Confessions of an Oblivious, White Social Worker

A friend of mine recently sent me an article about how conversations (if they even happen) around racial injustice have become so divisive. With the link, she texted, “I read this and thought of you after the final paragraph. You are my people on this journey and I'm so glad we're getting to know each other better.” After I read the article and reread her text, I found my eyes getting a little...let’s call it “sweaty”. Before I explore that, let me share this excerpt from that article:

"I’m okay with it because I recognize that our lives are journeys and we don’t get to take everybody with us. There are people with which we may be called to walk for a time or a season and then no longer. There are people who walk beside us, behind us, and ahead of us. There are people who walk on top of us (and we on top of others). Sometimes we think that we’re on the same path as others only to realize that it was an illusion. Sometimes we get thrown off a path by people with whom we once walked. Sometimes we get invited to walk with a whole new group of people." (Full article linked at bottom) 

What a beautiful and succinct way to describe life, amirite? Outside of the topic of racial injustice, I have been contemplating the oddity of growing up and growing apart from those you’d always pictured yourself wheeling the halls of an old folks home with. Also of note is the pleasant surprise of the people who enter your story much later but fit inside it so naturally, it’s as though they’ve been there all along. Sometimes I lament those who feel further out of my reach than I ever thought they’d be but I find God reminding me that seasons of life change and sometimes the company we keep has to as well and this doesn’t mean anyone has wronged me. I think that’s why I like her phrasing of “our lives are journeys and we don’t *GET* to take everyone with us.” As in, maybe they’re not choosing to leave me or maybe I’m not choosing to leave them, maybe (well, most definitely) God knows better what we need (and who we need) than we do. 

These were thoughts I’d been wrestling with in a general way as a woman in my thirties. Then the world exploded in conversation (and rage and tears and hate and compassion and all the things) the dark day George Floyd was killed by Law Enforcement. I, like thousands of privileged white people, suddenly snapped to attention regarding something that has been present in our society for centuries. As a social worker, I think I like to fancy myself as pretty “woke” to social injustice for the most part. (Also, let’s pause to "lol" at me typing “woke”. This is not part of my vernacular and I am in no way cool enough to pull off such slang, but a friend said this to me in recent conversation and it tickled me). Discussing systems and how they can be improved to the good of all involved is my jam. Foster care, human trafficking, substance abuse treatment, etc. I’m there for it. However, I fear that the ways my job in the child welfare system create room for me to be passionate about those subjects have subconsciously led to me excusing myself from the other social injustices surrounding me, the ones it would take a different kind of work to rectify. 

Anyone who knows me would never accuse me of being indifferent towards the marginalized and some may even pat me on the back for the work I do with the at-risk families in our community. But let’s be real, it doesn’t cost me anything to scream at the top of my lungs about the need for foster homes in St. Augustine because guess what, I get paid to do it. It’s an easy battlecry to sound because who in their right mind is going to say, “Be quiet, Caitlin. Nobody cares about hurting and vulnerable children.” (I mean, maybe somebody will but whoever that is is probably already in prison for cruelty towards animals or murdering fairies and Santa Claus or something along those lines). I guess what I'm saying is, I have been realizing the social injustice flags I’ve been flying my whole adult life demand my time and passion but little else. If I’m being brutally honest: they are comfortable, they are neat and tidy, and they will remain unchallenged by basically all people everywhere. In fact, they are a little bit precious (in the way Jen Hatmaker uses “precious”, if you’re not aware you should really give her a follow, she’s lovely.) Sometimes, I feel I have a "precious" job. People ask me what I do and I smile and I tilt my head and say, “I’m a social worker in the foster care system” and more times than not, I am praised for following a hard calling and I say something generic about how it’s challenging but rewarding and we continue about our lives with them thinking I’m a better person than I really am. To be clear, the realities of the foster care system are ugly and painful and anyone who works in it is a warrior who knows they are just putting band-aids on a hemorrhaging wound, yet it doesn’t stop them from showing up. But acknowledging the need for those band-aids is not controversial. 

You know what is controversial? Acknowledging that systemic racism is real. You know what is even more controversial? Asking others in the majority group to acknowledge they have benefited from it. I’m still learning why this is but if I had to venture a guess, it would be because people (in the majority group) don’t like what acknowledging those facts says about them or how it could challenge their belief they are a “good person” (aka white fragility). I am not sure why this is.  I was quick to realize this truth BUT ONLY AFTER GEORGE FLOYD DIED. 

