Notes to my (white woman) self

Today’s To-Do List:

I will seek the similarities, rather than the differences, between myself and Amy Cooper. What she did was vile, but I never want to forget that in many ways, we are cut from the same white cloth.

Derek Chauvin held his knee to George Floyd’s neck, ultimately murdering him. Today I will consider the ways in which cashing out on my privilege symbolically suffocates marginalized folks - whether I know it, like it, or believe it or not.

How can I see myself in Tom Austin and his disbelief that those men of color didn’t belong in ‘his’ space?

I will avoid use of the words ‘you’ or ‘they’ when referring to the types of white people in these headlines. I don’t ever want to forget that I am a part of the same racist system that continues to benefit white people, at the expense of Black and Indigenous People of Color. As much as I hate it, my very existence as a white woman in the United States of America makes me part Karen, and means that I will always have more work to do.

I won’t let the guilt of that overwhelm me. My sea of white tears doesn’t help anyone or anything.

I will not make this about me. This is not my pain. If I am exhausted reading these headlines, I will immediately consider what it would be like to live in Black and Brown skin and live those experiences every single day.

I will do my best to remember that my armchair outrage doesn’t mean a damn thing. Change will never ever happen from the Facebook pulpit. Action, and then action, and then still more action.

I will pick up the phone and call my city council member to ask what he is doing to reduce instances of police violence against communities of color, as well as demand that Sac PD have more than eight hours of crisis management training.

I will not call the police when my comfort is stretched. I will sit with my discomfort and grow my capacity to handle Black people existing.

I will mess up.

But when I do, I will remember that my commitment to liberation has to be greater than my ego.

I will remember that my silence is akin to violence. It’s not enough to be outraged in the face of tragedy, only to go back to sleep until the next one comes.

Stay awake Corri.

Stay awake.