How to be an Ally

On May 25th, 2020, a white police officer knelt on the neck of George Floyd for nearly 9 minutes. On May 26th, the video taken by a 17 year-old bystander, Darnella Frazier, came up on my Facebook feed. I watched, at first confused as to what I was seeing. It was almost as if what I was seeing was so horrific that my brain was trying to protect me. When the truth, and horror finally landed, a deep well of sadness for this stranger hit me. But under that, was rage. A white hot rage that someone would so cavalierly take another person’s life. I didn’t care about his race. I didn’t care that he was someone I’d never met and had he lived to 100 years and died in his bed, I still wouldn’t have been likely to meet. I cared about his life because he’s a person. He had a family who still needed him. And this chicken shit cop killed him like it was nothing.

There’s a misconception that white supremacy is a black issue. It’s not. Like most destructive forces in this world, the blame and need to change are squarely on white people. “But Leigh, you’re white.” Fuck yeah I am. “But Leigh, I’m not racist.” Yes, you are. Racism isn’t just killing someone for jogging, or sleeping, or walking home from 7Eleven. Racism is also doing a double take when you see a person of color driving a nice car because there is some small part of you that thinks the car is too nice for them. It can be forgetting, however subconsciously, that people or color can be in supervisory or managerial roles. Hell, it can be telling your friend that they “don’t really act black” and not see a problem with the statement.

When I was in middle school there was a boy in my grade named Charles who would tease me mercilessly. We lived close to each other and both were walkers so every day he would say horrible things about my weight, about my hair, about my backpack, etc. Anything that could be picked apart, he did. For weeks. I tried to leave school at a different time, but he would still find me. I tried to take a different route. But there was a point when they would intersect and that was where he’d start in on me again.

One day I couldn’t take it. After a particularly cruel tirade, I screamed The Word at him. That was the one and only time I’d ever used it. I didn’t understand, fully, what I was saying, only that I was desperate for him to leave me alone. It’s only as an adult, with the context of history on my side, that I really realize the full weight of what I did that day.

He stopped picking on me. In fact I never saw him again. Even 20 years later I think about that day often and how ashamed I am that I allowed myself to say something so ugly to someone who, looking back, must have been hurting to be such a dick.

From that day on, I haven’t allowed anyone who isn’t black to say That Word in my presence. I refuse to even use the single letter title that most people use. If words can be evil, that word, almost exclusively, is.

It’s the only time I can point to in my life where my actions were overtly racist, whether or not they were provoked. It didn’t matter. At that moment I dehumanized him and I didn’t have the right.

Part of being an ally, no matter the kind, is looking at one’s behaviors and saying, “you know what? That wasn’t okay.” I can’t change the past and react differently. All I can do is own the fact that what I did wasn’t okay and move forward to help people.

When the protests started, I was afraid to speak up or get involved because of that one moment. I thought I would be a fraud for fighting so hard for the rights of people of color. Or maybe that people would think I was a hypocrite. But this fight is bigger than my guilt. This fight is bigger than a fragile, liberal white lady.

White people need to realize that nothing will change until we change. The first step of that change is examining personal biases. Owning the times one was wrong and working to dismantle one’s own prejudices. So, I implore everyone to be fearless while examining your biases. Having a bias or a prejudice doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s like having an STD. Ignoring the problem will make things worse and while it might be embarrassing to get checked out, curing it better than letting it kill you.

Be safe. I love you.