Shutup and Listen

Well, you read the title. So, if you're still here, I think you know what I need you to do. 

I know most of you reading this and most of you know my family and our journey in transracial adoption (but if I don't know you, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt). I know many of you are great parents who teach your kids to be kind, empathetic, and forgiving. You teach them to listen, to apologize, and to learn. So, today, we're going to take some of those lessons and apply them to ourselves. Because it seems many of us have forgotten how to listen, how to recognize what is at the root of an issue, and how to learn to do better. 

Here's the deal. Whether we're willing to admit it or not, many of us are acting like bratty little children who just want their way. My kids...your kids. They do this All. The. Time. Like, on the daily, folks! When kids get caught in the middle of a situation or an argument, and something doesn't go the way they want, what do our kids do? They point fingers. They place blame. They tell you why they're right and justify their actions because of what someone else said or did. Why? Because they're uncomfortable. Because they don't want to acknowledge their mistake or their involvement. Because admitting that something you did (or didn't do) is hard. Because pride. They each take their side and take a stand. Because apparently it's what we do. As kids. As adults. As humans. We feel the need to be right. 

And it's in these times that we find teachable moments. Opportunities to show our kids how to grow, expand their thinking, and not be so self-centered. That the world doesn't revolve around them all the time. We teach them, in so many words, to stop making excuses and listen. To respect each other. To understand each other's needs and wants. To share. To care. To be kind and to show love, even when it's hard. To apologize for being mean, for hurting each other, for being selfish, or for simply not noticing the frustration of their playmate. And the next time they encounter the same scenario, you expect them to be able to apply what you have taught them. At least you hope they will. It won't be immediate and it takes time to put these things into practice. But you keep teaching them so they'll continue to do better. Because when they are better informed and better equipped they can make better choices and be better classmates, siblings, and citizens. Not perfect. Just better.

I think you know that I have a brain and heart that cares deeply for others. And, as a White woman, I have an obligation to share with you what I have come to understand. It is my hope that maybe, just MAYBE, you'll understand it like I have. And MAYBE this will set fire to your active listening and learning journey alongside mine. And THEN, we can really start to use our majority voice to make a difference. Many of you have listened to my voice when it comes to adoption. You've heard me out regarding international missions and orphanage tourism. You've entertained my thoughts around trauma and it's impact on our kids. Will you sit with me while I share my heart on this matter, too? My intention is not to cause division but to promote reflection. That's all I'm asking right now.

I'm ashamed to say this, but it took the journey into transracial adoption to open my eyes. Not only to the injustices of systemic racism but to the blind biases I was carrying around with me. I owed it to my kids to wake the f*** up. I have Black and brown friends. I wish I could say that I've always known what I know now. But I can't. I just didn't know I could do better until I really started to listen. I have a love/hate relationship with the reason that I started to listen up and pay attention. Because it was about me. It was about being informed for my sake. It was because my family was eventually going to be directly affected by racism and I needed to figure out how to keep them safe. It was selfish and I hate it. But I'm also grateful for it. Because, without it, I'd probably still be in my ignorant, cushy, little-White-suburban-housewife-bubble and on the wrong side of history.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no expert and that I'm still on an active listening and learning journey when it comes to systemic racism and the role that I have unknowingly played in it for the majority of my life. I don't know everything. I don't have all the statistics. And I'm still not sure what all the solutions are. But I can listen and I can learn. What I do know is this: I have never been discriminated against, racially profiled, or seen as a threat simply because of my skin color. I have no first-hand knowledge of what life is like in a Black or brown body. I used to believe that racism didn't exist simply because it didn't affect me directly. That is called privilege, my friend. So there you have it. 

But before I lose you altogether with the "p" word, I want you to also know this. I have two policemen in my family (not to mention several friends). They are my beloved cousins that I grew up down the street from. I adore them and their families beyond words. We now live a few states away but have had several opportunities to connect over weddings and vacations these past few months. While it has been fulfilling to see them and meet their kids, and them mine, it has stirred up a lot of emotion in me. Mostly because I feel like the public wants me to choose between my kids or my cousins. That either my kids' lives matter more or my cousins' do. How can you even begin to believe that lie? And yet, many of us have already chosen a side. 

