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

by Austin Channing Brown

assignments to analyze the character development in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca.

discussion that led one white classmate to air her grievances about not being accepted to the University of Michigan. Rather than chalking it up to the sheer number of applications U of M must receive in any given year, she had a different explanation: A Black person must have taken her place. And not a Black person who perhaps had above-average test scores, who’d completed more hours of community service, or perhaps had written a stronger biographical essay on the application. Had this been her assumption about the Black people who earned spots at the university, I probably could have forgiven her. But alas, her explanation was short: “Because of affirmative action, Black people took my spot.” Her spot.

And then she said nine words that I’ve never forgotten: “Doing nothing is no longer an option for me.”

I had never heard anyone make an overt case in favor of assimilation—particularly at an organization that promoted diversity in its mission statements and messaging. Granted, many people of color on our team had grown suspicious of those statements, suspecting that the organization wanted our racial diversity without our diversity of thought and culture.

Whiteness constantly polices the expressions of Blackness allowed within its walls, attempting to accrue no more than what’s necessary to affirm itself. It wants us to sing the celebratory “We Shall Overcome” during MLK Day but doesn’t want to hear the indicting lyrics of “Strange Fruit.” It wants to see a Black person seated at the table but doesn’t want to hear a dissenting viewpoint. It wants to pat itself on the back for helping poor Black folks through missions or urban projects but has no interest in learning from Black people’s wisdom, talent, and spiritual depth. 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.

It’s been a hard week at the office. Because I work at a Christian organization, my co-workers ask if they can pray for me. I am moved that they’ve noticed my emotional distress. They gather round, lay their hands on my shoulders. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, listening to their words. But before I know it, the prayers take a turn. They are no longer about my circumstances but about me. They ask not that I would be understood but that I would find it within myself to give more grace. The prayers don’t ask that doors would open for me; they ask that God would gift me with skills they wish I had. These prayers aren’t for me. The prayers are that I would become who they want me to be. “Lord, make this Black person just like us.”