Prejudice hijacked my trip to the holiday party. Sadly, I was the only one in the car. As a white guy learning to fight racism, I was blindsided. Repulsed by the voice in my head, the lies persisted until I encountered truth.
Two weeks earlier, I met Tohmai at a DC post office, awaiting the doors to open. I was getting a passport, and he was doing a maildrop for business. Tohmai is an engaging entrepreneur growing a successful Washington DC real estate business. The conversation easily flowed, and we exchanged business cards with the plan to connect over a meal.
Two days before the Fourth of July holiday, Tohmai and I met for lunch, where I got to know the DC native. Growing up in a low-income neighborhood and the son of a single mother, he knew he didn't want to end up as another African-American statistic, either behind bars or dead. And his ever-growing client list proves he is achieving his dream of helping people. During our conversation, I shared a bit of my study of social justice and racial reconciliation issues and acknowledged the changes our country needs to make to bring about equality. As lunch was wrapping up, Tohmai extended an offer to join him for a Fourth of July cookout with friends. With my family out of town and no holiday plans, it was an easy "yes," and we snapped a selfie to commemorate the discussion.
On the big day, I spent the holiday morning binge-watching the Netflix series, When They See Us. The series recounts the story of five New York teenagers wrongly accused and convicted of a brutal rape in Central Park in 1989. The story is heart-wrenching. I have immersed myself in literature and discussions about racism to reveal and eradicate this evil in my life, and expected this series to be another means to that end.
The cookout was in Temple Hills, Maryland, an hour drive, around the Washington DC beltway, in a predominantly African-American suburb. Tohmai was going to arrive later which meant I would manage my introduction to the group on my own.
Shortly after getting on the road, anxiety and fear started to build. Then the questions started popping;
How well do you know Tohmai?
What if this is a setup?
With your wife out of town, who is going to come and get you if it goes wrong?
Shouldn't you text the address to your kids just in case?
What are you trying to prove?
Is this your equivalent of the movie, Get Out, and how will you escape?
Why do you think you are even wanted at this party?
Why did you bring your wife's car when you could have driven your old car that isn’t a target?
My palms grew sweaty, my heart raced, and the justification for going home and telling Tohmai "something came up" ricocheted around my skull. These questioning voices didn't make sense, but the assault felt real.
Moments earlier, I watched nearly five-hours of a gut-wrenching film about Black and Latino teenagers falsely accused by a system capitalizing on stereotypes, and now I was repeating the same narrative. I expected the film’s central message to pierce my heart as immunization against the fear enveloping me. But apparently, watching a five-hour onslaught of racism’s effect on the innocent was not enough to move an indifferent heart to compassion and empathy.
I refueled at a gas station near the destination and looked at the other patrons to get a sense if they knew I didn't belong. No indication was given. I pulled into the middle-class neighborhood of red brick ranch style homes, and parked around the corner, stalling, waiting. Perhaps another chance to back out. My fears were unfounded, yet my heart raced, and anxious questions persisted.
Eventually, I pulled up to the address, and paid extra attention to “correctly park,” as another stall tactic disguised as caution. I followed two African-American teenage girls into the home with a nervous smile, a bottle of wine, and an invisible backpack of negative bias and stereotypes.
I introduced myself to an engaging young couple in the foyer and mentioned Tohmai's invite. The teenage girls were cordial but confident I was in the wrong place. The couple didn't have a category for the story I told, yet tried their best to help this lost white guy find his destination. Blood rushed to my face in embarrassment as I stuttered and stammered through my explanation of lunch with Tohmai and his invite. Alternate holiday plans had already begun to form in the back of my mind. Eventually, I remembered the selfie with Tohmai, and it became my ticket for the evening. The hosts made the connection, granted access, and the world opened up.
I had a spectacular evening of crabs, grilled chicken, deserts, laughter, conversation, and fireworks. The party guests included several entrepreneurs, IT professionals, a retired civil servant from my company, a pastry chef, a gentleman farmer, and a host of other delightful people. I learned Temple Hills residents know how to put on a show. The four corners of this neighborhood held a competition that gave the big firework shows a run for their money. And yes, out of the 40ish people at the house, I was the only one that looked like me.
This experience will go down as one of my best Fourth of July celebrations ever, while every fear, anxiety, and racist trope was proven wrong.
But, the story must not end there.
Although the experience was glorious; important, uncomfortable, and troubling questions emerged that caused me to look at the bigger picture before narrowing back to my role to make a difference.
Why was I so fearful?
Would I have feared if I was attending an all-white, Asian, or Latinx party?
What lies do I believe about African-Americans and other Persons of Color?
What stereotypes and biases inform my thoughts?
Why didn't watching When They See Us have a more profound impact on me, and tangibly inform the way I thought about those I met during the evening?
What steps must I take to uproot wrong assumptions?
If I have purposely sought to rid myself of racism, and this is the outcome, how difficult is it for those who haven't worked to counteract racist thoughts and ideas?
What can I do to deconstruct stereotypes?
