“I am so tired of waiting,
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two—
And see what worms are eating
At the rind.” – Tired by Langston Hughes
Forgive me, but I don’t think that I can relate what I am about to write to gardening in any significant way and I’m not going to try.
Last night I watched the St. Louis, MO prosecutor, Bob McCulloch read the grand jury’s decision to not indict police officer Darren Wilson in the shooting death of Michael Brown. Like many of you I was horrified by what I heard. The statement was long and I can’t tell if what was presented was a well-executed form of dazzle camouflage, distracting citizens away from an angry response, or if it really took them that long to prepare the most inept and outright grotesque justification in not bringing this man to trial. The only person indicted by Mr. McCulloch’s words were Michael Brown. I felt sick, angry, paralyzed, horrified, yet not surprised at all and across my Twitter stream I saw the same response from many of you. This is the world we live in.
Last night, after the announcement, my friend Karen Walrond, whom I have interviewed here for the podcast made a public request via Twitter:
“I have one request to my dear, sweet friends who are in social media & who are white. Please, I implore you, SAY SOMETHING. If this affects you – and I hope, as my friend, it does – WRITE SOMETHING. I know, if you are white, it is scary to talk about race. I really, truly get it. It’s a huge risk, and backlash – from both whites and blacks can sting. I get it. I’m asking you to take the risk and talk about it anyway. Because right now, it feels like my black voice doesn’t matter in America. And if you are a white friend who has a platform to speak, and you say nothing, your silence hurts.”
Her words were just the push I needed to write today. Lately, I’m not writing as much publicly and as I slowly pull teeth at the keyboard, I struggle with whether or not I am a capable writer at all. I have a voice and I have a platform — these days I often forget that I have either. But this is important so I will push through my own garbage and try.
I have at times attempted to write about race, but I have most often framed it within the world of gardening since this is the area in which I work publicly. Regardless, I am as of yet unsatisfied with all that I have not written on the topic. There is a lot inside of me, but as Karen said, it is scary to talk about race. It is complicated; it makes people uneasy. Facing the truth about our culture and our own complicity within it pushes against a belief that we hold onto tightly, defensively, that we are, for the most part, good people. For how can we be good people yet prop up a system that allows white supremacy to thrive? And I’m not talking here about the the burning crosses and hooded figures white supremacy that we have come to know in movies. I am not talking about the horrifying stories of the past that we watch on screens and read about in books and then tell ourselves, I’m so glad it’s not like that anymore. I’m talking about institutionalized racism. I am talking about the everyday white supremacy that those of us who have white skin benefit from, whether we chose to acknowledge it or not. This is not about the “old racists” with power. I don’t subscribe to the notion that as soon as they die off things will be better. It will stay exactly the same. The old racists will be replaced with new ones all too eager to slip into their place. As long as we continue to remain passive, silent participants, we provide the fuel that props up systems of power and keep them running.
“My skin is yellow
my hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong” – from Four Women by Nina Simone
My skin is white. My mother’s skin is brown. My grandmother’s skin is black. Of course, things are not as simple as that seems. My mother’s siblings have black skin. My great-grandmother has been described as a “light-skinned creole woman,” but that could mean anything given the confusing manner in which family members have talked about complexion and whiteness/blackness. My brother is not white or brown, but with curly dark hair, brown eyes, and an olive complexion is often mistaken for having a Mediterranean background, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Despite my own attempts at research, my lineage remains unclear. What I do know is that however it happened, whether by choice or by force, my ancestors have been mixed race going back to slavery. My family is a diverse mix of skin tones, hair types, and eye colours. I am by far the whitest, which I have to be honest has brought a lot of confusion for me around identity. I need to interject here and say that this confusion is not a bad thing. I am proud of my background and feel a sort of privilege in the unique perspective and wealth of experiences it has offered me. The difficulty I have experienced is not with being mixed race itself, but the result of living within a culture of binary opposites. We see things in black and white only, and that includes people. And to be frank, when we see black, we often don’t see people at all.
I am white. But I’m not. But I am. But I’m not. What this means is that I don’t identify as a white person. I also don’t identify as a black person, because I’m not. I am somewhere on the spectrum in between. I am both and neither. Regardless of my own personal sense of identity, I am also very aware that out in the world I am perceived as a white person. People who pass me on the street or see my photo on the back of a book jacket or the about page on this website form an immediate, unconscious idea of where to categorize me. Except for a few small, imperceptible features, I more than pass for white and should I choose, I have the option to walk through life passing. I have always known this, even when I was too young to understand what it meant.
