We're white. We're privileged. We're getting used to it.

Preface: Hemingway once famously said “There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed.” If that be the case, there’s a lot of red all over this page. Both blood and heart.

The most important thing for me with this discussion about white privilege is that I get it right. I take my work as a white ally very seriously. Talking about white privilege isn’t easy, even when you’re in discussions with a fellow advocate who gets it. I hope this provides you with some tools you can use and enables you to start having conversations with friends and family members. I want to keep talking about this together, either in the comments here, or on FB, Twitter and IG. This is a living, breathing issue that needs to be lit and out in the open. Shine that light, y’all.

•••

Let’s be honest -- I was a weird kid. What five-year-old names her new dachshund Hamlet? Who was the only third grader to vote for McGovern in her class’s Presidential Election poll? What eight-year-old spends her summer watching the Watergate Hearings and was so obsessed she tried to style her hair like Maureen Dean’s?

This one, that’s who. I could go on, but you get the picture.

Weird. And unusually tied in to current events for one so young, even in the wacky ‘70s. I’ve always liked to know what was happening in the world – and always had an opinion about things. Even when I didn’t really understand exactly what was going on.

So when an acquaintance once said to me that she “wasn’t political” and didn’t keep up with current events, I was flabbergasted.

WHAAAATTT??? Who doesn’t keep up with, like, the news?

That was completely incomprehensible to me. At the time, I chalked it up to her being a bit shallow (judgey, party of one) and moved on, reminding myself not to “talk politics” with her again.

I know differently now. Her white privilege was showing. Big time. She didn’t have any interest in what was going on in the world, good or bad, because it didn’t affect her. Out of sight, out of mind.

I should have continued to “talk politics” with her. But at that time, I didn’t have the insight, nor the right gizmos in my toolbox to have a constructive conversation. I would have come in with a sledgehammer, wielded from on top of my soapbox, where I would yell with my megaphone: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT POLITICAL? HOW CAN YOU BE THAT IGNORANT? DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT WHAT’S HAPPENING IN THE WORLD? DO YOU HAVE A SOUL OR A HEART? C’MON, MAN.”

Yeah. Not the way to win friends or influence people.

However. This person had the luxury to look away from what’s happening outside her comfortable white privilege bubble because it, and I quote “had nothing to do with (her).”

Y’all. The time to hide our heads in the sand and ignore the affect of white privilege on racism in our country is long past. And we’ve gotta talk with each other, white folks, about why this why this is unacceptable.

This raises yet another question: How exactly do you talk to others when those others are point-blank racist?

What do you say to someone who doesn’t understand the hullabaloo surrounding the Confederate statues still dotting the American landscape? When someone in your sphere says “All Lives Matter,” what’s your response?

A wise friend pointed out to me in a discussion recently that he’s found the common denominator for all of these conversations is understanding white privilege.

So let’s take a crack at that first. Understanding white privilege.

Eeek. White privilege. That’s a scary one. Little guilt-guilded too. Not easy to digest, not easy to acknowledge. But incredibly necessary. We can do this, y’all. Trust me. If you’re still reading this, you’re ready.

Fact: we white people have privilege. Privilege that has nothing to do with finances and status.

It’s all about the color of our skin. And the society in which we live, which was and is designed to benefit white folks.

As white advocates, we can’t do a thing about the ‘was.’ But we can – and must – do something about the ‘is’ and ‘will be.’

Stop looking away because you can. Look directly at issues and be part of the solution.

And part of that solution is having tough conversations.

I’m a firm believer in being prepared – must be the Girl Scout in me (the main thing I took away from my Scouting experience because I loooooathe camping. My idea of camping is no room service after 11 pm. But I digress.)

When it comes to talking to others about white privilege, it’s a smart idea to be prepared. Especially since this topic is sensitive and most likely, a little enigmatic to those who’ve either never thought about it or who don’t think it applies to them. Gotta have those talking points and facts at the ready.

Raise your hand – how many of y’all have come across someone – family member, friend, neighbor, co-worker, internet big mouth – who has spouted off that “white privilege does not exist.”

Cue this:

Cory Collins, in a piece titled What is White Privilege, Really?, published in Fall 2018 on TeachingTolerance.com, says that when working to understand what white privilege IS, it’s helpful to talk about what white privilege IS NOT.

White privilege does not mean that white folks’ achievements were handed to them on a silver platter. Doesn’t mean they were unearned either – for most white people, their accomplishments came via a lot of hard work and determination.