Can I tell you how I made it this long without acknowledging the pervasiveness of systemic racism in our country? No, I cannot. Am I embarrassed by this fact? Yes, I am. If I had to venture more guesses, I’d say because this struggle did not impact me personally, it was something I could likely have gone my whole life without truly experiencing therefore acknowledging (aka white privilege). But something about a 46 year old man begging for his mother as he repeats “I can’t breath” more than 20 times broke something inside of me. Even as I type this, I am embarrassed. I am embarrassed that it would be well within the rights of any of my non-white friends who could be reading this to think “Cool cool...So your heart wasn’t broken by Breonna Taylor? 

Or Stephon Clark? 

Or Bothom Jean? 

Or Philando Castille? 

Or Alton Sterling? 

Or Freddie Gray? 

Or Eric Garner? 

Or Tamir Rice? 

Or Trayvon Martin? 

Or Atatiana Jefferson? 

The list goes on and on. 

My most truthful answers could range from, “I didn’t even know about that” to “yes, it was but then I quickly moved on” with the inferred conclusion being “because I could.” Because any incident I saw on the news reflecting unwarranted aggression against POC didn’t impact my safety or the safety of anyone I really knew. Because I live in such a segregated town and, let’s face it, there’s just about no system more segregated than the American Church, I am not in true community with anyone that doesn’t look like me. I had the ability to shake my head about how sad and unjust it was without giving it any more meaningful thought. And I am ashamed. I am not ashamed that I am white and I don’t feel anyone is asking me to be so, but I am ashamed I never understood how all encompassing whiteness is. 

Some things I mean when I say that: 

• I am not repeatedly asked where I’m from. 

• I grew up with Disney princesses that looked like me.

• I was reflected in just about all the stories required in school reading.

• In school or current life, I am never asked, nor is there a need, for me to speak for on behalf of all people in my racial group because my racial group is in charge of the narrative. 

• If I ever decide to have children, I will be less likely to die in childbirth and it will be a choice to teach my children about racism, not a necessity. 

• I never registered that almost the entire casts of shows and movies I watched look like me and the voices I filled my head with through almost all the books I read sounded like me.

For someone who thought they were aware, I am ashamed I didn’t see how aware I DIDN’T HAVE TO BE because the world I lived in was designed for my comfort. In the simplest terms, the news keeping POC up at night wasn’t even a conversation in my world. I am ashamed that my respect for Law Enforcement (and I do respect Law Enforcement) prevented me from acknowledging the dangerous culture which allows for these incidents of violence to keep occurring without intervention from other officers. I am ashamed that I seemed to believe all the energy I put into my job contributed enough to my being a “good person” that my response could stop at empathy, as opposed to spending the same energy on abolishing the system that led to these incidents in the first place. Basically, I am ashamed that I’ve been duly upset by the outcomes of systemic racism but SOMEHOW NEVER THOUGHT TO THINK BIGGER. I never thought to look at oppressive systems and root causes and see how those entities could be held accountable. I do not know why I stayed in this space so long but I am ashamed and I am sorry and I know God will no longer allow me to feel at home there. Turning away is no longer an option for me. 

With that conviction, revelation, whatever else you’d like to call it, come these other things I now know/am reminded of: 

• Jesus was not a white, American man. Also, if I claim to follow Him, that means I consider myself and other Christians to be part of the Body of Christ. If I am who I say I am, it makes absolutely no sense to be comfortable with part of “the body” I’m attached to being battered and bruised. 

 • I cannot participate meaningfully in the conversation surrounding race without the needed knowledge base and obtaining that knowledge is nobody’s responsibility but mine 

 -I feel a personal responsibility to educate myself, acknowledge the areas where I’m benefiting from being part of the majority, and leverage my privilege for good in the areas I am able. 

• I am aware I cannot change something so big alone but I believe deeply that if I am a good steward of the influence I have and you are a good steward of the influence you have and that leads family, friends, neighbors, and co-workers to be good stewards of the influence they have, we will slowly but surely change the culture of what is acceptable. 

I have been shocked and saddened to see the people in my life who do not seem to share these convictions. In the general sense, sure, but my confusion lies mostly with those who claim to follow the teachings of Jesus. Learning what it looks like to respond with truth and love has been an ongoing conversation between me and God and I still have the looooongest way to go. He is also addressing my own self-righteousness with me so that’s been super fun... 

