Day One: I am an anti-Black racist.
By: Jee Young Park
Tags: Anti Black Racism, Racism, Journaling

Day One: I am an anti-Black racist.

Before I’m crucified or worse off, ignored: when I say, “I am an anti-Black racist” it’s not with pride. I say it with the same tone I imagine someone in recovery would say, “Hi, I’m Jane and I’m an alcoholic.”

I consider this a marked improvement from the chirpy and self-righteous tone I would have said, “I’m an antiracist! Black Lives Matter!” I’ve never declared myself as an antiracist, by the way. Mostly because I can’t. Of the many horrors I participate in, for one, is the prison-industrial complex which I implicitly support and fund when I pay my taxes. And let’s not talk about the promotions I’ve taken in place of Black co-workers who were more deserving, considering tenure and performance. I can’t take up the label on social media, in-person, or even in the privacy of my own thoughts. In my heart, I know I’m not an antiracist although I aspire to be one; I’m not worthy of the label.

Alas, I’ll cut this short because we don’t need another essay of prolonged self-flagellation and white-adjacent guilt. I also can’t write a personal essay about how enlightening this past month has been when it comes to my knowledge of the persecution of Black people, the extent of their suffering, and my part in it. To be honest, I’ve known this for a long time and I think most of you have known it too.

In a widely shared video (at least in my corner of the internet), a white woman asks white people in the audience to stand if they would be happy to be treated as a Black person is in our society. No one stands. She goes on to say, this is proof you are all aware of the difficulties and injustices that Black people face, and clearly this is not something you would want for yourself. This video looks like it was recorded in the 1970s. I knew when I was ten or eleven what it meant to be Black. Maybe not in so many words as I do now but I knew, instinctually, the same way you knew in fifth grade not to sit next to Erica during lunch because she’s a “loser”. This is not to say the reality of Blackness rests solely on the suffering other people inflict on them. It encompasses the full expression of their humanity as it does for everyone else.

In contrast to what I perceive as popular opinion, I don’t think the appropriate response for non-Black people is to be up in arms about what’s happening in the United States. A more appropriate response would be to be ashamed, deeply remorseful, and grateful that Black activists purposefully disown divisive, hateful rhetoric because it would only further chaos, pain, and violence. Should non-Blacks be protesting, then? Definitely. Voting in solidarity for Black interests? Absolutely. Calling out their racist aunt? Probably. But to be angry? I don’t think so. At who? The government? Other white people? Trump supporters? “Those” Asians? Who do we really have to be angry with but ourselves when it comes to anti-Black racism? Or more importantly, who can we more effectively control and affect other than our very own self?

Suddenly becoming anything without reckoning is dangerous. It’s reductive. It’s insulting. It’s the other scarlet letter everyone is avoiding like the coronavirus: it’s performative. No self-respecting adult can take up a label, at least one that requires such a paradigm shift without giving it thought, debate, and self-reflection. I don’t want to make the mistake of declaring myself as part of the solution when I’ve failed to admit my part in the problem. As Ibram X. Kendi draws the parallel in his widely read and recommended book, How To Be An Antiracist, to be antiracist is like fighting an addiction. One that requires you to fully, consciously, and persistently acknowledge the ways you are, in fact, a racist and to remain vigilant.