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I’ve always wondered if I would’ve been marching alongside Dr. Martin Luther King back in the 1960’s. He was wildly unpopular and when he died, he had an unpopularity rating around 70%.
He marched, he protested, and he was very radical. The history books would make it seem he was a mild-manner Negro who sang “We Shall Overcome” and be done with it. He was a lot more than that. He wanted to make people uncomfortable. He received many death threats. He was ultimately killed for his beliefs and we honor him every year.
Every January, my white friends would post their favorite Dr. King quote and wish him a Happy Birthday. It’s rather predictable at this point. He’s everyone favorite “safe Negro.”
And that’s because he’s dead.
He doesn’t fuss. He’s not going on numerous talk shows or has his own podcast (I’m sure he would’ve had one). He only wanted equality for everyone; an even playing field. What’s not to like about a dead black man?
As I pondered everything back in January and compare it to now, mid-June 2020, I honestly wonder why the change in my white friends’ behavior and attitudes?
I’m used to having many white friends. Growing up in Palm Springs, California, with a very small black population, a sista is going to have several white friends. Going to a PWI university, again, I was surrounded by white women.
And again at the workplace. And at Bear’s preschool. And in various shopping excursions where I can count how many black people are in the store including me. (The number is usually less than three.)
So, when the various George Floyd protests began happening in the U.S., having all 50 states on board, various countries stand in solidarity with us, and numerous corporations finally speaking out, I had to wonder:
Why were my white friends still being silent on this?
It’s not the first time I had this issue. Over the course of many years, dating back to college, I’m used to it. No one at my alma mater spoke about Amadou Diallo. Sean Bell’s murder wasn’t even talked about at my work. In 2013, Trayvon Martin was ignored. In 2014, Mike Brown was turned a blind eye to. In 2015, Sandra Bland was met with a ‘Who?’
I erroneously thought that maybe the tragic death of Heather Heyer, a white woman, would’ve made everyone finally say something. And it was crickets yet again.
I started to wonder…why was I really friends with all of these white people if they’re acting like what’s happening in my community doesn’t exist?
I know how it goes – every white person wants that one black friend. The cool black guy. The sassy black girl. White people love black culture so much, they love incorporating new slang to their dictionary, even when they can’t even say it right.
But do they love us?
Maybe they really want to be friends with someone or they want to prove they’re not a racist dickhead. But what happens when you’re not addressing what’s going on in the world due to your friend’s race? Are you really their friend?
What set me off was a conversation I had with a then-close friend not too long ago. I’ll call her Karen (not her real name but it fits). Karen and I have been friends since high school. We’ve known each other for a very long time. We’ve been through a lot with each other. Trials, tribulations, tragedies, and triumphs. I considered her one of my very best friends.
I told her Maks and I were going to start to TTC for a sibling for Bear. She offered to be a surrogate in case our efforts failed. I was honored. Two weeks later, George Floyd died and the world was on fire.
And Karen? Silence.
She didn’t call or send a text. Her social media postings indicated absolutely nothing. Not even a black square. And honestly, Karen didn’t say anything to any other tragedy involving black folks.
I started to wonder: Why the offer to be a surrogate if you can’t even say black lives matter?
And from Karen, the anger began to boil and fester. I started going on numerous other white friends pages and noticed they had the same M.O. And just like Karen, they never said anything about anything going on.
That’s when I wondered if these same people who were in a rush to post their favorite Dr. King quote back in January can’t say black lives matter or show support to their black friends, well, why are we friends?
I went on a deleting spree. For those who I still question, I put them on mute until I can figure out if they’re someone I want to be friends with.
It’s not the first person who made me wonder if they’re about that life. My husband’s work colleague is a staunch white feminist. She hates everything Trump. She loves Hillary. She fights for everyone, or so she claims.
When it came to the protests, she shielded her six-year-old daughter from everything. Her daughter has no clue what’s going on. I’ll forever side-eye the everloving fuck out of her.
Another white friend, Becky, didn’t say anything to my various story posts about different ways to donate and be an ally. When I had a funny meme, she replied with a LOL.
So, I’ve been posting various things over the past two weeks and she couldn’t say shit but when I posted a non-sensical thing, I get a LOL? Got it. And she got deleted. LOL.
I started to feel alone in this fight. I confided in my other black friends about it if they were feeling the same. A lot of them said they were. A lot of friendships they had to end because it was clear it was one-sided. It hurts.
I wondered if my then-friends were waiting for me and Bear to become hashtags before they said something. If they were waiting for us to be met with a tragic end and finally speak up. Or it would’ve been status quo for them and just another day?
One of my black friends told me I probably wasn’t being fair; maybe the white friends were contributing in some other way behind the scenes. Like donating to the cause or supporting a black-owned business. I looked at her and shook my head.
“Trust me, they’re not doing any of those.” I told her. “I know these people.”
I know sacrificing friendships is the least hurtful thing in all of this. People have sacrificed their freedom, livelihood, and sometimes their lives. Some were made into pariahs and all they did was just walk in peaceful protest.
I can no longer let the silence of my white friends be acceptable and okay. Honestly, it was never okay and I’m not entirely sure if I ever accepted it. For the sake of my son and many others, I can’t say I was cool with someone being completely silent when I really wasn’t.
And that goes for my in-laws. They are completely oblivious to everything (by choice) and we barely have a relationship as it is (my choice). I’ll let Bear know when it came to the Civil Rights Movement of 2020, his white side of the family in the U.S. didn’t say or do a damn, neither. (His relatives over in Ukraine, surprisingly enough, have been very vocal in support.)
Maybe I’ll make new friends. And maybe my old friends and I will have a sit-down chit-chat about everything. Maybe. Silence is compliance and when people are choosing not to speak out, then they’re okay with everything and I just can’t have that negative energy in my life.
I finally realized after all of this, I would’ve been marching alongside Dr. King. I would’ve been at the forefront of everything.
And my now-ex white friends? They would’ve been on the wrong side of history, like they are now.
All photos were taken by my husband and Bear’s dad, @caliwinter.
