Friends, this post is more than a little bit out of character for me. You may have noticed that I very, very rarely comment on current events here on this blog. I’ve long recognized that I lack a sort of fast-twitch blogger muscle in my brain; I prefer to mull and mull and mull things over before I comment on them, and often by the time I’ve pulled together what feels like a thoughtful, fair, helpful response, the moment has passed.
When I learned of the shocking massacre of nine black Bible study attendees at the AME church in Charleston, South Carolina last week, I was already a few steps behind. Jon and I were visiting friends on Wednesday and then celebrating my niece’s birthday on Thursday, so it was Friday before I really had a chance to dig in to the story, absorb the reactions on blogs and social media, and see the hurt, frustration, and fear my black friends were experiencing. I read and read and read; I shared links on Facebook, and read some more.
I knew that wasn’t enough. I knew I needed to say something here on this blog, to make a public statement, but I sat on the post for days because, well, I didn’t know what to say. And sometimes the longer you stay quiet, the longer you wait to jump into the fray, the more awkward it feels to start. If you wait five days, has the moment passed? Seven? A month?
The truth is that I still don’t know exactly what to say. But I can’t wait any longer to say something.

Victims of the Charleston AME shooting
The first and most simple thing is this: I recognize the Charleston shootings as an act of racially-motivated terrorism. (I’m a little bit amazed that this statement even needs to be made, but after reading some seriously disheartening commentary online over the past few days, I just want to be crystal clear.) Mass shootings are always terrible, but the addition of motivation and location to this one adds immeasurably to the horror. I’m so sorry for my black friends who have to deal with the fear that they could be similarly targeted, and those that feel they have lost their idea of sanctuary.
The second thing is this: I recognize that as a white person I have privileges my fellow black citizens do not.
I was in my early 20s when I first heard the phrase “white privilege.” At first, it rankled. I grew up poor, I was a broke young mom at the time. I struggled. How could anyone call me ‘privileged’?
But white privilege doesn’t mean I’m a bad person, that opportunities have been handed to me on a silver platter, or that I don’t work hard. It’s not really about ME, individually, at all. It simply means that there is a system that unfairly favors white people, and that I have benefitted from that system, without asking for it or often, even noticing it. It took time, but the more I worked to squelch my own knee-jerk defensiveness around the discussion of race, the clearer this became.
Which leads me to my third point. As a white person, I have the privilege of not having to speak up about racism.
And too often – sometimes without even thinking about it – I’ve allowed that privilege to go unchecked.
I’ve not talked to my kids nearly enough about racism and social justice, because I’m not sure what to say and it’s uncomfortable. And, worse, because I’ve been lazy. I thought that because my kids easily make friends with kids of other races, and that because we have black family members (some of whom have lived with us off and on over the years) that it somehow let me off the hook from having to talk much about it. But of course, it doesn’t. Close relationships with people of color may help us see race issues in a more personal and compassionate way, but it doesn’t mean we get a “get out of talking about racism free” pass.
Worse – and pretty much proof of my previous paragraph – when people have made racist comments in my presence, sometimes in my very own home, I’ve too often let it slide. I’ve told myself that maybe I didn’t hear them right, or that I misunderstood their intent. I’ve kept quiet to avoid making waves. I’ve done this even when the comments weren’t even just a questionable joke or thoughtless offhand comment, but actively and pointedly hostile remarks. That’s hard to admit, but it needs to be admitted.
I’m not saying all this to beat myself up. I know I’m a good person and I don’t actively try to be racist. But I have a feeling most of my white friends can recognize themselves in one or both of these failings – particularly those of us who live or came of age in families or communities where racist comments and attitudes are so prevalent that they stop shocking you after a while – and I think that by admitting it, we make it easier to choose better in the future.
So…now what?
There are a lot of things white people can do to combat racism. This article lists 11 good ways to start. #1 suggests white folk “use their privilege to confront racial injustices when they see them happening, whether in the grocery store or the boardroom.” And that’s where I’m going to start, beginning right now.
