How My Consciousness Has Affected My Relationships With White People
By: Jeanette C. Espinoza
Tags: Activism, BlackLivesMatter, Equality, Racism, Writing

I never believed racism had different levels of offensiveness. For me, either you’re racist or you’re not and any derogatory comment or action is equally problematic. A Klansman burning a cross on a Black person’s lawn carries the same weight as a co-worker telling a racist joke.

This is one area of my life where I have never allowed a grey area.

Over the past few months, it’s become clear that a few White people in my life do not share these views. During our conversations, some have expressed that making a “racist comment” doesn’t necessarily define someone as racist if they’re “just joking” or if they don’t use the “N” word.

So as long as it’s just a joke and they don’t call me a nigger, how could they possibly be racist? Because after all, everyone knows these are the only two ways someone can express racist tendencies, right?

Um…okay.

The more I speak out, write, and get involved with organizations devoted to securing racial equality and promoting the humanization of Black bodies, the further the divide deepens between myself and the White people I once considered my acquaintances and friends.

They stopped asking me how they could help combat injustice.

They even let go of the awkward “how are you feeling” calls and text messages. Honestly, I could do without the forced inquires about my well-being, but what once seemed like genuine concern for the liberation of Black people has been exposed for what it really was: momentary White guilt.

These people who knew me and some of the obstacles I’ve worked to overcome felt an obligation to pay lip service to my plight of being a Black woman in this country. They delivered award-winning performances of feigned interest for as long as they could. After all, they weren’t completely oblivious to the fact that they benefit from White supremacy, even though they wouldn’t dare say so out loud. Instead, their guilt played out not by readily accepting and acknowledging the racial inequities in this country, but by asking me if I was okay and what they could do to help.

Checking on your Black friend and at least asking what could be done to advance the movement surely meant you weren’t racist, right?

It was evident that I could no longer continue to live in a bubble of delusion.

The more White people in my life began to distance themselves from conversations related to anti-racism work, the more I knew our relationships with each other were never as they seemed. I had been there for their life events and supported causes that mattered to them but when it was my turn, reciprocity was nowhere to be found. It didn't matter how long I had known these people or how kind they might have been in the past. The bottom line was they couldn't comprehend that as long as racism still exists, speaking, writing, and joining groups formed to address it and find solutions would never have an expiration date.

If they couldn’t understand that, I could no longer be vulnerable in their company. I couldn’t be myself around them, which would mean stifling my views and beliefs. Their admission that some racism was okay simply because it wasn’t identical to the “in your face” hatred touted by right-wing extremists confirmed they had no idea of the impact microaggressions have on Black people and people of color. Ultimately it meant they were unable to step outside the comfort zone White supremacy afforded them and their families to help dismantle it for the protection of me and mine.