This one is powerful and resonates for me, my sister is a transracial adoptee, never in my life have I called myself black or African American, because I *know* I am not. My experience with racism and privilege as a white girl with a black sibling is different than your typical white girl experience, and, yet, I am still a white girl. We talked about race when I was growing up, went to functions to experience black culture so Jennie would get experience with African Americans, we made friends with other families that had transracial siblings, etc, but nothing in my family life, discussions or experiences prepared me for the reality of racism lived by the person in skin that isn’t white like mine. I got tastes of it because of my proximity: my grandfather disowned us, kids weren’t allowed to play with me, some kids wouldn’t come visit us at the house, I’ve been called a (blank)lover ever since I was 6, when I went shopping with my sister we were followed, we have been refused service, and still, most of the hatred was aimed at my sister, not me.
I am an ally. I use my voice for education, to fight for people’s rights and to point out racism when I see it. I have never called myself black, even with the involvement I have with POC, I know who I am and I know there is power there, power that it is my responsibility to wield in a way that uplifts people, not galvanize my position in society (I can’t figure out a better way to say that that doesn’t sound quite so paternalistic, I will work on that)… My conversations about racism are intimate, talking to the little people in my life, the human I made, about what it means to be who they are, what it means for me to be who I am and for dad to be who he is. How our lives and experiences are different and how incredibly much THEY MATTER….
“Ms. Dolezal is a white woman, who made choices, who used and is still using every bit of her white privilege to maintain the power and elite status she has accrued from her deception.”