Posts
by Dawn Irons, M.A., LPC-S
I have found myself getting lost inside my head these past
few days since the horrific murder of George Floyd. I have thoughts, feelings,
and anger that burns deep, right along many in our country, about the unjust
actions of a few corrupt cops. My perspective comes from being in an interracial
relationship with my husband for 30 years. I have raised three African American
children, who always remind me that I am the “white and nerdy” member of our
family. I’m not going to lie, that wasn’t as funny to me as it was to them. It
still stings a little.
As the riots began to take place, and I voiced my frustration
that this will solve absolutely nothing. I had several friends (of all colors
of the rainbow), and even extended family tell me that I needed to stay quiet because
“no one needs to hear your thoughts on oppression when you are sitting in a
place of privilege.” They said I am not “woke.” So, I pondered on these
thoughts a bit more. I shared with my black husband my frustration with these
riots. I have spent the last ten years of my life as a mental health advocate
and working with people from all walks of life. I have worked with all kinds of
races, religions, the LGBT community, and people with gender confusion. So, I
know a thing or two about oppression. They tell me I should have no voice in this
because I sit in a place of privilege. I say that because I have the
privilege of my education and training in mental health issues, working with
the oppressed, and 30-years’ experience of being integrated into a black family
that I feel compelled to speak. So, excuse me as I step right up to the
microphone. I have something to say.
I find the riots appalling. Want to know why? No one is
talking about police brutality. They are talking about riots and looting, and
without even realizing it, George Floyd is not even the issue anymore. Therefore,
once again, the oppressed have been silenced, and their righteous anger has
been hijacked by the fodder of the media’s unrighteous cause. And yet again, nothing will change. Nothing. Will
you remember the slaughtered man’s name tomorrow? It’s George Floyd, and his
life and death matter.
It is true. I don’t know what it is like to be black. I do
know what it is like to be a part of a black family for 30 years and counting.
Just like many black mothers and wives in this country, I share the same fear
when my husband and children engage in American culture. I have the same concerns,
and I wonder if they will come home safe due to the simple fact they are black
in America.
As an interracially married white woman, I have shared
experiences with my husband that most white women will never experience. Among
these experiences include:
·
Having a drunk student from college harass and
follow us on campus singing Ebony and Ivory at the top of their lungs
·
Having the black campus officer approach us and let
my then-boyfriend know he had “outgrown his color” because we were both very
visible in campus leadership. He thought he was helpful. It was not helpful.
·
We received a campus citation for “public
display of affection” when Brad hugged me during homecoming weekend, and one of
the alumni was offended. I still have that citation.
·
After we had children, we visited a church. We
filled out the visitor’s card, and when they passed the plate, they skipped our
row altogether. Naively, I thought it had to have been a mistake, so I hand
delivered our visitor information to a deacon. We never did receive a letter or
acknowledgment of our visit there. We never returned.
·
Another church was considering hiring Brad as
their worship leader. They were excited to add diversity to their staff. After
the second interview, he was invited to bring the family to the church, lead a
worship service, and then we would meet with the deacon board for lunch and a
third interview. It became very icy when
Brad arrived with a white wife and three biracial children. It never occurred to
us to mention the fact we were interracially married. We sat in silence during
the luncheon prepared for us, and no one would speak to us, much less ask any
questions. One sole deacon approached us to apologize for how we were being
treated.
There is a multitude of stories I
could continue to share, but I think you see the point. I may not be black, but
I have experienced up close, and personal the deep oppression my husband has
endured. These experiences happened to us both, and I was not unaffected by the
experiences of my family.
For my young millennial friends
and family members who accused me of not being “woke,” I can only say I’ve been
woke far longer than you have been alive. Excuse me as I use my privilege to
take this issue to a level that will accomplish far more than riots in the
streets. I have the privilege of education. I am near completion of my doctoral
program that has social change woven through the curriculum. I can research and
problem-solve at the academic level. I have the unique position to be able to
educate the next generation of social advocates in the social science arenas. I
am both a social worker and a professional counselor. I am ready to do something
of substance.
