I'm Racist, and I'd Like to Talk About It.

Are you a racist? 

Such an ugly, incendiary word, isn't it? I mean come on, unless you're a cross-burning, tattoo-misspelling, Clorox guzzling Proud Boy, who among us, whether liberal or conservative, wants to include RACIST in our personal rubric, nestled right there between Eagle Scout and Competent Toastmaster? And as a middle-aged white man, just hearing the word makes me want to pull out my imaginary wallet and proudly show you the small, laminated list of all the reasons why I'm not a racist:

a) I haven't voted Republican since 1988, and even then, I was really just voting for Dana Carvey's version of Bush.

b) I have black friends—I can name at least four off the top of my head, but I know I could come up with more if I really tried. Also, there's a black family on my street, whom I cheerfully greet whenever I see them on one of my COVID exercise walks. Like the Toyota commercial for zero percent financing says, "We're all in this together."

c) I voted for Obama. Oh, yeah, twice!

d) If there's still any doubt that I'm not a racist, check out my Facebook and Instagram posts from last Tuesday. See? Nothing but a black rectangle. Quite a statement in my opinion, when I obviously could've been posting cool and compelling pictures of myself.

Here's the definition of racism, according to Webster's Dictionary:

1: a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race

2a: a doctrine or political program based on the assumption of racism and designed to execute its principles

2b: a political or social system founded on racism
3: racial prejudice or discrimination

What do you think? Do any of these apply to you? 

Definition Number 1 seems pretty hardcore; like, you'd have to have some really archaic misconceptions about human anatomy and genetics to really get behind it. Still, some do:

Seems like a strange time to brag about your pants, moron. 

To give the majority of us caucasians the benefit of the doubt (hey, why stop now?), let's allow ourselves a "no" for criterion 1 and a "not applicable" for 2a and 2b, which address institutions rather than individuals.

Now let's talk about the third characterization of racism as defined above: racial prejudice or discrimination.

Sorry, can't clear that hurdle; guilty as charged. I do possess conditioned prejudices based on race. I do see color. And so do you, and every other white person in America. We're all racist, and we need to freaking own up to it if things are going to improve. 

Still with me? Great, because I swear I could hear the mouse clicks of countless friends and acquaintances who chose a quick detour to the friendlier confines of TikTok and fuzzy puppy subreddits. Some uncomfortable shit, for sure, to be labeled a racist by some sanctimonious blogger.

Whatever. Find yourself another blog if you're offended by this assertion. The fact is, labeling myself a racist doesn't make me a bad person; quite the opposite, really. According to anti-racist educator Robin DiAngelo, author of the best selling White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism, admitting to our own racial biases is the first step toward changing a system about which we claim to be outraged. 

The longer we defend the status quo through our silence and lack of dialogue, the more we deny the existence of racism in ourselves, the more we doom our society to an endless cycle of racial unrest. George Floyd, Philando Castile, Breanna Taylor, Trayvon Martin, Freddie Gray and an endless stream of injustices will continue, for the rest of our lives and beyond.

Am I a racist? I suppose that's in the eye of the beholder, but I'm going forward believing that I am.