I was raised by a racist. A man who used the “N” word as comfortably as he breathed. I was also weened on television that painted racial stereotypes, queer and trans identities, with mockery and insensitivity. When I moved to San Francisco 9 years ago today I also entered a world that challenged me about everything and every human. I love people of all types and since being here I learned to love them more in a way that better respects our differences. I am still shocked about how much racism I see even here. Entitlement and privilege have taken on new meeting. I hesitate to say much or because I do not feel I have the right to. I have no bone in that fight. But a sign I saw said white silence = violence. I stand squarely with the rights for people to be pissed off. And their right to share that rage with people who are not paying attention. Another sign said that “you will not tell me how to grieve” and I understand and get out of the way of that. I got called a racist last week and I felt the wind sucked out of me… cold water through my veins; because I misunderstood something someone said in context. None of it is about me. I am celebrating 9 years here in the Bay Area … and it has bothered me that I have not found a way to contribute to this story. This is not permission. It is silent witness to something that strikes at my core in a way that is different than the way it may have effected you. I see people I care for who are people of color who struggle during this time. So I try my best to be better – and maybe that will help on some level.
A long way away … Happy Anniversary
Posted in Things that haunt me, verbal diahrea.