I have so many thoughts tumbling around in my brain right now that i’m not sure where to start, so I’m just going to start typing and see if I can make any sense of them.

This first half of 2020 has been nothing short of the strangest year I have ever lived through, providing I make it to the end of the year. Wildfires in Australia, a Pandemic and the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis. In the state that I now call home. A death, that I hope will bring pivotal change to these “United States” as we know them and the greater world.

But…. I am white. There is no denying my white Americanness. I am fair skinned, freckled and green eyed. I can trace my dad’s family line on this continent to colonial times and even further back to England. My parents were Southerners. My dad was from Arkansas and my mom was raised in Tennessee. I grew up in the north.

My ancestors fought in the Revolution. They owned slaves. They fought for the Confederacy. These are facts that I cannot change. I wish that they were not, but they are. I cringe every time I see a Black person who carries the same surname that was my maiden name because I know the likely reason that it is that way. It makes me feel ashamed. I cannot change it, it is how it is.

I was in elementary school in the 1970’s. The public school that I attended was an intentionally desegregated school. The Black kids were bussed from the south side of town to the north side of town for school. Most of the kids from the north side of town were not only white, but also from wealthier families, so the disparity was stark in many ways. I found myself sort of somewhere in the middle. Definitely white, but not as wealthy as most of my school mates, so I didn’t really fit. Of the few friends that I had, some were not caucasian. One of whom was Cassandra, the tough, but sweet Black girl from the south end. She stood up for me when I was bullied by other kids. i was so thankful for her.

I’m outraged at the subjugation that Black people have suffered, The injustice that they have encountered and the racism and prejudice they have endured. The outrage extends to the marginalization of all non-white people as well. But my outrage leaves me feeling like a hypocrite because of my ancestral past. Like I was somehow a part of the problem in the first place, and maybe I am. Maybe I have been by not talking about it. Maybe I have been by being more passive than I should have been. Maybe its not enough to treat people as fairly as I can in my own daily life.

But why? Why have I been passive and not talking about these things? I think at least part of it comes down to fear. I have never been one to like confrontation of any sort. Confrontation leaves me feeling vulnerable and stupid. I’m afraid that I will say or do something dumb. I’m afraid that i cannot argue a point well. So I avoid, I don’t engage.

But…. it is time that I learn how to set those fears aside. It might take me a while, but know that i am trying. Its time to open myself to other voices to try and really hear them.

So forgive me if my white girl ignorance makes a grand appearance from time to time. I’m sure that it will. But it is time for me to pick up and try to make amends for what was done in the past. I’m not even sure what that looks like, but I know it must be done.

I have a debt to repay, so Cassandra… wherever you are these days. This is for you and yours, to try and chart a better path for everyone.