Growing up, I sensed that my grandmother was off somehow. Her entire way of being seemed rooted in fear to the point of paranoia. As an adult I have the intellectual ability to see that there were mental health issues, but I also have enough knowledge of the horrors that she experienced within her lifetime to understand how a person can be broken by the weight of life as a black woman living in a plantocracy. Knowing what I know, I no longer believe that her fear was paranoia at all. In turn, this woman raised my mother, a beautiful girl with a light complexion and that “good” straight hair. I carry a great deal of anger for her and the neglectful, hateful way she raised me, yet I empathize with her too. I can see, HAVE SEEN with my own eyes and ears how this culture of white supremacy where black bodies are worthless and black women are worth even less destroyed her systematically, piece-by-piece. [I thought a lot about my use of the term “black bodies” here, but the trouble is that my grandmother and mother had abuses and indignities perpetrated against them because they were seen as little more than bodies to be used. Not people and if people, they are below, significantly less than.] I have been a witness to some of what my mother experienced and it is as the result of my skin colour that I have also been subjected to how some white people can act and the things they will say when they believe they are in the company of another white person.
I say all of this to be clear that I was raised by these two broken women and that made me believe — it still makes me think sometimes — that I do not benefit, can’t possibly benefit from white supremacy. That I can’t possibly be a participant in this system. It took me a very, very long time to truly understand that despite my background, I have white skin and that perception of me by others puts me at an advantage that my grandmother and mother did/do not have. It has given me the potential for a kind of agency that they could never have within the strangling grip of this culture.
There’s so much more that I could say on the subject of race, but I need to bring this to an end for now. All I know is that if we can’t look at ourselves honestly and face the reality of the world that we live in and where we sit within it, then we have no chance to move forward. We will stay the same forever. Can you live with that? I can’t.
Thank you for this–your perspective, your voice, your frustration. I admit to not knowing where to go from here, but I’m not okay with how things are. I’m angry, I’m sick to my stomach, and I’m so worried it will all blow over with the next news cycle.
I worry about that too. It’s so easy — too easy — to let things fade away when talking about it makes us all so uncomfortable and when we aren’t the ones who have to face the reality of it each day. I think we need to get comfortable with our discomfort and keep pushing the conversation. God, I don’t know. I can be so hopeful in one moment and so cynical in the next.
My friend — this — THIS — is beautiful. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
K.
Thank you for the push.
This was brave and powerful — thank you for sharing.
Gayla, I just want to commend you for writing this piece. For so many reasons, it was and is a brave thing to do. Thank you.
Thanks so much. i appreciate the support. I felt fine about it when I wrote it, but as is often the case I’ve felt some personal backlash since. It’s the vulnerability, especially because this is such a difficult topic.
Whoa: what a beautiful, eloquent, honest, insightful piece of writing. Please–PLEASE–write more about this. Not only is it fascinating, it is eye-opening. And important. Thank you for this.
Thank you. Writing it helped me in ways I didn’t anticipate.
This was an amazing piece, I too want to see more of this and thank you for sharing. WOW.
Thank you.
Very powerful. My husband is Jewish and I’m not, but neither if us is religious. He doesn’t look like what most people think Jewish people look like. So, like you, he is accustomed to people saying very ignorant things in our company. Often when confronted, they are more upset about being “caught” than they are about their bigoted views.
I’m so glad you shared this. Please keep writing.
I am white, but I married a brownish man (adopted and raised “white”; actually Mexican; sometimes mistaken for Middle Eastern). And now we have a brownish child. A male brownish child, who one day may wear hoodies, carry toy guns, walk in neighborhoods at night, inherit his father’s mistrust of cops…
I can’t imagine having to both explain this to a child and also carry so much fear for their safety.
teach him at a very young age not to play with guns……..toys guns can get him killed. With his toy gun, he may face in his neighbor, a police office with military might who thinks he is a demon. All he wants to do is kill him
Thanks Gayla for your STANCE.
It is said that NO ONE IS FREE UNTIL ALL ARE FREED.
This is positively gorgeous — the writing and the sentiments.
Thank you.
Thank you for this. Your words, beautiful and so appreciated.
Thank you. And I appreciate your support.
Well written. This piece gave me goosebumps.
Thank you.
Thank you for sharing this. Like others said, it’s fascinating and so important.
It’s taken me some time to comment and I thought a few days would garner more than a “thank you” or “please keep writing” but, alas. It’s all I have. This was that powerful.
I just found this post and wanted to thank you for it. Like you I feel somewhere in between on that spectrum. And I need to remind myself of those very things you noted.
Thanks Gayla for writing this post. It goes on to remind me of Jefferson’s quote – (paraphrased) when something goes wrong, those who have the power to do something, have the responsibility to get it done.
We all have that power. Every single one of us. And we all have that responsibility.
Thank you for the article and make me think what I can do about it.
That’s a very positive and useful way to frame this.
This piece isn’t out of place on a gardening site because it’s something that we should be thinking about and talking about as humans. Thank you for sharing your story and perspective with us.
Thank you for saying that Mary. I appreciate it.
Thank you so much for writing this. It is wonderfully done and clearly from the heart. As a blind person, it is hard for some people to understand that I can do so much more. This is true of all humans, regardless of race, disability, etc. The thing is that if prejudiced people could not see, many times they would not know what color someone’s skin is. I know this must have taken a lot for you to share. I just want you to know that it is appreciated. Is there a nonprofit website where many of us who, even if we are white, can speak out about the results of the trial?