White privilege does not mean that white folks have not struggled. Living hand-to-mouth, food insecurity, no healthcare — all issues that can plague anyone, including a white person, who is not affluent or financially solvent.

White privilege does mean that white folks have basic advantages based on the color of their skin and the inherent bias of the systems around which our society revolve.

In other words, we are automatically privileged because of the color of our skin. It’s nothing we did or didn’t do. It just IS.

The phrase “white privilege” can be a double-sided sticky wicket (say that fast five times!) Firstly, we white folks aren’t used to being defined by our skin color – that’s a result of living in a society designed to benefit us. Example: it’s unusual to hear about “a group of white people,” as there’s an assumption that just “a group” is comprised of whites.

And you know what they say about assuming… it makes an ass out of you and me.

Secondly, the word “privilege,” particularly for impoverished and rural white folks, sounds like a tag that doesn’t describe them – at first blush, it intimates that they have never experienced hardships.

White privilege doesn’t mean that your life hasn’t been tough or challenging.

It means that the color of your skin isn’t one of the roots of your struggles.

I did a little self-check about MY white privilege, using a tool created by Peggy McIntosh in her groundbreaking piece "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack" (1989).

Well. THAT was a wake-up call. Comprehensive. And accurate. My takeaway: I had never given some of the situations listed on that checklist any thought at all until just now. Because I never had need to do so.

That’s white privilege. In a nutshell.

Here’s the thing: white privilege allows us white folks to have a couple of options -- we can lean into the luxury of that privilege and just go on about our lives, ignoring what’s happening to our black and brown brothers and sisters.

Or we can stretch out of our white comfort zones, check ourselves and get right. Use that privilege for good and decency. Speak up, speak out, act up, act out.

I vote for that second option. Be a white advocate.

Thought: It’s always best to approach these conversations with curiosity, tact and the intent to try to understand the other person’s views about the current political climate. Go in with a drumstick, not a sledgehammer. You really can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

And remember – you’re not alone. There’s a whole posse of white advocates who’ve got your back.

Now. Let’s get to talking.

Postscript: We are in the midst of some arduous, challenging times. Are you tired? Yeah, me too. Overloaded? Same. A little numb? Yep. John Pavlovitz, a renowned pastor, author and activist, has some words of wisdom for those of us who are white allies and advocates:

Friend, if things are too messy, too turbulent, too unsettling for you right now, and you feel like you just want to ignore it all — realize that you are fortunate to have such a luxury. Be grateful that you even feel you have a choice in the matter; whether to be in the trenches or to stay out of harm’s way.

Privilege will always try to tempt you out of activism and into passivism, and it will always lure you into the safe and away from the messy.

For the sake of those who don’t have a choice — refuse to let it.

You and Your Racist Friends

Hey there and welcome back! So good to see you again. Don’t know about y'all but lately I’ve been thinking about those people in my life who have some, well, let’s just say “issues” with what’s happening in our country right now. I’ve been rolling my eyes so much at their nonsense I feel like my face is a human craps table.

Have you come across any of these folks:

• Maybe a family member who pushes back on a social media post you made because you’re “too radical – we just need to stop the hate. And by the way ALL LIVES MATTER.”

• Perhaps someone with whom you went to high school sends you a DM with all the reasons why your “Black Lives Matter” comment is WRONG because ALL LIVES MATTER and you’re WRONG and he is RIGHT and then he calls you a profane name... (this actually happened to me and I blocked this dude's ass so fast he probably sat down and didn't know why.)

• How about that neighbor who belligerently yells at you and threatens to report you to the HOA as you put a BLACK LIVES MATTER sign in your yard, because, of course ALL LIVES MATTER…

I daresay we know at least one of these people – family, friends, co-workers, neighbors… the list goes on.

So. What to say to these people? How do you say it? Why should you say it?

Let’s back up here just a bit and ask a bigger question:

Are you prepared to say something? Are you ready to take on the racists in your life?

It’s hard, isn’t it – thinking about challenging someone’s position on a topic as volatile and personal as racism. And for a very very long time, white people who profess to see “people as people” let bigots and racists go unchecked. And succumbed to excuses and apologies.

“Oh, that’s just Uncle John’s way. He’s been like this forever, telling those jokes, but he is a good guy.” 

“C’mon – you know me. I’m not racist. I have a lot of black friends. And I don’t see color. So why is it bad for me to say the n-word when singing along with that song? It's right there in the lyrics.”