If we are truly going to address
the issue of police brutality and the disproportionate arrests of people of
color, which end in longer prison terms, we will first have to address these
issues from a socio-ecological perspective. We need to engage this problem at
the personal level, the peer level, the family level, the school level, and the
societal/cultural level. Once we analyze the issues through this lens, we have to
explore further how to implement an advocacy effort at the individual level,
the institutional level, and, ultimately, the policy level. This will require
time, energy, and effort. We will multiply this model in a variety of
communities because what works in rural west Texas will be different than what
will work in New York City. We will need
people to be committed to the role of an advocate. There is a vast difference in
being an advocate, and in being an activist.
For a real systemic change, we need advocates, not activists. Please don’t
get discouraged in the hard work this will require of you. It will take time,
patience, and persistence. It will require you to engage the legislative
system. It will require more of you than
you think you can give.
It is for these reasons that I
think people don’t become advocates and choose the much easier path of being an
activist. Burning a building is so much easier than getting your hands dirty
and relentlessly doing the hard work to effect social change at a systemic
level. So, what is it going to be? Riots
or systemic change? You can only pick one. You can’t have both because one
negates the other. But hey, what do I know? I’m just a white woman who has integrated
into a black family for 30 years. I know a thing or two about oppression.
2 comments:
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this, Dawn. As a white man, I frequently feel sidelined when I bring up these same types of thoughts. What was done to Mr. Floyd was patently wrong, regardless of either man's color. And I am glad to hear that he (the officer) has been charged with murder, and his 3 coworkers are being charged as accomplices. They need to be held accountable.
Having said this, the moment people used these events to justify rioting and looting, they lost any and all credibility. Everybody quit listening. All they see are black and white people breaking into businesses, burning, and stealing things that do not belong to them. Dare I say that these actions are justifying the very prejudices and stereotypes they say they want to be disassociated with? I'm not saying it's right. What I'm saying is these are the facts of life. I once was encouraged to dress the part of a successful businessman while I was in sales. When I asked why, my mentor explained to me that like it or not, people are going to judge you by how you dress. The same applies here. If you act the part of the hood, they are going to treat you like a hood. Behaving like a hood does NOTHING to advance your cause. I'm sorry if some find this offensive, however it doesn't change the truth. And believe me when I say, I will stand with my black brothers and sisters of character every bit as strongly as I would someone of my own color, because what matters in the end isn't the color of your skin; it's your character.
Your experience with the church that treated your family coldly when you all showed up for that interview/luncheon triggered a few memories of my own: When I was a young child, a black couple visited our white protestant church in Atlanta. On the way home in the car, my extremely racist parents discussed it -- not as fellow Christians recognizing visitors to their congregation, but as shocked congregants wondering (and I use their exact words here) "What WILL we do if they decide to join?". As a child, that was revelatory and confusing all at once. Fortunately for the visiting couple, they felt the chill and never returned, but what does that say about the members of that church that clearly didn't know God as well as they thought they did? Years later, I learned first hand what those people experienced when I took my disabled son to a different protestant church (in a different state). They wanted nothing to do with him, even though he was very well behaved and not any trouble at all (He's a dwarf...that's all). His Sunday School teacher told me to take him to the nursery, which was just a room full of cribs with babies in them. My son was three, and belonged with his fellow classmates in Sunday School (His intelligence is far above average, so he was more than capable of understanding the lessons and participating in the activities). I was patient with them and kept taking him each Sunday, staying with him in the class until they adapted to reality. No progress was made, and they even skipped over him when passing out activity papers. I finally woke up when they refused to let me sign him up for Bible School, saying he was too young. Let me be clear that I had continually and politely kept them apprised of his age, which was older than some of the kids in Bible School (He had turned four by then, and they were signing up three year olds). I walked out, with both of my children, saying that that place was not the House of the Lord. Like many bad experiences, it turned out for the best, as it forced me on a journey to find a church that was truly the House of the Lord, which completely accepted all of us without hesitation and we gladly joined several months later and have never looked back.
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