“It will be different, you know. Raising a brown baby. There
are…” she trailed off, cleared her throat and gathered courage. Sometimes the
truth is difficult to hear, and often even more difficult to speak.
She began again. Softly, as our children’s giggles and
shrieks floated innocently along the breeze while we huddled together on our
back porch.
“We teach our white families raising brown babies that they will
need to raise those children a little differently. Even a routine traffic stop
will need to be taken very, very seriously. You will probably want to talk to
other families. I have a reading list that may help, as well. Sadly, it is just
the world we live in.”
It is just the world we live in.
We were currently enrolled in the Open Options program with
our adoption agency, and were open to any child in any of their country and DHS
programs who happened to be a “match.” The time was quickly approaching when we
would have to choose a country program, as no match had been made through Open
Options. We were leaning heavily toward adopting from Haiti. A few weeks
following that meeting with our social worker, Michael Brown was shot and killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri…
In the midst of the riots in Ferguson, we received a call.
We had been matched with a chubby-cheeked, smiley baby boy in South Korea. He was undeniably ours, and the whole family
sported the pregnancy glow. We were head over heels in love. We wouldn’t be
bringing home a brown baby, but we would be bringing home an Asian baby who
definitely looked nothing like the rest of our family. No worries, though,
right? None of the race worries that consumed me as I prayed about a baby in
Haiti, right? As we would learn the following summer, racism takes many forms,
and does not fit neatly into a black/white box.
Summer 2015. Korea Camp.
A panel of young adult Korean
adoptees and a room full of parents of Korean adoptees. For the first time, I
heard the term “microaggressions.”
Microaggression:
A term first used by Columbia professor Derald Sue to refer to “brief and
commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional,
that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial slights and insults
toward people of color.”
Whether intentional or unintentional. Have you ever used the
phrase or thought, “But he/she didn’t really mean it,”? I have. Since bringing
home Tai, I have heard several comments that brought a lump to my throat. When
I mentioned them to others, I was told, “But she didn’t really mean it,” or "He/She didn't mean it that way." Tai
is too young to understand the root of those comments right now, but the day is
not far away. The tightening in my chest is real. And justified.
What I learned from those young people at Korea Camp was
that every one of those “jokes” or instances where someone “didn’t really mean
it”…they are cumulative. As I listened to them share their hearts, sometimes
with tears streaming down their faces and other times with justified anger,
something deep inside me began to ache. I heard parents share about their
kindergartner’s first experience of being called a banana (white on the inside,
yellow on the outside), flat face, or pancake face. The schoolyard taunts and
Asian eye jokes. I learned about the sexual stereotypes imposed on young Korean
girls, and the frustration of not excelling in math when the stereotype and well-meaning
friends say otherwise.
Imagine that each of us is created as a magnificent
sculpture, perfect in the eyes of God in every way. With every slight, whether
intentional or unintentional, a little bit of that sculpture gets chipped away.
For some, the sculpture eventually crumbles to the floor. For others, with one
final chink in the marble, it explodes violently into a million tiny pieces.
Even for adopted children growing up in a “white” world, the chisel still
wields a mighty blow.
Fast forward to this summer…
I am holding our newly adopted little guy perched on my hip
while standing in line to purchase snacks at a gas station along the highway.
Our daughter, Anna, is acting silly and dancing around a bit, eliciting the sweet
music of Tai giggles and guffaws. Suddenly, I spot it. I hug Tai closer to my
body and take a step back. I shush Anna and tell her to calm down a bit. I try
to give the young man in front of me the benefit of the doubt, but the Mama
Bear instincts kick in and I feel the overwhelming need to protect my cubs. Not everyone reacts
positively to transracial families such as ours. Especially not young men with
swastikas inked on their shoulders.
Suddenly, our social worker’s words come flooding back.“It will be different, you know…”
I’m already doing it. I’m changing my behavior in order to
not draw any extra attention that could potentially bring harm to my family.
Goodness knows we are one tent short of a circus even on our best days. (My
mother lovingly shared that she recently heard this saying and thought of us.
Hmmmm...)
