Hello, my name is ____ and I’m a racist.
It’s not quite what you think though. I’m not a Tea Partier or a member of the KKK and I don’t own a Confederate flag. The problem is where I live, the United States of Racism.
I used to think that my country was the most exceptional of all the world, but I’ve discovered I hadn’t been paying very close attention.
My childhood upbringing was about as normal as I could imagine (think “Leave It to Beaver.” Yes, really). Imagine my surprise that everyone didn’t live on a block just like mine, but being a kid I’m not beating myself up over this that much. Hell, I was a kid, this was my existence (sheltered as it were).
I’m irritated with myself for taking so long to recognize the length and depth of living a life of white privilege. Somewhat embarrassed actually and being a retired teacher I have used tons of Civil Rights materials with students, so I should have a clue for crying out loud. But I didn’t. White privilege is a thing. It’s in our country’s DNA from the very beginning from stealing land from the Indians to the wealth earned from the labor of African slaves. I have a real problem that God would bless that America.
My name is Russ and I’m not a racist, but my country is. It started that way and I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it has stayed that way.
Black Lives Matter!