How does my white presence negatively impact others' ability to have their own space?
How can I love my neighbor as they want to be loved?
I am in mid-life and have only begun working to cure my racial ignorance over the last few years. The lost time grieves me, and this experience proves work remains. I have sought to understand the reach of white supremacy and the privilege extended to white men like me. Yet, prejudice persists.
A dose of self-flagellation mixed with a shot of guilt to rid me of this nasty bug is tempting. However, this is not the flu, and the American mindset is designed to distract from the healing work required to undo the pain of white supremacy. If profiled on the street, I would have quickly denied having racist thoughts, and further justified my “woke” racial awareness with the books on my reading list. However, author Ibram X. Kendi offers no wiggle room as he writes in How To Be An Antiracist, "there is no neutrality in the racism struggle. The opposite of 'racist' isn't 'not racist.' It is 'antiracist.' One endorses either the idea of racial hierarchy as racist or racial equality as an antiracist." There is no middle ground, and on that drive around the beltway, my body vibrated with racist and prejudicial fears.
My shuddering prompted my reflection on this particular event, yet this perceived superiority is not limited to white and black. A sense of superiority and prejudice drives a wedge between us through socio-economic, religious, political, colorism, tribal, country of origin, and countless other means. Whether acted upon or not, my temptation is to find something about the other that ensures I am one rung higher on the ladder, to fortify my place in the world. I thought I had cauterized the insidious prejudicial tendrils, but as a game of Whack-A-Mole, the varmint emerges again and again. The messy lifelong work begins with self-awareness and an unflinching introspection upon the grievous beliefs that live unaddressed within.
Granted, my story is not unique; another white guy learns racism is coursing through his veins and is surprised. It's an old story. Additionally, all Persons of Color know this truth, contend with this daily reality, and have been trying to be heard for centuries. The only people ignorant of this truth, are those infected with the illusion of superiority. The naked Emperor has been marching down the street with thumbs in his ears, refusing to listen to the truth.
The revolutionary act is to realize one has no clothes and take responsibility for the delusional beliefs. It is kind of others to offer observations about our nakedness. However, the burden remains firmly on the white community to refuse to propagate the generations of lies gleefully spoon-fed to our children and egos.
Those that identify as "White" will claim significant progress because slavery was, "oh so many years ago." However, seemingly yesterday, we brought picnic baskets to lynchings — the last of these atrocities was in 1981 when I was 11-years-old. We explain away the stunning disparity in the prison population as just "enforcing the laws on the books," but fail to take responsibility for how the white majority established a socio-economic and judicial system that prevents the equality promised in the Constitution.
While it may be uncomfortable, it is just and patriotic to address our cancerous ills. In Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community, Martin Luther King Jr. wrote, "In the days ahead we must not consider it unpatriotic to raise certain basic questions about our national character." White supremacy is devious and will take whatever form is required to preserve itself, regardless of the stain on our nation's character. In the same work, MLK calls me to take responsibility for my ignorance.
“Whites, it must frankly be said, are not putting in a similar mass effort to re-educate themselves out of their racial ignorance. It is an aspect of their sense of superiority that the white people of America believe they have so little to learn. The reality of substantial investment to assist Negroes into the twentieth century, adjusting to Negro neighbors and genuine school integration, is still a nightmare for all too many white Americans.” - Martin Luther King Jr.
Maturity requires putting away the fairytales of childhood and acting on the truth. The falsehoods of white supremacy and privilege must be repudiated. That late July afternoon, my racist judgments and baseless fears were abhorrent and must not be tolerated. Few wear the KKK hoods or espouse extremist views. However, limiting the definition to the extreme examples, stunts the conversation for fear of a label, ensures no personnel insights are achieved, and the status quo remains.
To live as an anti-racist delivers on the freedom to love and encourage humans living in a world fortified by truth. The racist precariously perches on a lie, named racial superiority. The work for the courageous has waited 400 years, to bring to fruition the aspirational goals codified in the Constitution.
Humanity's most significant problems will only be solved when the insights and talents of everyone are brought to bear in an equal and just society. Today is the awkward present, where we must boldly stumble and fumble our way through undoing the havoc our inheritance of racist views have wreaked. The white supremacist system was intentionally built and can, therefore, be deliberately taken apart, brick-by-brick, and person-by-person.
My experience happened on a day when the nation celebrates independence from unjust tyranny. Due to the crippling effects of racism, we merely traded tyrannies and deeply drank a lie into our bones, at the brutal expense of our sisters and brothers. We have been fools to believe there isn't a high cost to pay for the empty short-term gains white supremacy promised. Those of us who have reaped the rewards of whiteness have a herculean task ahead to dismantle white supremacy.
Martin Luther King Jr. wrote Where Do We Go From Here, in 1967 and the work is left undone. It is time to be vulnerable and empty our pockets of prejudice, lies of supremacy, discrimination, and racism. If fear is your motivation, then know future generations will judge harshly for complacency. If love is your motivation, then know freedom awaits. The unfulfilled promises have waited long enough.
Ken Woodward