During our pre-flight meeting at our adoption agency we were
asked how our family and friends were reacting to our adoption. Were they
prepared to embrace our Korean cutie? It was explained to us that even the most
hesitant of grandparents, friends, etc. have a difficult time holding on to
prejudices once they meet and get to know these little guys.
Once they get to know
them.
So it is with all of God’s creations, I believe. It is
easier to hate the unknown. Let’s hate all Muslims because the only ones we “know”
are the terrorists we see on television. Guess what? I would trust most of my
gay friends with my children more than many of my straight friends. Why?
Because I know them. After the horrifying shootings in Orlando, I read about
each of the victims. Sisters, mothers, brothers, husbands, and sons. They weren’t
just LGBTQ people. They were people. They were all loved by someone, and I
wanted to know them.
Several days ago a man only a few months older than me was
shot and killed by a police officer in the place that I call home, Tulsa,
Oklahoma. His name was Terence Crutcher, and he was a father to four children.
I am withholding judgement in this case until all of the facts are revealed,
but it is an unfathomable tragedy for all involved. Both police officers and
family members are understandably shaken by these events. I have watched the
videos, and despite the fact that I know how it ends, I find myself pleading
with Terence to stop walking and keep his hands up. To turn around and face the
officers. To not reach toward his car. Whether he was impeded by a medical
emergency, drugs, or simply poor judgment, he does not stop or turn back
around.
Unfortunately, Tulsa has a dark past when it comes to race relations. Once home to America's Black Wall Street, it became home to the largest and most violent race riots in American history in 1921, decimating America's most prosperous African American community. I strongly believe that "The Burning" by Tim Madigan should be required reading for all High School students, especially as we work as a nation to understand the underpinnings of our current situation.
What do I know, regardless of whether race was at play in
Terence’s case?
We still have a race problem in America. Every time a white police
officer shoots another black man, shouts of racism echo across the country,
even if the shooting was justified.
What will it take to effect real change in our lifetimes?
We must continue and in some cases START a dialogue. Mayors, community leaders, pastors. Those with a voice need to use it to unite, rather than divide. Peaceful protests are a great way to bring attention to an issue, but they
rarely invoke change.
White people, we must acknowledge white privilege.
There. I said it. It is hard to admit, but the more I have
read and heard from speakers, the more I realize that in order for me to even begin
to understand how my brothers and
sisters of color experience life in America, I must acknowledge the advantages
that were mine from birth. The perks of being white in America. There are many,
but they are often subtle and unrecognized by those of us who benefit from them
every day.
Parents, we must teach ALL of our children, regardless of
race, to respect and obey those who vow to serve and protect us. If a police
officer tells you to put your hands up? Do it. Sit down? Do it. No arguing, no
questions asked. Sure, there are some rotten apples in the police force, but
the vast majority are there because they truly want to protect and help us.
They get paid next to nothing for performing an increasingly dangerous job. To
those of you in the police force and those of you who love and support those
officers… THANK YOU.
We need to build bridges. I witnessed some amazing bridge-building
happening when I attended the local IF:Gathering here in Tulsa this year. Women who had
been inspired to reach out to women of other races and backgrounds and truly
get to know them as Jesus would. They shared a meal, laughed, and talked about
the hard stuff that none of us want to admit, as well as the hard stuff that
many of us didn’t KNOW we didn’t know.
I would love to see
not just bullying discussions, but specific discussions about race and religious
diversity in our schools. Last night we met each of our daughter’s middle
school teachers. As we traveled from class to class, I saw parents who were African
American, Indian, and Burmese (we have a large population of Burmese refugees
in our schools). I saw a mother wearing her hijab. As much as our public
schools are struggling financially in our state, it made my heart happy that my
daughter is meeting and befriending children who represent the world… not just
our little corner of it.
LOVE. We must let our love win over our hate. Our courage
must be greater than our fear. Our desire to see a better world for our children must outweigh the ease of living with the status quo. We can shut ourselves in our homes and watch the
news spin the stories 24/7 or we can get out there, get to know our neighbors, and share and learn from one another.
"It will be different…" she said.
It WILL be different.
It CAN be different...but it starts right here at home.
