As a white woman with Black ancestors — Black folks who lived a couple of centuries ago, folks who had a different lived experience than my own — I feel that …
I feel a certain way about lots of things.
I would like to think that even if I were “100% Swedish” or something like that, that I would care about the concerns of my Black sisters and brothers.
I do think, however, that being mindful of my own ancestors’ struggles has really opened my eyes to the everyday experiences of Black people. I’ve tried to put myself in the shoes of my Black ancestors — and I realized I could never fully understand their lived experience. But after realizing that, I realized that I should take more care to fully consider the things that my Black friends and acquaintances face on a daily basis.
Now, I’m basically a long-distance Melungeon. I’m sure there are people who look at me and “see it,” just as there are people who look at me and think I’m Greek.
I’m always mistaken for being Greek. I’m not, though. It’s not a bad thing to be — and I really like tzatziki sauce! But I am not a Greek person. I did like the Big Fat Greek Wedding movie, though. The first one.
Because I try to be considerate and mindful, I think about things like unintentional biases, and about the indignity of microaggressions.
Here’s a silly and slightly convoluted example. I’ll be walking, tugging at my shirt or my skirt, and pulling at my leggings to smooth out the bulge of my belly. And then I’ll swing my purse around in front of me, to hide my stomach or the too-long slit in my skirt.
Twice I’ve done this in front of Black teens, and I think, “My God, they’ll think that this white bitch is a racist.”
I always try to make a big show of patting my belly, too, which I think makes me look weird. Or pregnant. Or both.
Heck, I’d rather be the weird pregnant lady than the mean racist lady.
I try to be mindful of what I do, because I never want to be the mean racist lady. I want to always try to do better and be better. As I should.
As we should.
Jamais Mayville 