“Don’t mind Clara – she’s a lovely person who’s having a hard time with her cousin marrying a *stage whisper* Black man.” 

I’m as culpable as the next person when it comes to speaking up when the topic of conversation takes a racist turn. Didn’t want to make waves or ruin the festive atmosphere or be impolite if the offender was a party host. That go-along-to-get-along thing. Respect your elders.

Ah. That “respect your elders” thing had been hammered into me like a piece of plywood on a window as a hurricane approaches. It’s in there tight. So if I heard something racist pop out of an older relative’s mouth, I had to be content with going a little bug-eyed while biting my tongue.

Part of that was age – being young and uncertain of my voice, even though my inner position was solid -- but a good chunk of it was fear of conflict.

I LOOOOOOATHE conflict. Hate it. Used to be I’d pull a mea culpa in an argument just to end it, even if I was in the right.

Tell you what, though – age and maturity has helped me find my voice, as well as being the mother to a developmentally disabled child. You need someone to be extraordinarily firm with a doctor’s office, pharmacy tech or insurance provider person, I’m your girl.

But talking to someone you know about something as sensitive as his/her views on race… that’s a horse of a different color. The intensity is not anywhere close to yelling at an insurance provider over the phone. It’s a difficult and tough conversation to have because it’s personal. And addresses feelings that run very deep.

Many moons ago, I was headed to my car after a women’s Bible study. As is often the case, groups of ladies were gathered in the parking lot, chatting and such. As I approached my car, I noticed a group of three women I didn’t know looking at my vehicle, pointing and whispering. Had someone dented the back of my car in a parking mishap? Flat tire perhaps? Nope.

It was the Obama/Biden '08 bumper sticker proudly displayed in my rear window that had garnered their attention.

As I rounded the corner to get into the driver’s seat, I looked at them with a thin smile. You could feel the glare I shot them over my glasses. Have to give them credit – they at least looked sheepish at being caught being judgy.

Now I don’t have concrete evidence that the disdain those women had for my bumper sticker was based in racism – could have been because that presidential ticket was not the church-folk-preferred Republican one. But the fact that said ticket had a Black man on it could not be discounted. At least not by me in that moment.

Even though my encounter with those judgmental women was not verbal, I was literally shaking when I finally pulled out of the parking lot.

“Next time,” I said to myself. “Next time I’ll say something.”

Next time came. Went. Came. And then went again. I was strong in my convictions – but I needed to pull out the courage of those convictions and let that be my guide. Open my big mouth.

It’s perplexing to me how humans could see other humans as being less than. But they do. And have for generations. Those of us who profess to see “people as people” know that Black people in this country have been struggling with racism and being treated as less than for centuries.

It’s WRONG.

We all know people who don’t see it as wrong. We have personal relationships with them. Might be related to them.

And therein lies the rub.

•

Racism. We talk about it, read about it, see it. The technical definition, as seen in ye olde dictionary is:


How many times have you said or thought to yourself in the past couple of weeks “Nah. I'm not racist. Black Lives Matter" or some variation of that.

Guess what? It’s not enough anymore to “not be racist.” That honestly got none of us anywhere. Which is where we are now. 

Think you're not racist? Think again.

White folks, here’s the reality of things, as pointed out by Leonard Pitts, a Black columnist for the Miami Herald in a piece published this past weekend.

“As a white person in a society where every institution is geared to advantage people like (us), it is literally impossible for (us) to be anything else (but racist.)”

Y’all. We’re inherently racist. We just are. Because of the color of our skin and the systemically racist world around us, We. Are. Racist. We live in a world designed to benefit white people. This is baseline for us. It can become compounded by other factors, but it’s from where we start. I personally used to think this was the root of racism. I now know better.

Mr. Pitts, in his column goes on to lay things out further, speaking from the point of view of a white person:

“Many of us as white people struggle with that. That's because we process racism as a loathsome character defect, when really, it's the water in which we swim.

“No, the question is not whether we are racist, but what kind of racist we will be. Will we be the overt kind, whose behavior marks her from a mile away? In many ways, her very obviousness makes her the least dangerous.

“Will we be the racist in denial, who thinks that because he doesn't use racial slurs and eats lunch with a black guy at work, he's all good? He's ultimately the most dangerous, because his racism is reflected in implicit bias but otherwise hidden, even from himself.