 **Side note: I would like it to be clear that I am not insinuating that if you’re not loud and proud on social media about your desire to see racial injustices addressed, that must surely mean you don’t give two flying f***s. Absolutely not. A few months ago it seemed quite popular to say if you weren’t posting about your allyship then you weren’t an ally. Bump that. Social media can be a useful tool but it’s not everyone’s platform and it doesn’t have to be. Some people will not share a thing on social media (because they never do anyway) but are taking strides to educate themselves privately, have important conversations with their children, or research local businesses they can support owned by POC. They can do this without publicizing it and it is just as valuable. If anything, I sometimes fear social media is shooting itself in the foot with how saturated it is right now. It only takes a millisecond to share a meme, thoughtlessly repost an article, etc. until a 100 clicks later you’ve flooded your page and you're letting all your posts and likes do the talking without really engaging. People type things they’d never say to someone’s face until all credibility is totally lost right along with the possibility of having a truly open dialogue. I’m not into that. Trying to glean helpful information from social media is like drinking from an exploding fire hydrant right now. That is part of why I chose to start blogging again. You, dear reader, can keep scrolling past this link if you’re brain is experiencing information overload. Or, if after seeing pithy post after post you find yourself desiring human interaction and meaningful engagement, you can choose to come to this space where I’m trying my hardest to only say things as I would to your actual face. And if your actual face wants to talk to my actual face, even better!** 

All of this is to say that the last several months have been quite the journey and I’ve been discouraged to see who doesn’t share my outrage, my conviction, or at the very least, my interest. (A lot of that is my Enneagram 1 rearing it’s obnoxiously loud moral crusader head and I need to keep that in mind too.) I’ve been even more discouraged to see those who have gone out of their way to expend actual energy in finding memes, videos, etc. that fly in the face of the tolerant, Christian values they claim to have. Sometimes I will learn something new, either about our history or someone’s behavior, and become so heart broken I feel like an exposed nerve- ready to catch fire and lash out at the first thing that touches me. Sometimes it feels lonely and hard but that’s ok. That’s the work. It is however what makes stumbling into the company of like-minded women and men feel like a cool balm on an angry burn. 

As soon as I realized I had to do better and be better, I also realized I didn’t want social media to have much to do with it. I want to sit across from a real person and hear their actual voice. I want to get in community with people who have different lived experiences than me and I want to listen. I want to find other people who are comfortable acknowledging that the systems we live in aren’t fair, even if we benefit from them, and it makes them want to meaningfully and intentionally brainstorm about what we can personally and tangibly do. I need the people who listen without judgement but also without coddling, who will hold me accountable and remind me there is more work to be done, even as the social media craze fades (as it likely will). I keep saying, this is a marathon, not a sprint, and I want the kind of running buddies who will push each other forward when one is cramping and tired and will show each another grace when one of us needs to stop for water. I also want the ones who won’t let me stop. 

So returning to my sweaty eyes- I recently joined a book club which is reading Latasha Morrison’s “Be the Bridge: Pursuing God’s Heart for Racial Reconciliation”. (Also, pause to say that I recently saw an article in the Washington Post titled, “When Black People Are in Pain, White People Just Join Book Clubs”. It is chalk full of valid points and is also linked at the bottom). When I joined, I knew exactly one person at this book club, the person who invited me to it. But I’ve come to learn this is a group of women who are mothers, teachers, foster parents etc. who are taking personal responsibility of the need to expand their own knowledge so that how they teach in their classrooms, raise their children, etc. includes a focus on actively ending racism. This is a group of women who don’t want any hate or prejudice to hold court in their families or communities anymore so they are asking the hard questions not just about the world around them but about their own prejudices. Because of these things, I can say it feels different than the book clubs referenced in the article below but I guess only time will tell. Regardless, it has felt full and life-giving to come alongside people who educate, challenge, and push for growth. Who are truly interested in what I’m learning and are eager to share their own journeys as well. (Speaking of, I plan on sharing the resources that have been most helpful to me so far but this post is already long enough so I’m going to wrap it up.)

 

In whatever work you’re doing, be it raising children or navigating a new marriage or adjusting to living in a new place, you have to find your people because no one can go it alone. You have to be willing to show grace when it’s time for some people to exit your story and welcome new people in with warmth. I’m deeply grateful for the warmth that has been shown to me, for hard talks that go late into the night, and for quick texts like the one that started this post. For the sake of this specific post, I want to draw your attention to racial injustice. This is a pivotal time in our history and one day our children will ask, “What did you do?” In this huge, important part of humanity’s story which is heavy with the demand for change, how are we contributing? I don’t want to tell my children, “I shook my head, carried on as always, and hoped for the best.” I want to tell them, “I found the world changers who cared enough to try and were brave enough to admit their own ignorance and invited me to be better with them and I said yes to that invitation."  Then I will tell them, “I chose the world changers and that made all the difference. So I urge you to prayerfully consider who you want contributing to the pages in your own story too.”

Wishing you wisdom as you find your own people,

Caitlin 

Links Below:

https://thearmchaircommentary.com/2020/08/05/keep-walking/

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/white-antiracist-allyship-book-clubs/2020/06/11/9edcc766-abf5-11ea-94d2-d7bc43b26bf9_story.html%3foutputType=amp