One Small Candle

“My daughter would appreciate it if you didn’t call her monkey.” Her words went something like that and, to me, it was like the sound of a record scratching to a halt. Our daughters were the same age and had been playing together in our 7 by 7 shared cubicle before heading to their preschool. As giggles and silliness filled the small space, I called them “little monkeys.” One problem. My co-worker was (and still is!) black. 

I felt my face flush with embarrassment and that quickly turned to anger. “Clearly you know I didn’t mean anything racist by that, Rozetta.” I blurted my response and stormed away for a walk around our tropical campus, escaping her assertion and my discomfort. We never discussed it again and it was a few days before things went back to “normal”. Over those days, I spent a lot of time talking to a few close friends and family about the incident. I sought reassurance that I was not racist and confirmation that Rozetta was being too sensitive. It was my most childish adult moment and a lost opportunity for growth. That is until now. I hope.

My inability to address that exchange was always hanging over me. I knew there was more to discuss there but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. How could a self-proclaimed anti-racist have made such a misstep with her one black co-worker? Instead I made it a point to discuss race and identity in the United States with Rozetta; perhaps I was trying to prove my wokeness. I thought I was listening to her but I was probably doing way too much of the talking. What the hell do I know about what it’s like to be black or brown in this country? Talk, talk, talk with absolutely no constructive action. Again, until now. Again, I hope.

As the two of us continued to work side by side, I bore witness to the many microaggressions that she had to endure on a daily basis. If you don’t know what microaggressions are, look it up. We all do them. My using the term “monkey” with Rozetta’s daughter is an example of one. If it makes you (as a white person) angry or uncomfortable to hear that, you might want to skip the two year process I went through to get to the other side and take a minute to examine why it makes you feel that way.  I asked her recently how she put up with everything she did. “Fear, conditioning, lack of self-worth.” That was her only response. Wow. 

My therapist once told me that one of the most important roles of a therapist is to bear witness for their patients. She has watched my collapse and growth over the past year and reminded me that I did that growing from a very dark place. I reflected on this yesterday as I watched thunder clouds gather over my backyard while tumbling the elements of this piece over and over in my mind. I reached out to Rozetta for guidance. I told her about what my therapist said about bearing witness and how that is not just a therapy thing but a human thing. We humans, for the most part, all want at least one other person to see our moments of joy and pain; as if by sharing those moments we can either compound or lessen the emotions and help preserve the memory of what happened. I bore witness to Rozetta’s pain and did nothing but acknowledge to her that we were living our own version of The Office. I didn’t do enough. In fact I think I did the opposite. For that, I am sorry.

In the wake of George Floyd’s murder, Rozetta sent me a message thanking me for speaking up on Facebook (which is still not enough, it just isn’t) and said the following:

I haven’t slept. I’m angry. I’m sad, I’m sick. I wanna go to another black face to comfort me but the reality is we start talking ourselves in circles cause our pain is exactly the same. We’ve said it all before. We’ve said it to each other and comforted each other so many times before this, and now there’s nothing left to be said when the president wants to turn the military on the protesters and is taking pictures in front of a church with a bible....I’m so angry! All this shit with the riots and hearing more people being upset about the stores being looted than the lives being lost. Then to add insult to injury we have to tell our white allies that when they lose their cool we are the ones blamed. What the FUCK! It’s this perpetual cycle of grief. We as a community never get the opportunity to heal from one incident before we are faced with another. It’s 2020. Why are we having to explain to people that this is real, this is not us being too sensitive, wanting a handout, or wanting to blame all white people for our problems. This is what we face every day as people of color. 

I cried when I read those words and did not want to leave such clearly articulated pain trapped in my Facebook messages. Leaving that pain there would be yet another opportunity I lost with Rozetta and I asked for her permission to share. So here I am, sharing the pain I bore and still bear witness to in the hopes that I am doing my part however small it is. I did not know what to say when I read her words about how she felt and I think that’s probably the point. All I could say was “I am listening and will speak up wherever and whenever I can. I see a wave of change happening and I’m riding it with you. It’s going to be slow and painful. But it’s here.”

Yes, white people, it’s time to listen, learn, and make whatever small reparations we all need to make. Yes, all. Looks like I’ll be kneeling for the pledge of allegiance and anthem from this point forward. As my Dad’s fortune cookie said the other night “Better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness.” One small candle.