I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness

by Austin Channing Brown

White supremacy is a tradition that must be named and a religion that must be renounced. When this work has not been done, those who live in whiteness become oppressive, whether intentional or not.

I knew all about the world of my white teachers and peers, but they didn’t seem to know a thing about mine.

I was too white for Black people, and too Black for white people. I

Black is expansive, and I didn’t need the approval of whiteness in order to feel good in my skin; there was no whiteness available to offer an opinion. It was freedom.

there were a few key moments in which I learned that harmony—the absence of outright conflict—often leaves deeper complications untouched.

In every previous classroom, I had been responsible for decoding teachers’ references to white middle-class experiences. It’s like when you’re sailing…or You know how when you’re skiing, you have to…My white teachers had an unspoken commitment to the belief that we are all the same, a default setting that masked for them how often white culture bled into the curriculum. For example, when teachers wanted to drive home the point that we should do something daily, they often likened it to how you wash your hair every morning. It never occurred to them that none of the Black girls in the class did this. Knowing it was true for white people, and having gotten used to white teachers’ assumption of universality, we would all nod our heads and move on. Who had time to teach the teacher?

the organization wanted our racial diversity without our diversity of thought and culture.

The role of a bridge builder sounds appealing until it becomes clear how often that bridge is your broken back.

Whiteness wants enough Blackness to affirm the goodness of whiteness, the progressiveness of whiteness, the openheartedness of whiteness. Whiteness likes a trickle of Blackness, but only that which can be controlled.

Whiteness wants us to be empty, malleable, so that it can shape Blackness into whatever is necessary for the white organization’s own success.

This is partly what makes the fragility of whiteness so damn dangerous. It ignores the personhood of people of color and instead makes the feelings of whiteness the most important thing.

It was a painful week, but it taught me that I cannot control expressions of white fragility. Each group was responsible for their own reaction. One indulged their fragility, the other resisted it.

This is in part because most white people still believe that they are good and the true racists are easy to spot.

When you believe niceness disproves the presence of racism, it’s easy to start believing bigotry is rare, and that the label racist should be applied only to mean-spirited, intentional acts of discrimination. The problem with this framework—besides being a gross misunderstanding of how racism operates in systems and structures enabled by nice people—is that it obligates me to be nice in return, rather than truthful. I am expected to come closer to the racists. Be nicer to them. Coddle them.

oftentimes people of color don’t have the time, energy, or willpower to teach the white person enough to turn the conversation into a real debate. To do so would be a ton of work.

But I am not a priest for the white soul.

For most confessions, this is as simple as asking, “So what are you going to do differently?”

We would rather focus on the beautiful words of Martin Luther King Jr. than on the terror he and protestors endured at marches, boycotts, and from behind jail doors.

Whiteness was not ready to give up the ability to control, humiliate, or do violence to any Black body in the vicinity—all without consequence.

Our only chance at dismantling racial injustice is being more curious about its origins than we are worried about our comfort.

It’s hard to be calm in a world made for whiteness.

In moments when I was angry, I used to wish I was that Black girl. You know the one. The one who snaps her gum. Who claps out every word when angry. The one who rolls her eyes and you feel it in your bones. The one who always says what she thinks—who begins her sentences with “First of all…” and then lists what you ain’t gon do. I wanted to be the Black girl who white people are afraid of making angry.

Anger expressed and translated into action in the service of our vision and our future is a liberating and strengthening act of clarification.

I am passionate and strong and clear-eyed and focused on continuing the legacy of proclaiming the human dignity of Black bodies.

Remember: You are a creative being who is capable of making change. But it is not your responsibility to transform an entire organization.

We fear the overreactions of white people who clutch their purses in elevators and lock their doors when we walk by. We fear the overreaction of police who assume they are in danger when they have the wrong suspect or when we are unarmed. We fear that appearing guilty means incurring the repercussions of being guilty. We fear that any public imperfection of our children will lead to extrajudicial, deadly consequences.

Whiteness has never needed much of an excuse for our deaths. Accused of looking at a white woman. Resisted arrest. Scared the officer. Thought he had a weapon. Had a criminal record (that the officer knew nothing about). Looked suspicious. Looked like someone else.

The parallels to the photos from my history book could not be ignored.

I am grateful for my ancestors’ struggle and their survival. But I am not impressed with America’s progress.

I hope there is progress I can sincerely applaud on the horizon. Because the extrajudicial killing of Black people is still too familiar.

When an organization confuses diversity or inclusion with reconciliation, it often shows up in an obsession with numbers. How many Black people are in the photo? Has the 20 percent quota been met, so that we can call ourselves multicultural? Does our publication have enough stories written by people of color? Are there enough people of color on the TV show?

dialogue is productive toward reconciliation only when it leads to action—when it inverts power and pursues justice for those who are most marginalized.

the parameters of dialogue can be easily manipulated to benefit whiteness. Tone policing takes priority over listening to the pain inflicted on people of color. People of color are told they should be nicer, kinder, more gracious, less angry in their delivery, or that white people’s needs, feelings, and thoughts should be given equal weight. But we cannot negotiate our way to reconciliation.

Too often, dialogue functions as a stall tactic, allowing white people to believe they’ve done something heroic when the real work is yet to come.

when we suggest that justice might require greater representation in leadership, greater access to funding, greater influence over mission or strategy, people of color find themselves hitting a wall.

It has also shifted my focus. Rather than making white people’s reactions the linchpin that holds racial justice together, I am free to link arms with those who are already being transformed.

I need a love that is troubled by injustice. A love that is provoked to anger when Black folks, including our children, lie dead in the streets. A love that can no longer be concerned with tone because it is concerned with life. A love that has no tolerance for hate, no excuses for racist decisions, no contentment in the status quo. I need a love that is fierce in its resilience and sacrifice. I need a love that chooses justice.

This is the shadow of hope. Knowing that we may never see the realization of our dreams, and yet still showing up.