Thank you Anne. I don’t know of any specific websites where you can write. However, if you have a social media account like Facebook, that may be a good place to start.
My son is a police officer and until you have walked in his shoes and see what the officers go through then you must refrain from your open condemnation of this p.o. It appears all your info is coming from news reports. How sad for you, that you had to fall into “crowd mentality” Did you not see or read all reports
and history of the victim, did you not read what he father said to do. In your haste to be politically correct and one of the group you missed the chance to apply forgiveness. Do you condone their violence, fires, riots, threats, that’s ok
to you. My opinion. Your book out the window, I’m sorry for you. PEACE
I am not writing about all police officers, I am addressing this case. Don’t presume to know what is in my head, especially given that it is clear from your comments that you did not read what I wrote. I took the time to read your comments and consider them. How about you have the common courtesy to do the same?
How side you could not print an opposing view. What are you afraid of. It was my thoughts and my opinion, expressed without anger, threat, or intimidation.
Why did my comments warrant moderation, because they were not your
views, again so sorry you can’t hear the other side. We’re you there and participated. Did you not see what happened from that side? Peace to you, I hope you do not want or agree with violence, riots, and fire as an answer.
Police officers serve a valuable purpose, who will you call if you need help.
Thank you, again I’m a mother of a police office. So sorry for you, gosh!
Diana,
Based on the time stamp, 10 minutes passed before you came back to rant that your comment had not been allowed through. Do you know what I was doing in those 10 minutes? WORKING. Email was shut off. I was not moderating comments at that time. Your fear and paranoia is tragic.
My admiration for you continues to grow, Gayla. You are sticking your neck out on many issues and few are brave enough to do that in writing. Please don’t stop “leading by example”.
I don’t know what else to say.
a white racist manifesto
i am white. i think.
have I kissed the coloured lips of another’s pain?
i forget.
remind me again and again,
that we never truly know who we are until we become a part
of each other…naked
alone
and afraid
in each other’s darkness
julia ward
Gayla thank you for this very brave post. This is a difficult topic, but worth discussing. And relevant to gardening. As a healing community, gardening is so important to bringing people together. I think a garden blog is the perfect place to discuss this. The news is so frightening. I admire your strength in writing this.
Gayla – beautiful, brave, searching post.
I’ve considered it over a period of days – days spent watching & listening to the news, people around me, time with the small children I care for & their families & time spent examining myself.
My father is First Nations & was in Residential School – his painful past became a painful legacy for his family (us). He left his reserve & extended family because he could “pass” for white, as can my siblings & I.
I have similarly experienced moments of profound racism on both sides – as a “white” woman and First Nations.
My hope is that these uncomfortable conversations will not be dropped until the people perpetuating hatred & violence are uncomfortable – because they are the minority.
I would dearly love for the things making everyday news to become things future children only know about from history lessons.
Gardeners are human beings sharing this planet, this discussion belongs here and we all need to speak & listen & reflect on what role we are playing & what role we want to play, what kind of person we are & who we want to become.
I’m seeing red over the previous comment about “their” riots.
It’s high jacked what I wanted to say so my apologies if my comment is rambly & disjointed.
People need to figure out that we are all one race – the human race – and act accordingly. Grow up & treat each other with dignity & respect. It is the minimum a human life deserves.
I caught “their riots” too. I decided not to expend my energy arguing there because I don’t think that person had even bothered to read what I wrote and would not bother to read comments either. Your comment is not rambling or disjointed. It is thoughtful and considerate. Thank you for sharing your personal experiences with us. I’m sorry your father was in a residential school. They were horrific.
My thinking is that those who perpetuate hate will keep doing so. I’m not convinced that they can be swayed to change. They’re watching and listening with their own filters firmly in place. Very few of them will ever be persuaded to see things differently. They are loud and pushy, but their numbers are in the minority.
Where I see an opportunity for real change is with the thoughtful and caring people who live in the middle ground and do not see themselves as playing any role in the perpetuation of a culture of white supremacy. Those who are horrified by the thought of it. They are the majority.
One of the benefits to being mixed race is that it has made it impossible for me to see things so easily in terms of binary opposites. I agree that we are all just humans with cultural and regional differences that have nothing to do with who we are at the core. We could learn from one another. We could be so very different. Unfortunately, so many fall into a terrible trap in needing to place themselves onto a faulty ladder, a hierarchy that is based on superficiality. This way of thinking is perpetuated in countless small and big ways. I fear that the massive paradigm shift needed to turn that over is too great and we’ll be stuck in this immature way of being forever.
I often turn to The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action by Audre Lorde when I am struggling with writing and using my voice. [https://shrinkingphallus.wordpress.com/the-transformation-of-silence-into-language-and-action-by-audre-lorde/] In this case the lines at the end really resonate: ” …for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken.”