“Or will we be the racist in remission who knows good intentions are not enough, that he must consciously commit not simply to being non-racist, but actively anti-racist?”

Good lord, those are some kind of options. Soul-searching ones. #RealityBites

Cuts me to the quick, this does. Uncomfortable, man.

OK. It's piss or get off the pot time.

I commit to be a racist-in-remission.

If you’re reading this, I can only hope that you’re joining me on this particular squad.

Fellow squad members… first and foremost, we must be anti-racist. Period.

(Note: you’ll often see the word “antiracist” without a hyphen. I added the hyphen for my own benefit because I kept reading it as “anarchist” and well, that’s another thing entirely for another day.)

Author Ibram X. Kendi, who penned the acclaimed book How to Be an Antiracist, (next up on my reading list) has an addendum to the classic dictionary definition of racism that's given above: “One who is supporting a racist policy through their actions or inaction or expressing a racist idea.”

On the other hand, he defines an anti-racist as “One who is supporting an antiracist policy through their actions or expressing an antiracist idea.”

Y’all see that word right in there – ACTION. And its kissing cousin – INACTION.

Not saying anything to your racist friend or relative = INACTION.

Ouch.

Once again, time for some unpleasant, but constructive navel gazing. I’m also guilty of this. Inaction.

Quoth the raven… nevermore. We white folks can no longer be passive when it comes to racism. Black people in this country deserve much much better from their so-called allies. That’s us, y’all. We're the allies and advocates. They deserve better from us. We have let them down. It’s our turn to step out of our comfort zones and do right by our Black sisters and brothers.

Be a racist-in-remission who is obviously anti-racist.

That’s a mouthful. Won’t fit nicely on a button. Judgy women won’t be able to point at it on a bumper sticker displayed on my car. So we’ve got to demonstrate this with our ACTIONS.

There’s a song I learned long ago in Vacation Bible School that said “They’ll know we are Christians by our love.”

Time to check yourself and get right. Because they’ll know we are anti-racist by our actions.

To be continued…

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Welcome to Our Home

I must apologize to y’all for jumping right into content here without properly introducing myself and explaining why I created this space – Hey White Folks! In the words of Blanche Devereaux, that was very un-Southern of me.

My name is Janey and I am a cis Woman of a Certain Age who is old enough to either be your sister or your favorite aunt (I will never be old enough to be your mother.) I am a mama, wife, sister, daughter, auntie, cousin and friend. My kiddo is developmentally disabled and is a loud, happy, teenaged troubadour who never met a stranger but is not pleased that he cannot go to school right now. Neither of us are pleased about this. THANKS, COVID. (We are sequestering tightly at home because this virus doesn't play and neither do I when it comes to my family's health.) I am in the process of letting my hair go gray. Right now, I appear to be a slovenly Cruella de Ville without the furs and vile attitude. My idea of camping is no room service after 10 pm. Quarantine has allowed me to participate in my most favorite home activity of Not Wearing Pants. And I love cheeseburgers more than any other food item (rare, with grilled onions, side of fries and a cold Bud Lite.)

And I have privilege.

I am a second generation native Floridian, third generation University of Florida graduate, faithful Tampa Bay Rays supporter and franchise-long ride-or-die Tampa Bay Buccaneer fan. That should lead you to deduce I’m patient, long-suffering and have a high tolerance for pain and disappointment. I still cannot believe that Brady and Gronk are on My Team. My love for sports is only matched by my love for the theatre. I can be a Drama Queen in the best sense of the phrase. If music (and theatre) be the food of love, play on.

(By the way, I have privilege.)

I also am a budding genealogist. I come from a very long line of Americans on two of my four ancestral lines. I am of the South – my earliest ancestors arrived in this country before the American Revolution and settled in North Carolina. I also am somewhat of the North, with kin coming to both Massachusetts and what would become New York State. However, my heritage is overwhelmingly Southern. My people fought in every single war in which our country was a participant, from the French & Indian War through World War II. I might have kin who came over on the Mayflower (yet to be 100 percent confirmed.) The Janey Ancestors have been on this soil a long, long time.

You betcha they had privilege.

And yes. I have people who fought in the Civil War. On the side of the Confederacy.

Also. I have ancestors who were slave owners. Note the plural: more than one.

They had privilege. BIG TIME.

Does this upset me? Yes. Every time I see, in my genealogical research, that property inventory of said ancestor(s) with people – Black people – listed on it, I literally get sick to my stomach. I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that people – the same ones made in the image of God just like you and I are, as told to me by the Bible – were considered property, same as the cows in the field and the silver in the pantry.

