On Race

Full disclosure: I wrote most of this post three months ago, just as Jacob's last basketball season was ending.  I didn't feel it was quite finished and for obvious reasons I was nervous to post it.  And then it just felt inappropriate once the coronavirus took over life as we know it.  But given the events of the past few days, where a black man in Minneapolis was killed by bad cops (including one who kneeled on his neck for a significant period of time), and then a mob destroyed part of the city rioting in response, made me pull it back out and take another go at it.  So bear with me--and trust that the back story is important:

Jacob's journey into basketball has had some unexpected side effects--lots of busy evenings, exploring new parts of Rochester, getting to know new people, watching sports without planning around the weather--but the one that seems to be resonating with me the most these days is the extra diverse world it has launched us into.

Here's the thing--I was debating writing this post at the risk of it coming off the wrong way.  It's happened before here, after all.  This is clearly a divisive subject and I don't want to come off sounding racist or naive or elitist.  I want to come at it from a place of honesty, as a human work in progress...because as ridiculous as it sounds at age 41, this is all pretty new to me.

I grew up in the whitest of white suburbs.  Not necessarily a rich one, but a white one.  We still had the rich areas and we had "the other side of the tracks", but everyone was white.  While I thought we were somewhere in the middle, I know that there were some kids who would have quickly labeled me "rich" based solely on our neighborhood.  We didn't live a fancy lifestyle but we had a nice, newish, 1800 square foot colonial in a neighborhood that featured some 2000+ square foot houses, mostly courtesy of the builders and their relatives, who built their own nice homes in the neighborhood when it was new.  But most of the houses were pretty similar, along the lines of 1980s nice-but-modest colonials, and while I never felt rich, I know our big green yards and ubiquitous sidewalks were a step up from some parts of the city.  But like I said, it was all very, very white.  Heck, even about 10 years ago I did a demographics search of my old zip code through some work software, and the stats even then showed a white percentage in the high 90s.  I recall approximately two black kids in my high school of about 1600.  I'm sure there were some Hispanic kids, but I feel like most of those were still solid suburbanites, at least 2nd generation.  One of the black kids in the school was a free-spirited girl in my class.  We definitely ran in different circles, though.  The other was a sizable kid, possibly a year or two older, who transferred into the school mid-year, supposedly after having troubles elsewhere.  No big surprise, he transferred back out pretty quickly, no doubt because it was a bit of a hostile environment where he didn't seem to fit in.

This begs the question...Was the town racist?  I probably would have said no at the time, but now I'm pretty sure racism was horribly rampant.  I never remember witnessing anything too obvious, but I know it was happening.  I don't know how much of it came from straight-up hate, though.  I mean, it probably came out that way, but hear me out: I truly feel like most of it was a simple lack of knowledge and experience.  When you're coming from a long legacy of white people who grew up among pervasive racism in previous decades, and no one's really had much opportunity to be exposed to people of color who could change their mind, I think it's hard to actively get out of that mindset.  It seems simple enough to treat other humans as humans, but when stereotypes are passed down as fact, it impacts your entire perspective growing up.  And if you never know someone who breaks that stereotype, you may never even take the time consider that it's not true.  I literally never really thought much about race until I got to college because I never had to.

Anyway, I never knew why we didn't have black families in town, but I have a feeling that much like that kid at school, anyone that tried to come in may not have stayed long anyway.  These days the city is much more diverse, to the point I see kids of color walking down the street almost every time I visit.  I'm honestly not sure what prompted the change or what impact it has had on the city, but I'm guessing it's a bit of a mixed bag given the number of holdovers from my era.

I had a few non-white friends in college, which was a new experience for me.  And trust me, it was thought-provoking at the time, trying to clear out preconceptions and realize that despite different backgrounds we were all just a bunch of college kids figuring life out.  Sadly, it probably took until my second real job to make another black friend, and then I made another when she was my trainer at the gym.  But even my current job is mostly white, so exposure has still been harder to come by in my daily life.  As a result, sometimes my interactions still feel unnatural.  Part of me wonders if I'm  holding on to some sort of implicit bias that makes me subconsciously assume things about them, right down to wondering if they just see me as some clueless, privileged white girl.  Sorry, I'm an overthinker....this is just where it goes.  I'm like that with pretty much everyone in some way, honestly, regardless of race.

On the other hand, we currently live in a super diverse suburb.  My kids have almost always grown up with a rainbow of kids in their class.  It amazes me to see the class list each year, with a variety of ethnic names, and then to see the diverse faces and cultures upon visiting the classroom.  I love that this is how my kids are growing up, because it's definitely something I didn't have.  I'd much rather diversity be their norm, as picking it up later in life has its pitfalls (see above).  Even as a more-educated adult I've had my moments.  A couple years ago three of our neighboring houses were sold.  Our neighborhood always seemed predominantly white, and then families of color moved into all three houses.  For a moment I let a terrible stereotype enter my mind, recalling that past generations have often blamed the downfall of cities on people of color moving in.  Was this some sort of turning point?  Of course it wasn't, but it crossed my mind.  The mom and son next door (who Carter played with for a summer) have since moved, and I'm a bit concerned about one of the other families as their house has been in pre-foreclosure (per Zillow) since last summer.  But the family across the street has been a blessing, as they have kids around Carter's age and he loves playing over there.  The kids are together at the bus stop and were at the afterschool program, too, until the dad started working from home a while back.  But they're great neighbors and I love that Carter has friends nearby...or at least will again once social distancing is over.

