My White Fragility

I’m almost finished reading Robin DeAngelo’s White Fragility, which is the #1 bestselling book on Amazon right now as we are in the midst of the police brutality protests following the brutal murder of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police. White Fragility is an important book that I hope will become required reading in high schools. Having worked in employment discrimination law and even conducted trainings on race discrimination, I had already heard many of the things that DeAngelo teaches. Hearing something, or even learning it, however, does not equate to practicing it.

If you know me, you undoubtedly know that I am a progressive, left-wing democrat. I do not tolerate hatred of any group and I have been outspoken in my support of the #BlackLivesMatter movement. I have close friends of many different colors and nationalities. Although I’m not certain, I think I was in high school the first time I joined the NAACP. I would never intentionally discriminate against someone on the basis of race or any other immutable characteristic.

Despite all of those things, I realized that a lot of the times when DeAngelo described someone who has taken advantage of the benefit of white privilege, failed to question their own biases and prejudices, and used “white fragility” to their advantage, she was describing me. I have no doubt that my friends – regardless of skin color - would say that I am not racist. But in reality I think that what they would mean is, “compared to most white people born and raised in the South, you aren’t racist.” While that may be true, it does not excuse my own behavior. 

It does not excuse my racism.

I am writing this for two reasons. First, I want to communicate to every person of color who I have ever interacted with (or ignored) that I am truly sorry for any offensive behavior and inexcusable ignorance, and that I am always open to discussing with you anything that I have done that you felt was racist or simply not racially sensitive. The sad truth is that my actions may have been more memorable to you than they were to me. I want to listen and remember. I want to learn to be better. I want to stop being fragile.

Second, I want to communicate to white people who see me as progressive that I am not immune from this, and neither are you. If I can look at my own behavior and see racism, then you can too. And you should. You need to. If we do not do this, nothing will change. Racism will continue to dominate every American institution. White people will continue to exercise the privileges afforded them by virtue of their skin color at the expense of people of color. Cops will keep killing black people.

We all want to distance ourselves from the racist cop who murdered George Floyd. I read that one of the police officers who was charged with aiding and abetting in Floyd’s murder is claiming that he “did everything he could” to stop the killing because he said things like, “maybe we should turn him on his side.” Even he wants to distance himself. It’s easier for those of us who were not there, who have never been witness to police brutality directed at people of color, to distance ourselves from the murder. But it is not good enough to say, “I would never kneel on a black man’s neck until he died, so I’m not racist” or “I would never kill someone so I’m not racist.”

The man who killed George Floyd was in his mid-forties. He had some eighteen prior complaints against him in as many years on the police force. Do you think that he only acted violently at work? That he reserved his racist beliefs for moments where he had a black man completely under his control? Of course not. It would not be possible for someone to hide such hatred. According to one study, the average American knows around 600 people. How many of the 600 people in Derek Chauvin’s life knew that he was racist and a police officer? How many of them confronted him? Reported him? When people say, “White Silence is Violence,” this is what they mean. Chauvin’s 600 may not have known he was capable of murder, but many of them had to know that he was racist and in a position where he could act on his racism.

Do you know anyone like that? Think hard. What are you going to do about it?

When I was a young prosecutor, I asked a white police officer prior to a hearing why he had pulled over the African-American defendant. We were alone in the hallway when he shrugged and said, “What do you want me to say?” Taken aback, I responded, “The truth.” The cop asked to look at the citation again “to refresh his memory.” I declined. “It’s not on there,” I said. The I asked him flat out if he pulled the guy over because he was black. He asked to see the citation again. I told him to get out of my sight and never to bring me another case. I dismissed the case and told the defense attorney why. I may have even reported it to his supervisor, but I honestly cannot recall (I reported a lot of officers for various reasons, mostly for missing court, so this is not something that would have stood out). What I know for certain is that I did not follow up. I did nothing to ensure that the police officer, who was not only racist, but willing to lie under oath, never made another arrest. I certainly could have. Instead, I felt proud of myself for berating him and moved on to the next case. God only knows what that man has done since then. I don't even remember his name.

Please, resist the urge to say that I did more than “most people” would have done in those circumstances. I do not judge my own morality by the morals of others. What I did was not good enough. What if that cop was Derek Chauvin? Would the fact that I had called him out privately have stopped him from killing George Floyd? Of course not. Getting him permanently assigned to desk duty might have. Getting him fired definitely would have. We have to stop patting ourselves on the back simply because we don’t do what the really racist bad guys do. It is not good enough just to refrain from using racially derogatory language. It is not good enough to post articles on social media about police brutality. It is not good enough to not vote for bigots, have black friends, hire black people, or even march for justice. Of course, we should do all of those things, but we also need to do the important work of examining ourselves. We need to see not only our own prejudices, but also our own complacency.

