many questions in the coming days as our hearts and minds grappled with an act that doesn’t make any sense and is also precise within the racist society we live in. Who, when, and where led to deeper reflections such as, did they realize the pain it would cause or was it done without an understanding of the impact it would have? As we began to navigate a process of healing and forgiveness, moving from our personal situation to a more global perspective, we thought about the conditions that could allow someone to commit this type of act and those that are much worse. What allows a person to cause harm to another human being because of their skin color? Regardless of intention and level of awareness, it is a glimpse into a shared consciousness that is still occupied by much fear and hate. One could only be hurting and disconnected from their heart to inflict this on a family that has done nothing but exist in love and will continue to do so.
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Your air is polluted from the fear and hate that exist in this world. Whiteness and systems that are the veins that pump its blood, poison the oxygen you inhale. Blue eyes and blonde hair looking back at you from television screens, a president who denounced your heritage and schools where there are no teachers that look like you. All taking a toll on your self-worth, but remember that you come from the stars.
“Am I really your daughter?” You are already aware of our contrasting realities. I say “different skin colors are beautiful” to which you respond “yes, but if there weren’t different skin colors Black and brown people would not be suffering.” Wisdom that can only come from the soul of a queen who has cried oceans through the many lifetimes that you have graced this world.
I walk down the street and breathe freely. Greeted with hellos and safe within a cocoon of whiteness that protects its own. I wish that I could wear the colors of my loved ones like a badge for all to see, but I shamefully assimilate into a white abyss. The bootstraps that have allowed for the advancement of my ancestors have been a noose for yours. You are kicked to the curb by the schools, employers and systems that embrace me. Shadows lurk in the white skin that I wear, while light emanates from your melanin reflection.
Mom says, “it is so hard to exist in this Black body right now.” I wonder when you will reach this breaking point. It does not have to be the bullet that killed Breonna when an essential element can do the dirty work. A torturous weapon for mass genocide from slow and painful deaths. Time is of the essence to purify the air we breathe.
You sing, “Brown skin girl, your skin just like pearls, the best thing in the world, never trade you for anybody else.” I am blessed to know this truth.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: Shutterstock