Jacob has also always had a diverse group of friends through school, from a kid from Nepal early on to a couple black best friends over his last couple years of elementary school.  The good news about his current school is that it's one of the more diverse private schools you'll find.  In that way, he's really comfortable there.  But the real turning point was basketball.  Last summer on his first summer basketball team at the gym he trains at, he was the only white kid on his team and he loved it.  He felt right at home.  As you can imagine, though, that left us as the minority in the crowd, which is a pretty rare feeling in my world.  Not bad, just different.  Although, I will say I was surprised to discover how many mixed families there were.  That was another rare phenomenon in my world growing up.  In fact, I was actually *taught* once by someone that it was wrong.  Otherwise, I'd say it was strongly "frowned upon".  I've known for a number of years it was becoming far more common, but again, it wasn't super common in my circle.  I had a couple friends in mixed marriages, but basketball made it clear just how common it really is.  I sometimes find myself curious about their lives--about how their families reacted, whether they were always attracted to another race or just found the right person, and what kind of struggles it may have presented them over the years.  I've seen so many more mixed families represented on TV and in commercials in recent months, and after seeing so many of these families in person, it seems so much more normal to me--and it almost makes more sense because it's more representative and relatable for multiple groups.

Jacob's last team also featured a number of single moms, all of different ethnicities.  They were all very chatty with one another, and while they were friendly enough with me, I'll admit I always felt a little out on the outs, probably because I couldn't relate to their conversations about managing things solo or dealing with an ex or custody situation.  I almost felt a little guilty that I have a pretty seamless partnership, including the luxury to have a built-in buddy at almost every game and not have to be at every practice.  I guess that made me feel a little awkward about trying to be part of that "mom squad" when I didn't know how they perceived me.  By the end of the season, I knew that one of the boys would be on Jacob's travel team, so I knew it was probably a good idea to at least get to know the one mom better since we'd be seeing a lot more of each other for the next few months.  We chatted quite a bit at the end of the season and bonded over normal mom-of-tween-boy stuff.  Of course, the coronavirus completely derailed our travel season, so our "baby" friendship is currently on hold.  I hope our paths cross again soon, because I feel very fortunate to know someone like her.  She's amazing--a hardworking nurse and a strict but super supportive mom.

Long story short--and I guess my point to this entire original post--is that I'm grateful to this latest phase in our lives for giving me the opportunity I never had in my younger years.  If lack of exposure was an issue then, it shouldn't be now.  I don't want to treat this as some sort of experiment, mind you, but it's definitely something that's newer to me than it should be.  I'm still trying to figure out how to fit in when there aren't a lot of other people like me.  Lacrosse was hard enough with a lot of other "typical" families that were more like us (but not quite), so this is entirely different.  And you know, I sort of like it.  I like that it's pushing me out of my lifelong comfort zone.  I want to learn.  I'm not sure how to do it well, or sensitively, or not-naively, but I want to try.

Fast-forward a few months removed from basketball season, and the latest racial incidents in our country, primarily the murders of two unarmed black men, give me pause.  The guy in Georgia who was jogging could easily be a friend of Jacob's 10 years down the road.  The man in Minneapolis wasn't resisting, and yet four cops decided to go above and beyond to restrain him, and it cost him his life.  These events are tragic, no matter the color of your skin.  But they are personal to people of color because it illustrates the fear and the racism they experience on a daily basis.  White people like me have no concept of what that feels like or how it changes your mindset, every single day.  And clearly as a society we're not doing enough to stop stuff like this from happening.  At the same time, I wonder how: How do you weed out all the bad cops?  How do you manage an impulsive, human response driven by fear?  When someone has had a negative experience (a cop with a criminal or an innocent person with a bad cop), how do you prevent that from coloring your future interactions?  We can't let those concerns stop us from moving forward to make this better, but the more everyone truly understands, the easier it is to treat each other as fellow human beings and equals.