We have to acknowledge not only that we have passively benefited from white privilege, but also that we have actively taken advantage of it. We have to admit that doing so was racist. We have to admit that our racism, whatever form it took, contributed to the systemic inequality in America. We have to admit that, deep down, we knew that it would.

Facing the reality of our own racist actions is not easy. It takes a lot of work. Some years ago, when I was coaching mock trial, I asked one of my black students how she was going to do her hair for the competition. Her eyes widened and she responded that she was going to wear it natural, like she always did. When I suggested that she pull it back to stay out of her face and “look more professional,” she accused me of singling her out. I denied this and said that I had told many of the other girls to pull their hair back to make it less distracting, and some of the other girls acknowledged this. The student said she would think about it and eventually agreed to wear a headband. Of course, she did not really have a choice. I was the coach.

A couple years later, I read an article about black women’s hair and almost immediately realized that what I had done was very, very wrong. I reached out to the student, who was now in college, and apologized (she was very gracious), and I moved on having learned an important lesson. I have told this story to many people over the years, often for the purpose of helping people realize how ignorance of black culture can lead to unintentional discrimination. As I read White Fragility and thought back to this incident, however, I realized that there was nothing unintentional about my actions. I did not need to understand the historical significance of hair in African-American culture to know that it was inappropriate for me to tell this young woman that her hairstyle was unprofessional. In fact, as I re-analyzed the situation, I remembered that I had actually consulted with another adult on the best way to broach the subject with the young woman. I knew better.

This is not a confessional or a ploy to relieve myself of “white guilt” and I do not care for opinions on the morality of what I did (I am leaving out a lot of relevant details for the very purpose of avoiding that discussion – please just assume that I am correct in my assessment that I did the wrong thing in this situation). I am telling this story because I want other white people to read it and think about situations in their own lives where they have perpetuated racism. I want to encourage you to analyze not only what you did or said, but what you were thinking when you did it. If you want to discuss it publicly, you are welcome to do so here, but right now I ask only that you think about it and acknowledge it in your heart. Take the first step.

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Dog Grief

Reflecting on the past three and a half months, I have learned some things about grieving the loss of a beloved dog:

1. Three months is not enough time to prepare for the loss.
2. Three months is not enough time to "get over" the loss, either.
3. I have zero regrets about a single dollar I spent to get those three months after his diagnosis. I would have done the same thing even if I had known in advance that I would only be able to buy three months. I never think about the money I spent as if I could have spent it on something else. No regrets there. (On the other hand, I think I would regret not trying everything that I tried, but that is only me in my circumstances. If Cash had been older or in more pain or if I did not have the resources I had at the time to try everything, I would have made different decisions. No judgment here.)
4. Besides the passage of time, I have not found anything that helps alleviate the horrible grief associated with losing an animal that you spent more time with than any other thing or person in your entire life. 
5. You can avoid hearing other people's ridiculously inappropriate opinions on euthanasia if you simply say that your dog "died of [cancer]" rather than referring to "putting him down" or anything like that. Euthanasia is not something that people can understand until they have been put in that horrible position with their own pet. My dog died of cancer. 
6. I struggle a lot with the fact that I had to make the decision to put Cash to sleep. I wanted nothing more than the cancer to stop his heart so that I would not have to make that decision.
7. You do not need anyone else to tell you when is the "right time" to let your dog die. You know your dog, so you will know when he has reached the limit of what he can handle. There may be other factors that influence your decision. That is okay. You don't owe anyone an explanation.
8. Your grief is compounded by watching your other pet(s) grieve and being unable to offer them any explanation or comfort for their loss.
9. For me, memorializing Cash's life by burying his body and marking the grave was a cathartic experience. I think it helped me begin to start healing.
10. I have not found anything else that helps.
11. Looking at pictures and videos does not help.
12. Getting another dog (even a puppy) does not help. In some ways, it makes it harder.
13. Getting another dog may help your other pet(s) who are grieving.
14. Do not get a young puppy if your other dog is older or just less energetic than a young puppy. The annoyance to your other dog probably negates however much the puppy helped.
15. Every now and then, when I'm alone with Tub, I pet her and tell her that I still miss him too. I think it helps her to hear it. I know it helps me to say it out loud.