I’m writing this here, now, in the hopes that I might inspire others to break their silence as well, and also to hold myself accountable.
It’s not just about changing minds today, either. Let’s face it: some minds will never be changed. But just as important, we are raising the next generation of human beings, and we can either bring up young adults who will be silent in the face of injustice, or those who will speak up even when their voices are shaking. Personally, I want to raise human beings who will speak up, and I believe it begins with what I model for them.
The picture at the top of my post is my son Owen and his cousin Quin. It’s one of my favorite pictures ever, and I post it here to remind myself that as equal as these two little boys seem when snuggled up under a blanket on my living-room floor, that’s not likely to be Quin’s experience when he’s out in the world. I might not be able to fix the world for him, but maybe I can help improve our little corner of it.
We all have a lot more power than we think to make a difference. Even if you don’t have a large online platform or aren’t particularly political, you can start in the place parents wield the most power: In our own homes, with our friends and family and children. Even if you’ve never spoken before, say something now, and vow to keep speaking up. It’s not too late to make a difference.
The moment has not passed. Will you seize it?
Just thank you. It’s not a small gesture, either. But neither is your taking the time to write it.
Thank you.
Kelly, thank YOU for being a consistent, clear and passionate voice in all of this.
We can all make a difference. You did, by making us stop and think. Thank you!
Yes, I will.
Well done, Meagan. You know what I’ve wanted to share but haven’t yet. Thanks for leading the way, for shedding light, for being a brave, conscious soul in speaking out as an ally. This is a post I could read to my kids. Thank you for that.
YES! I totally agree with what you have said.
This is excellent. Thank you. I also tend not to comment on current events; I don’t always feel that I understand them well enough to give a cogent opinion, because often there are so many angles. By the time I feel I have a full understanding, the moment seems to have passed. I don’t see angles here, though. The murders in Charleston were awful, and racist, and acts of terrorism. I really don’t understand why that’s so hard for many to accept.
Can totally identify with this – I don’t ever like to jump the gun or speak about things I’m not fully informed on, but what I’m realizing now is that we don’t always have to do a complete, researched takedown of every topic to weigh in. Sometimes simply acknowledging hurt and pain is enough…sometimes just saying what we know and believe, even if it’s very limited, is enough…sometimes just saying we don’t know what to say is enough! Anything is better than nothing.
What a great post. I just shared it on my fb page. I just started working for a nonprofit and we talk about this all the time. I get wrapped up in my white girl privilege guilt and sit paralyzed. I’m not doing that anymore. Thank you so much for sharing.
Thank you for this post. I can relate to a lot of what you say and where you are coming from. I do find it difficult to comment on current events since I am afraid of alienating friends that may not share the same political views. It can be difficult to find the right words. It is important to speak up for our family and friends of different ethnicities and races. Discussion and acknowledgement is important.
I’m grateful to Megan for speaking out against the ugly racism in America! My brother and I personally experienced racism every day that we had to ride the school bus to high school, starting in 1980. We lived in a very small town in the country, and we walked down a long dirt road to catch the school bus, which we both dreaded. Several white boys would throw spitballs, call us the N- word like calling a pig, the driver couldn’t stop them I had to be strong for my brother, My last day to ride the bus as a senior, my driver got off the bus with me and apologized to me for having to endure the hatred I received due to the color of my skin, she hugged me. I knew she was crying tears of joy that we made it through without fighting back in all those three years, but in my heart, I shed a billion tears, and each day, as a teenager, I asked “God why, why are these kids so mean”. I now ask him the same question, but it is about the adults that teach there kids. If we all treated everyone the way we want our love ones to be treated, there would be no more racism in the world! May God bless us all.
Hahahaha. I’m not too bright today. Great post!
Hahahaha, I can totally see what you mean, but I think you got it convered perfectly. The dress is banging, it's so edgy and chic – you look smoking! xoxo, Ashley
Hi Kim,Thanks so much for the party:) Love your picks from last week. Talk about wow, that was one sweet hubby with the room re-do while wife is out of town!Thanks again, enjoying it:) Di{CookTheTV}