Things That Make White People Uncomfortable

by Michael Bennett

I truly like that idea of being a witness for those who did not make it. That’s very powerful, even sacred.

There is no self-determination without control, and there is no control without ownership, whether it’s your house, your car, or an NFL team.

Malcolm X once said, “Of all our studies, history is best qualified to reward our research. And when you see that you’ve got problems, all you have to do is examine the historic method used all over the world by others who have problems similar to yours. And once you see how they got theirs straight, then you know how you can get yours straight.” I don’t think he ever said anything truer.

People don’t realize that Houston takes in more refugees than any city in the United States. If Houston were a country it would rank as the fourth-largest refugee population on earth.

This is why I’ve never, ever, from day one, trusted the NFL fully, because I know that the bottom line is always the business. When people want the NFL to “lead” on issues like violence against women, or racism, or even head injuries, I roll my eyes. The NFL is just another corporation, and they’ll do what they have to do. Asking them to lead on social issues sometimes seems like asking a dog to meow.

Now I stare in the mirror and look at this scar. It’s wide, long, jagged, and ugly. It’s also a tribute to what I’ve been through: a reminder that I could so easily not be here. It reminds me that life can be over in an instant, so live every single day. People look at me and think, “Oh, he’s so happy, he’s always laughing. He’s so carefree.” Why would I ever sweat the small stuff? I almost died. I’m alive, so to hell with every single thing that you think I should or shouldn’t be. I love looking at the scar. I hate that I had to feel that pain, but I love the lessons it taught and the way it still motivates me. Years ago, I got a tattoo of Frankenstein on my leg. Underneath it reads, “Near death experience. Keep on rising.”

“What’s the point of being able to sit at a lunch counter if you cannot afford a cup of coffee?”

To put it plainly, we have no power because we have no wealth. In greater Boston, as of 2015, the average household wealth (assets, not income) was $247,500 for whites; $8 for Blacks. That’s not a misprint: eight dollars. If that doesn’t make you “uncomfortable,” if that doesn’t make you feel like we need to figure out what our world is doing wrong, you might need to check your pulse.

the fact that I don’t know my actual honest-to-god last name blows my mind. That’s some crazy shit. Someone could be walking right past me and be my cousin, and I wouldn’t even know it. That’s how deep-rooted this is!

Middle-class Black kids are not killing each other, because they’re thinking about their college applications.

When Black people talk about Black people’s problems, the problems never get solved. I want to push white people to think about their roles, to think about how these issues affect them also, to think about how when we come together we can confront common ills that exist in all communities, Black, brown, and white, that have been left behind. We could come together or we could blame each other. But we’re not going to come together without trust, and I don’t see trust being built until white people say, “Black lives need to matter as much as white ones.”

The Black Panther Fred Hampton also taught me about intersectionality. Everyone should know more about Fred Hampton. He was killed—executed—by the Chicago police, in collusion with the FBI, when he was just twenty-one years old, and his loss continues to be felt. Hampton was so far ahead of his time that we’re still catching up. He saw working with Native Americans, poor white people, and gay people as essential to the Black struggle. He created the first “rainbow coalition”—it was logical to him to find connections between different struggles, but somewhere along the way, since his death, we’ve lost that logic. Today, we are fighting for Black Lives Matter and Black liberation, but we will succeed only if we can figure out how to connect our struggle with every other effort out there for justice and equality. That’s why you see me working with Native Americans, Palestinians, women, and people in Africa and Haiti.

you have to remove yourself from the fear or discomfort of associating with certain groups or issues you’ve been taught to ignore. I know Black people who don’t care about immigrants, men who don’t care about women, and straight people who don’t care about gay people. Why are we like this? Why don’t we care? Maybe we are so divided by tribe that we’re taught that caring for someone outside our assigned category is the ultimate sin, yet I would argue that it’s the ultimate expression of being part of the human family.

I agreed with a lot of the stuff Bernie was saying, people were mad at me. I didn’t care. I’m free to like what he was about: how he approached the world, his ideals, and the fact that he was even raising these questions. A lot of people said his ideas were too far-fetched and could never happen, but shit, Donald Trump happened. I don’t want to hear about anything being “far-fetched” ever again.

I am glad my daughters, young as they are, are here to see all this. I am glad we aren’t hiding this from them. I want them to see all of this, and say to them that this is what a man looks like—a real man, not a façade. Not just a fearless person on the field. Not just someone who speaks at a rally. I don’t want them to go their whole lives and say they never saw their father cry.