I'm going to continue with a simple statement that I think we can all agree with. We are a nation divided. Even a people divided. Hell, a WORLD divided. The mainstream media does a good job of stoking the divisive fires these days. And, for many of us, the media is the only outlet we utilize to find out what's really going on outside our little suburban bubbles. As a result, we view biased and partial stories through our very narrow, personal lens, choosing what we want to believe, picking a side to stand on, and then standing around pointing fingers at everyone else for everything that's going wrong in the world. Those left-wing snowflakes. Those gun-wielding right-wingers. Those White evangelicals. Those pro-choice heathens. Those rich, White families. Those annoying homeless and poor people who want freebies. Gay. Straight. Transgender. Black Lives Matter. No, Blue Lives Matter. Wait, are you kidding me? ALL Lives Matter. The division is endless and so are the arguments. But I want to put arguments aside today. I don't want you to decide if you think I'm right or wrong. I just want you to keep listening. Many of you claim to adore my Black children. Can you simply listen for me? For them?

For those of you still with me, I want to share a few things about how I grew up vs. what I've learned as an adult. Not because this is about me. Or even because I'm looking for some sort of recognition. I simply want you to listen to my journey because maybe you and I will have more in common than you realize. Maybe you'll hear what my thoughts used to be and they'll resonate with what you are still holding onto as true. And maybe I can use this platform to give my tired friends a break from trying to be heard.

First, I want you to hear LOUD AND CLEAR what White Privilege means. 

Don't talk. Don't roll your eyes. Don't walk away. Just read. Just listen. 

Actually, let's start with what it is NOT. White Privilege does NOT mean you are rich. It does NOT mean that your life has been easy or without struggle. It does NOT mean that you did something wrong. It does NOT mean that you are inherently racist.

So what DOES it mean? It means that you have never been discriminated against because of your skin color (please don't start with the reverse racism here. Just shutup and listen). It means that you have never been racially profiled because of your skin color. And, most importantly, it means that you have the majority power to make big systemic changes possible. 

Simple, right? Nothing too offensive in there, if you ask me. 

See, I grew up around people who gave a qualifier to the person who chatted with them while in line buying groceries, or the nice guy who came to fix our pool. And by qualifier, I mean "Oh, this sweet little Asian lady at the store was telling me..." or "Yeah, he was a nice, young Mexican kid." As if that is an important part of the narrative. Of course nobody ever said, "This tall, skinny, White guy came to fix our leaking pipe, today." Did I think much of it as a kid? Why would I? I didn't know any better. And then, there was just the known fact that if I ever brought a Black guy home to date...psssh. I'd gone lost my mind (not to mention the racism my husband Drew has directly experienced because of the way his family looks). I didn't have the capacity to speak up or decide if it was right or wrong. I never thought that anyone around me could possibly think less of a person because of their skin, let alone be racist. My brother is Korean, for heaven's sake! How could they be? I didn't really get to choose what adults in my community thought or what they said (or didn't say). It was just the environment I grew up in and around. And that was that. 

Thankfully, as I grew older, I began to recognize the prejudice in those statements. But I didn't just wake up one day and realize it. It took time, and diligence, and an open mind to learning about things that I'd never been exposed to previously.

Now. We're going to look at a little hypothetical story.  

Let's say that 5 kids at the local elementary school claim to have been bullied by the same classmate, but the rest of the class hasn't had those same experiences. What do you do? Do you sit down with and listen to those 5 kids who came forward and shared their experiences with vulnerability? Or do you automatically assume those 5 kids are just lying for attention? I mean, if only 5 of them have been hurt, what's the big deal? Do you look for ways to connect with them and let them know that you are going to do everything you can to help them feel safe in their school? Or do you tell them that kids around the world have been bullied for centuries and to just suck it up and stop feeling sorry for themselves? Do you recognize that these 5 students and the bully need an intervention in order for the situation to improve for all parties? Or would you rather seek out statements from the rest of the class (not being bullied) in order to make a case for the bully's kindness to others?

And just because there is one bully in the 4th grade and he and his friends make it a habit of picking on kids at school, does that make all 4th graders bullies? Do you wonder who the bully's friends are and what the story is behind their destructive behavior? What is causing them to resort to bullying? What is missing? What has imploded, exploded, or been flat out neglected in their life? What support do they need to acknowledge their choices and improve their behavior? 

It's pretty straightforward when it comes to children in school. There's bullying going on and several kids have been victims. Obviously the school system and administration needs to step up and pay close attention so they can put a stop to kids being hurt. But why can't we hear it when the narrative turns into POC (people of color) crying out about injustices across our entire nation? Why can't we listen without making excuses? Why can't we see that not all police are good? That the system is rigged and broken? Maybe because listening to that is too uncomfortable? Because it might require US to admit that the system created by people who look like me and you is failing our fellow man? Or maybe because we might be asked to actually do something about it?