Complicating the Minneapolis story was that riots overtook part of the city over the past few days.  The damage was shocking--a completely looted Target and grocery store, a destroyed strip mall, and countless neighborhood businesses were ruined (200 at last count).  Multiple buildings burned down, including an auto parts store, a Wendy's, and giant under-construction apartment building that was to be affordable housing.  The second night they set the police precinct on fire after significantly vandalizing it the night before.  I saw a video of a local surveying the damage after the first bad night, and it was sickening.  On one hand, I get the anger, and it had to go somewhere.  I'm mostly thankful they didn't take anyone's life.  On the other, this was completely over the top and certainly did more harm than good.  They destroyed their own neighborhood, ruined the livelihoods of countless neighbors, and flat-out broke the law with all of the looting and destruction.  It undermines the very battle they were fighting.  Instead all of us uniting under the notion that these cops were wrong, now everyone's split again because one side thinks the anger is justified and this is a much-needed cry for attention, but for the other side it just reinforces the stereotypes and "proves" they can't be reasoned with.  When people react this way, they may seem no better than an animal that acts on primal instinct.  It plays right into the racist perspective that they're not "like us".  Even at best, it's almost like negotiating with terrorists who will destroy the city if they don't get their way.  It's tragic on so many levels--a needless death begat needless destruction, and now a community is completely fractured.

I had a friend on Facebook that basically dismissed the rioters as degenerates who were raised to believe that behavior like that is okay.  I'm sure there are bad apples in there, and the mob mentality just made it worse.  I'm sure there were people who were just happy to benefit from the looting to pick up a couple things they can't afford but feel they deserve, and that's just rude--but I've never felt perpetually pushed down by society so maybe that's just something I don't understand.  But at the core of it, whether you're a looter or a murderer, something has to happen in your life that makes you go from a logical, rational, loving human being at birth to someone who thinks their best option to express their anger is to kill someone else or destroy someone else's property.  That doesn't just happen, and most likely no one actively raised them to think that way.  As I said, those basketball moms were some of the strictest I know--they desperately want to put good men out into the world--and I don't think they're an exception.  And for the record, this isn't just a black/white thing--there were white looters too, but clearly it makes more sense for the black community to be enraged over the repeated examples of racially motivated murders of unarmed folks of color, so I'm probably going to focus there for now.  But what happened in the lives of those involved in this rioting that made them think that behavior is okay?

One of the more special parts of my job is that I get to work with an organization that uses scientific research to treat and heal childhood trauma.  They study trauma and its effects, and run programs based on their research that help prevent trauma and manage the effects.  They help young moms through parenting programs, they run programs for kids who have been through trauma and families impacted by Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder, and they can even financially support these families when they are in a short-term emergency situation.  It's an amazing organization, and it has opened my eyes to the long-lasting, life-changing effects of trauma.  It leads to lifelong disordered behavior if it's not dealt with, and we can all assume pretty easily that poor families and families of color have a harder time accessing proper mental health treatment as it is.  What are the odds that many of those rioters have dealt with trauma--a bad home life, absent or abusive parents, drug abuse?  Add in a feeling of being unseen or unheard in society, or of having their needs unmet and feelings ignored by people who are supposed to love them or by society as a whole, and it gets exponentially worse.  Multiply that anger over many years, and I can see how it might build up and be triggered by an event like this.  I assume that would lead to feelings of justification in destroying what's good in someone else's life, or stealing something you think you deserve but that society never allowed you to have.  It doesn't make it right, clearly, but can we just bypass the "bad people" narrative and figure out how they got to that point in the first place?

You know how one side of the gun debate has insisted that treating mental health is more important than taking guns away?  Well, here's another chance--let's treat the mental health issues that led to this community destroying itself.  Part of that is fixing the systemic racism and bias to alleviate that constant weight and remove a trigger.  Part of that is dealing far earlier with the broken family units, lack of strong male role models, and managing the trauma caused by abuse.  I don't have the answers for how to get there, but dare I say universal health care could help the second part of that.  The first part seems to be partly holding one another accountable to reduce racist behavior--from outing bad cops to calling out someone's insensitive joke, to making different voices heard on social media.  Another part is using those different voices to try to understand each other better.  I never knew black people when I was younger, so how could I know about their struggles?  How could I know the stereotypes were wrong?  There was no social media back then, either, so my world was pretty small.  But now I realize, the more you step out of your comfort zone, the more you'll understand someone who's different than you.  Then their race won't be what divides you--it may only serve to highlight what makes them special among your circle.

For me personally, I struggle with knowing what's appropriate.  I want to learn and understand, but because I'm a suburban white girl, I wonder at what point I'll be looked at as inserting myself into a situation where I don't belong.  I know my white privilege has likely carried me through a lot in life, but I don't want it to be what makes me think I can stick my nose anywhere I want.  Is it really my right to understand their struggles if they feel I can't relate to them?  How can I speak to things I haven't experienced?  I feel there's probably a level of trust that must be built before that's appropriate, but how do you get to that point?  So for me personally, I'm not sure what my next steps are aside from looking for opportunities to learn and share and defend.  This is all hard--not in the same way it's hard for people of color--but in watching a country continue to be torn apart and in knowing that there are people that think those cops did nothing wrong or can't figure out why the protesters were that angry.  I'm sad and I feel powerless.  But I guess you have to start somewhere, so I guess I'm starting here.