I have straddled the fence between two worlds for most of my life without ever really acknowledging it. Dipping and dabbing into 2 different cultures trying the make it through day to day. Bi-racial life can be very frustrating especially during times of social unrest.
There was a protest/march organized not 10 minutes walking from my house here in Columbia MD today but I did not attend. I felt too inadequate, too scared to attend.
Should I be marching? What if something happens, I have kids. But I have kids, black children in fact which is why I should be marching.
If I march or become too vocal about the situation, could I lose my family? My (insert white) grandfather is the patriarch of my relatively tight knit, supportive extended family. Though the rumblings of racial insensitivity and prejudice have come to light in the last four years, these are still closeted issues never address in the presence of the black & mixed family members — do I want to be the one that forces the conversation on the entire family?
Am I ‘black enough’ to be as outraged as I am? If you have been questioned, had jokes and comments made at your expense, always been the token non-white person/family and now add the “one-drop rule” enforcers; I’m talking the black gatekeepers not the white, and Hotep brothers & sisters with their “wokeness” (insert eyeroll), it’s sad to say but it really can make you insecure in your racial identity.
These are the things that have weighed heavily on my mind; anger, hurt, confusion, sadness, nervousness, inadequacy, and aloneness. It’s hard to have the type of conversations necessary to deal with these feelings amongst my family circle. My younger brother is better at internalizing his pain than I am. My youngest sister has always handled stressful things her own way and if I am completely honest her ways are not my cup of tea. And my other sister, closer in age and with whom I have matriculated through the public school system with as “those sisters” has a different approach to handling the situation too. It’s almost like an acknowledgement and then immediate suppression of the emotions that get triggered by it.
I just wish I had an approach.
An approach that doesn’t involve me crying on a phone to my father for an hour or more.
An approach that then does not see me devoid of all emotion because my mother is on the phone and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
A way to get off this fence but perhaps —
Perhaps I am not meant to “get off” the fence. Maybe I am to be the catalyst that takes the fence and turns it into a bridge. Am I up to that task?
Honestly, I do not know.
What I know is that I saw the face of my father and my brother in George Floyd’s face.
What I know is that I relived the PTSD of watching an entire police station draw their guns on my husband for simply being black in an affluent neighborhood.
What I know is that the scene reminded me of how I told a young black environmentalist/solicitor to pack it up for the day because the sun was setting and it wasn’t safe for him to be in the neighborhood on his own.
What I know is I was reminded of the trauma of being questioned by police on my residency after an attempted, unprovoked assault against my persons rather than finding the assailant.
What I know is that this scene has reaffirmed my at times tough and demanding nature with my children because this world is rooting against them based on their skin color.
What I know is that I am scared.
And whether I am supposed to be the bridge or not, I need to get off this fence and stand firmly in my convictions.