Do I feel guilty about this? Honestly, it’s more shame than guilt. This happened decades and decades before I was born. There’s nothing I can do about it specifically because you cannot change history. But it does bother me deeply. I once had someone tell me that I shouldn’t be dismayed by this because “It meant your relatives had money! Isn’t that great?” 

Shut it and take a seat, BOB.

Am I embarrassed to talk about it? A bit. But like with so many issues today, talking about things that are shameful brings them out into the sunlight where they can be seen for what they truly are. And this one is reprehensible. It’s also reprehensible that we are still talking about basically the same issue – Black Lives Matter – over 150 years later, albeit with some difference nuances and circumstances.

It’s complicated, being a proud daughter of the South these days. I love knowing that I have cast-iron skillets that are generations-old. I love the sound of a frog chorus crooning in a cypress-laden swamp. The scent of boxwood in Virginia (it just smells different to me there) or orange blossoms in my native, crazy Florida. Having sorority sisters who, even after all these years, relish in your shared history and still know how to make you laugh. Understanding how to set a proper dinner table, right down to where the silverware is placed for multiple courses. 

Deeming Duke’s as the only acceptable mayonnaise – I will fight you over this. Being a member of the Junior League and believing in the purpose of the organization so much that I became its President. Having manners, even if I don’t always deploy them (Yeah. I know. I swear a lot. Shhhh.) Keeping my string of pearls in my jewelry box to wear on proper occasions. Knowing all 178 verses of “Just As I Am” from the Baptist hymnal and wanting every last one of them sung at my funeral. Having a list of Important Things: God, Family, SEC Football. In that order. Although that’s always subject to change depending on what’s going on with the Gators.

But. These precious-to-me things have one thing in common: they have the indelible fingerprints of white privilege all over them. Granted, some more than others, but all can be lumped in the Privilege Pile in some fashion. And that’s more than a bit disconcerting to me. Pride + Shame = being a progressive Southerner.

There’s a publication/community I follow on social media and via its website called “The Bitter Southerner.” Here’s a synopsis that sums up what I want to say pretty succinctly:

–– You see, the South is a curiosity to people who aren’t from here. Always has been. Open up your copy of Faulkner’s 1936 masterpiece, “Absalom, Absalom!” Find the spot where Quentin Compson’s puzzled Canadian roommate at Harvard says to him, “Tell about the South. What it’s like there. What do they do there. Why do they live there. Why do they live at all.”

It always comes down to that last bit: With all our baggage, how do we live at all? A lot of people in the world believe that most folks in the South are just dumb. Or backward. Just not worth their attention.

And you know what? If you live down here, sometimes you look around and think, “Those folks are right.” We do have people here who will argue, in all sincerity, that the Confederacy entered the Civil War only to defend the concept of states’ rights and that secession had nothing to do with the desire to keep slavery alive. We still become a national laughing stock because some small town somewhere has not figured out how to hold a high school prom that includes kids of all races.

If you are a person who buys the states’ rights argument … or you fly the rebel flag in your front yard … or you still think women look really nice in hoop skirts, we politely suggest you find other amusements on the web.

According to Tracy Thompson’s brilliant “The New Mind of the South,” it’s been only two decades since Southern kids stopped learning history from censored textbooks, which uniformly glossed over our region’s terrible racial history. Even today, kids are studying texts that Thompson rightfully labels “milquetoast” in their treatment of Southern history.

And recent election results suggest that the Southern mind hasn’t evolved much, that we’re not much different from what we were in 1936, when Faulkner was struggling yet again with the moral weirdness of the South. Almost 80 years later, it’s still too damned easy for folks to draw the conclusion that we Southerners are hopelessly bound to tradition, too resistant to change.

But there is another South, the one that we know: a South that is full of people who do things that honor genuinely honorable traditions. Drinking. Cooking. Reading. Writing. Singing. Playing. Making things. It's also full of people who face our region's contradictions and are determined to throw our dishonorable traditions out the window.

Still, the tension — the strain between pride and shame, that eternal duality of the Southern thing — remains. Lord knows, most folks outside the South believe — and rightly so — that most Southerners are kicking and screaming to keep the old South old. But many others, through the simple dignity of their work, are changing things. ––

“The strain between pride and shame.”

*raises hand* It me.  I'm the one wrastlin' with this.

