I know I have a lot of good to share, but this past week has put me to the test. Old pain rose like bile in my stomach. I’ve been sickened and devastated, hopeless and hopeful. Outraged and vociferous one moment, and thoughtful and speechless the next. I was born in 1968, the same year Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated. My generation was the first born after the civil rights movement. We had an expectation of freedom and justice. We became doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers and businesspeople. We got union jobs and started our own businesses. We became poets, artists, musicians, singers and dancers. We became scientists, astronauts, senators and even a president. We created rap music and hip-hop culture. We opened restaurants serving Soul, Caribbean and African food. Black people have given so much to the landscape of this country. In many ways we have made the United States the envy of the world for our diversity and our perceived freedoms.

As a black woman, I’ve always known America’s dirty little secret. Whether it was quietly tucked in a closet, or clearly displayed in the middle of our national living room. For most of my life I’ve been able to shield myself: living in a black neighborhood, opting out of online groups when the conversation turned racist, not renting or driving in certain communities, avoiding racist websites, and ignoring racist comments and confederate flags. I have not been able to shield myself from egregious corporate racism. I first learned to suck it up, then I learned to walk away. Corporate America is not for me.

Lately, I’ve had white people ask what they can do to help the current civil unrest. Racism is a white problem. Black people can bring attention to it, but we cannot fix it. It’s in the hearts and minds of white people, who make up 60% of the population and own more than 98% of the land. https://inequality.org/research/owns-land It’s so pervasive it infiltrates the spirits of little black girls and boys everywhere who think there’s something wrong with their skin or their hair. We are beautiful. Our skin absorbs light and our hair defies gravity. We are magic. If you are white and you want to help, you can begin by telling black children they are beautiful.

Black people do all kinds of things, good and bad, but we are not oppressing white folks. Perhaps we spark occasional jealousy because we age really well and excel whenever given the opportunity. But, we never got our chance at reparations – our 40 acres and a mule. https://www.pbs.org/wnet/african-americans-many-rivers-to-cross/history/the-truth-behind-40-acres-and-a-mule/ We have more crime because we have more poverty. We have more poverty because we’ve been subjugated to sub-standard education, employment and housing. We didn’t create these problems ourselves – they were created for us. I’m not a proponent of crime, but I don’t think America cares until someone blocks a highway or burns down a building. 

Our men, women and children have been murdered over and over again without a shred of remorse. Even people I know who would swear on a stack of bibles that they “don’t see color,” expressed zero concern when Trayvon Martin was murdered and his killer was exonerated. The problem with racism is that it’s based in greed and ignorance, and seeks to divide us. Black mothers love our children just as much as any other mothers do. We have enough resources for everyone, if only we could share.