2015 in Review: Race and Staying Woke

I think a lot about race nowadays.  Debby Irving, in her book Waking Up White, asks the question “How often do you talk about race in your household?” with possible options supplied: once a day, once a week, once a month, once a year, or hardly ever.  Ten years ago, I believed I thought a lot about race and racism – you know, by considering it every couple weeks or so.  But, goodness, I really didn’t know what I didn’t know.  I was so naïve.  Krystal of 2015 thinks and talks about race and systematic racism every single day.  I can’t not see it.  I can’t not think about it.  It permeates my existence, my every interaction, my explanation for how I see the world.  In this situation of extreme inequity – where some folks are privileged based upon the color of skin and some folks fear for their lives because of the color of their skin – it defines and describes and is the basis upon my entire life.  Nothing is untouched. 

My waking up journey has taken many years – from a belief in being colorblind and everyone is equal because Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said we should be to a belief that every culture and background should be tolerated, then celebrated, then understood, and now to an ever present questioning of the world around me and the systematic design to advantage folks with white skin. 

I recognize and am grateful for my inherited privilege.  Completely selfishly, I am grateful that it meant that I had a great education, parents with jobs, no fear of police, and a preserved optimism about the world and opportunities around me.  I’ve had a fair amount of heartbreak as I’ve learned about all the unasked-for privilege I have and that it came fully at the expense of others.  It’s extraordinarily challenging to believe that I am entitled to everything that I have earned in my life because I know that I started farther ahead than many folks and I was given breaks along the way. 

I am a talented individual; I’m smart, I work hard, and I try to make the most of what I have.  However, I know that a major factor in landing my awesome job – at age 22 – was that the Middle School Head knew and trusted my Wash U Education advisor.  The Head did not talk with my student teaching cooperating teacher, who most likely would have given an honest and unflattering description of my abilities.  Instead, he reached out through his connections and hired someone who – on paper – seemed pretty identical to a wonderful hire from the previous year (who was also a White, Wash U educated, Kentucky-raised young woman).  He probably looked at me and thought, “She will grow into what we want her to be” and trusted that I would reach that goal.  I was given a chance – based upon who I was presumed to be and talents I was presumed to have and over substantially more qualified candidates.

My Wash U Education adviser’s recommendation sealed the job for me, which, because she is so well regarded, probably happened for dozens of teachers over the years.  But here’s the thing.  The fifteen student teachers in my Wash U cohort – the 20 teachers who had the advantage of my adviser’s well regarded connections and recommendations – we all were White.  And while there were students of color at Wash U, I don’t remember many in my education courses.  The all-White education faculty taught a mostly-White student body to go out and be White teachers in the community.  It would be foolish to think race played no part in my training and my job offer.  That’s one small instance of how race impacted my life and I never considered it until these last few years.

I have spent a significant amount of my 2015 year having conversations about race: about Whiteness, systematic racism, how we, as White folks, can help in antiracist efforts, how to support and amplify the voices of persons of color in my community, how to show that I care for the life and dignity of others.  I delved into a Witnessing Whiteness discussion group, followed up by a Waking Up White discussion group, followed up by The New Jim Crow.  I organized and participated in many Black Lives Matter vigils.  I attended rallies and protests but, more often, sat in committee meetings with the goal of moving police departments along in their accountability journey.  I helped shut down a highway.  I gave speeches.  I challenged statements by others that I, in the past, would have let slide to keep the peace.  I organized, mobilized, burned out, re-centered, and joined back in the efforts. 

I woke up in 2014.  2015 is the year I stayed woke.