I want to dig into why we automatically label what makes us uncomfortable or challenges us as untrue. Why do we make excuses and look for ways around acknowledging the hard things? For those of you who are married, you can't get away with that for long with your spouse, now, can you? I mean, sure, you can get defensive or mad because you don't want to hear it. But at the end of the day, something you're doing or not doing is causing your spouse to feel hurt, unheard, or unappreciated. Eventually (if you are a decent human being), you can dig deep, swallow your pride, acknowledge your contributions to their feeling hurt, and make strides to solve the problem. It's usually a realization that goes something like this, "Wow. I didn't even realize that! Tell me more. What can I do? How can I do better?" Will you always do it perfectly? Not a chance. But do you do your best to understand what your spouse needs from you and keep trying to be the best version of yourself? Of course! Why? A) because you are a good person who loves your spouse and B) because your quality of life will be directly be affected if you don't.

So why is it that we can so easily dismiss or ignore the cry of Black Lives Matter? Because the pain of others isn't our problem? Because we don't want to take the time to listen, sympathize, or be uncomfortable? Because it doesn't directly affect our life? Or does it...?

Black. Lives. Matter. Do those three words make you cringe? Do you automatically give a rebuttal of Blue Lives Matter or All Lives Matter? Are you the first to throw out a history lesson on Irish slaves or a statistic on how more white people are killed by the police? 

Or are you in agreement with that phrase? Can you get behind those words and feel empowered to be a catalyst for change?

I'll be honest. They used to make me uncomfortable, too. How could I blurt out that one sub-group of people mattered more than all the rest? Why in the world is this even a thing we are drawing attention to? What's the big deal? But I dug in. I sat still and silently listened through the uncomfortable and I learned. I realized I had been perceiving it all backwards. That I had just genuinely been living in a blissful ignorance. But if this lady was supposed to be raising Black children, I needed to listen to the people who know how to do that better than I do. The people who have done it before and who are doing it today. 

Here is what I learned in my silent stillness. Black Lives Matter doesn't carry any connotation of "more." I just read it, heard it, and felt it that way. It really means "too" or "also." It doesn't discount others, but rather asks that we recognize and elevate black lives the way we have "all lives" or "blue lives." It's a cry to be heard and supported by the majority (the white majority, that is) to see the injustice, to cry out with them, and to facilitate a change in the systems that sustain it. And, for the record, if you're going to argue that more White lives are taken by the police each year, might I suggest exploring why you believe that's a reason against overhauling the system...? 

Now, when you hear the words Civil Servant, what do you envision? I think of a person who values lives, communities, and families. Someone who is polite, highly spoken of, and who desires freedom and equality for everyone. A person with a heart for seeking and facilitating tangible change for the good of all and for keeping families safe and together. Someone who works tirelessly for others. A helper. A connector. Full of love and compassion for those they are in service to. Held to the highest standards and applauded for their selfless heart and brave pursuits. But when I view our country's police force through this same lens, it doesn't seem to be adding up.

Many of us have elevated police and military to the highest standard, but we haven't always held them to the highest standard. Sure they put their lives on the line for us. Sure they deserve our respect. But does that give them the right to wield their weapon however and whenever they so choose? Do they get to the be judge, jury, and executioner? Is their return home safely to their families any more important than my son coming home safely to me? I expect the highest standards because it's not a job that your average Joe can (or should) pursue. It takes a huge amount of sacrifice and restraint to uphold the law but it takes even more when you feel like your life may be in danger. And that is why they must be held to such a standard of excellence. Because not everyone has that restraint. Not everyone can handle a scary and dangerous situation without simply reacting. I'll be the first to say that I couldn't. Not because I'm a bad person or because I don't care. But because I tend to escalate (ask my husband).

The bottom line is this: Police are human just like the rest of us. And while we can't expect them to be perfect, those of us defending them against BLM are acting like they are perfect! Do I believe all police are bad? No, not even close. Do I believe that the system can be improved? You better believe it. Should we demand better of the men and women we hold in such high regard? Absolutely. Because honor is something you earn. Not en masse. But individually and day to day. 

Please don't make this about us, though. This isn't just about me as a White mom to Black children. This isn't just about fear for the safety and future of my now, young and cute, kids. I shouldn't be the only voice you hear or take notice of. This narrative can't stop with only caring about my little family and it can't dead end at the confession of White Privilege. Why? Because that still flips the focus on us instead of working collectively to find a solution. Acknowledging that you're not being discriminated against because of your skin color is step #1. Now we need to use our majority voices to change policy and support the transformation of systems in this country that have for so long worked to maintain a racial divide. 

Like I said, I'm no expert but I can listen, and I can read, and I can write. I can research, and I can listen more, and I can sympathize. I can vote and I can demand more of the people entrusted to protect us. Can we agree to work together for the good of all communities in our nation? I'm on board. Are you? Will you join me?