The South is weird (Florida brings a lot of this to the Southern table but I digress) and I try to reconcile this conundrum between pride and shame on a regular basis. So many contradictions.

I am striving to be one of those Southerners who is changing things, even just a little bit. Not for ego. Not for pride. Not for accolades. But because it’s simply the right thing to do. The right thing to do.

The right thing to do.

November 9th, 2016. One of the darkest days of my lifetime. That was the day after the 2016 election. I stayed awake all night, crying. Partly because HRC had lost; mostly because I had a feeling this country was in for some horrific, turbulent times ahead.

I knew. But. I had no idea how horrible those times would be. Couldn’t even fathom the depths of crassness and graft and lies and racism and horror we'd experience. And here we are.

On that day, November 9th, 2016, I decided that I never ever wanted to feel that way again and vowed to do everything in my power to make sure that happened. My AHA! moment, if you will.

I immediately got involved with a grassroots local activist group that became part of the Indivisible movement. I’ve worked with it for the past three-and-a-half years, most often behind-the-scenes on the Steering Committee as our organization’s Administrator and graphic designer/writer. I gladly do this, as it's been a great outlet for my righteous indignation. And I've had the bonus of making some terrific friends that I adore whom I might never had met.

I, like most folks with compassion and heart, was upset and outraged when I first heard about George Floyd’s murder and the circumstances surrounding it. I began to ponder what White Me could do to help this centuries-long situation.

And then I learned that in his final moments, he called out for his mama.

That did it. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. My protective instinct went into overdrive. That man wanted his (late) mama. And this mommy (what my kiddo calls me) could no longer be timid or a voyeur. I needed to amplify my voice even more. And I have a big old bullhorn in these vocal cords. Along with no more effs to give about offending people. 

Serendipitously, a number of my white friends were having their own AHA! moments. And wanting to know and learn how they could help. They too felt they could no longer be silent.

This was my Do Something. I could help other white people shape their AHA! moments by providing some guidance and access to a whole lot of resources on how to be white advocates.

I’m not an expert on privilege, bias, racism and other similar issues. But I have had a good amount of training, thanks to my activist group. I read a lot… boy, do I read a lot. Got a knack for writing fairly OK. And a fine-tuned empathetic intuition.

And that is how this site came to be.

It’s a place for learning.

A stop for resources created by experts and wise people.

A spot to have provocative conversations.

A safe space to ask questions.

And when the time is right, it will be a vehicle for action, whatever that may be.

IMPORTANT: This is not the time to ask Black folks for suggestions or advice on what to do. They are exhausted, having done the heavy lifting on racism for centuries. We white folks need to take responsibility and educate ourselves. Another reason I put this joint together. 

I’m absorbing stuff while I do research. #AlwaysLearning. But I do have a bit of a head start because of my involvement in advocacy work during this insane political environment (one reason I’m letting my hair go gray – can’t keep up with the coloring because it’s turning more silver every time That Man opens his mouth or publishes a tweet. Don’t get me started on the circles under my eyes…)

I’ve gained more knowledge than you can imagine these last three plus years. I’ve taken training classes about racism and bias. Participated in privilege walks. Been rightly chastised by Black people when I naively and innocently step in it. And bit by bit I have gotten tougher and more resolved -- not toting around as much white fragility as I used to (pardon the grammar.) I’m not the same person – in a good way – I was in November 2016. And I want to share what I’ve learned with y’all - pay it forward, if you will.

If you made it through this wordy tome, thank you. I thought it was important for you to know who the heck I am, what my experience has been and why Hey White Folks! came to be.

And if y’all stick around after all this, many thanks from the bottom of my heart. 

Friend -- let’s get after it. 

PS: As always, BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Gentle Reminder

Being a white advocate isn’t a hobby nor is it akin to a one semester course in college. It’s a life commitment that does involve educating yourself continually and listening constantly. It’s not easy - in fact it’s frequently painful with self-realization and uncomfortable AHA moments. It’s about checking your ego at the door on the regular.

But it’s necessary. It’s critically important. And vital for the progress of our country. 

Talk less. Listen more.

@janeyjaygee ##duet with @accidentalactivistken_##blacklivesmatter
♬ original sound - accidentalactivistken_

We Can't Drive 55

Do You Have Privilege: The Simplified Edition

@janeyjaygee ##blacklivesmatter
♬ Check Your Privilege by Big Mamma - boss_bigmamma