How I’ll raise my daughter to promote racial justice
Yesterday, as I watched footage of the George Floyd protests, I was overcome with sadness thinking about the death of this man who experienced such wildly unwarranted violence. Of course, it’s not just George Floyd. There are so many others, too many others. Just a few weeks ago, I cried on a morning run thinking about Ahmaud Arbery. It’s too much. It’s always been too much. But, as a white person, I’ve been able to think, “Gosh, I’m overwhelmed by all this. It’s terrible,” then move on with my life. It’s not until now that I’ve realized that is white privilege — the luxury of moving on. It’s not until now that I’ve started to think hard about the difference between being quietly non-racist (which I’ve been for 40 years) and vocally anti-racist (which is my planned identity for however many years I have left).
As the protests turned to looting and unrest in Los Angeles, I found myself feeling angry with the people breaking windows and defacing property — and then guilty about my anger. I texted my friend, a person of color, and said, “They’re diluting the message!” Then: “Wait? Is that my white privilege talking?” She said, “I wouldn’t say white privilege. I would say non-violent oppression privilege.” Meaning, I’ve never been treated with violence, so responding with violence is a totally foreign concept to me. Black people, collectively, have experienced so much violence. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.”
Our country is so young, relatively — it wasn’t that long ago when black people couldn’t vote; it wasn’t that long ago when they were enslaved. For years, I shook my head at this, thinking, “That’s just absurd to enslave people!” I thought my disgust at the concept was enough. When the Black Lives Matter movement first began, I thought, “Well duh, of course black lives matter. How do I live in a country where this has to be stated?” I thought my bewilderment was evidence of my non-racism. I saw nothing in common between me and racists. I sat comfortably with the gratitude that I was raised to see all races as equal. I referenced my collection of friends of all different ethnicities. And, I moved on with my life.
The death of George Floyd has stopped me in my privileged tracks. I could just move on…again, but I don’t want to. This quote from Leslie Mac speaks to me:
“White people need to do a lot of introspective work to understand the ways in which they personally contribute to, benefit from and tolerate white supremacy. This isn’t about shame. I find shame to be a useless emotion that will keep people stuck where they are and focused on their own feelings.”
Exactly. This isn’t about my feelings. Feeling ashamed of my white privilege is just another form of navel gazing. I need to look up, listen, and do what I can to understand the experience of black people as best I can. That understanding is necessary for empathy, and empathy is necessary for action.
There are a number of articles and essays online with ways white people can promote racial justice and be better allies to black people (I found this one and this one very useful). For me, one of the greatest impacts I can make is to raise my daughter to promote racial justice better than I have.
Here are 8 things I will do with this in mind:
1. Educate myself first and foremost. As they say, put on your own oxygen mask first. The more I know, the more I can share with my daughter. I have read some great books on racism already (Good Talk by Mira Jacob is a recent favorite), but I need to read more. This is my current Amazon cart:
I was happy to see that all the hard copy books are sold out. I have downloaded Between the World and Me on Kindle to start. I’m a big reader. Books are a direct pathway to empathy for me. For reference, here is a great list of book recommendations.
2. Follow and support organizations that promote parenting through a critical race lens. @theconsciouskid on Instagram is great. Raceconscious.org is a great website I’m exploring.
3. Read more books to my daughter that feature characters of different races. The vast majority of children’s books still feature white people (and don’t even get me started on the gender roles that are perpetuated). I just bought this book and this book for my daughter. For reference, there are a ton of great books for kids listed here, here, and here.
4. Choose TV shows and movies that feature characters of different races. There are great lists here and here. As a feminist, I’ve been generally aware of the importance of representation in what my daughter watches. Seeing girls and women as main characters is important; seeing people of color as main characters is just as important.
5. Buy toys and dolls that represent different races. The first time I gave my daughter the option of picking out a doll, she chose a doll with a darker complexion (it’s still her favorite doll). She’s only two. It would be lame of me to say, “She doesn’t see color.” She does. But she doesn’t seem to attach any meaning to it…yet. She doesn’t gravitate toward dolls that look like her…yet. I’m hoping to continue to give her a wide range of toys so that multiculturalism is “normal” to her.
6. Expand her definition of “beautiful” to include all skin types, eye colors, etc. My daughter is light-skinned and has blue eyes. She gets told all the time that she is “so pretty.” I can’t really do anything about comments like these, and I know there is no bad intention in them. But I want her to know that being “pretty” is not exclusive to light-skinned people with blue eyes. I’ve started commenting on the features of some of her dolls and characters of color in her books and shows — for example, “Look what beautiful brown eyes she has!” It’s a small thing, but small things matter. White supremacy persists because of lots of small things; undoing it can be done via small things too.
7. Talk to her about racial injustice. As I said, my previous stance has been to be quietly non-racist. I didn’t see the need to talk to my daughter about racism. I thought, “Well, my husband and I are very progressive, open-minded people. We have friends of different ethnicities. That’s enough.” But it’s not. Change is dependent on white people becoming less passive. I don’t want my daughter to just think racism is wrong; I want her to act on the wrongness she sees. For me, talking to her about racial injustice means having frank discussions about our country’s history (when she’s old enough, obviously), pointing out subtle (and not so subtle) racism I see in the world (or on TV or wherever), and owning up to the privileges we have as white people.
8. Encourage her school to promote racial justice. My daughter is in preschool, where much of the day is probably focused on tantrum management (and potty training). Still, I can buy books for the school that feature characters of different races. I can propose activities for Black History Month. When she’s older and learning about history, I can advocate for all of our history being discussed — even the ugly parts. I can advocate for inclusion of more people of color in discussions of famous scientists, leaders, etc. I can advocate for more required reading by black authors. And if the school curriculum doesn’t do enough, I can fill in the gaps at home.
I know there will be mistakes and missteps in my quest to be a more race conscious person and parent. It’s possible I said something in this essay that is ignorant. Again, Leslie Mac has helpful words:
“Black people are not expecting perfection from white people. We know it is not a question of if they will mess up but when they will mess up. What I have been saying over and over is, when white people mess up, what will they do then? Will they retreat? Will they give up? Will they lash out? Will they push blame onto others? Or will they use this as an opportunity to learn what not to do and commit to doing better?”
I’d like to set my ego aside and do just that — commit to doing better.
