Cracker

No one has ever called me “cracker.” Well, maybe they did and I just don’t remember because “cracker” is a snack not a slur.

There are no racial slurs for white people because racial slurs are tools of racial oppression and white people aren’t racially oppressed. Many white people are in pain. Financial pain. Economic pain. Physical pain. Emotional pain. I shouldn’t mistake those pains for racial oppression, and I certainly shouldn’t use any words associated with racial oppression because, as a white man, when I say those words they come with certain contexts.

In short, “nigger” has been used with hateful intent by people that look like me for centuries. Personally, I won’t allow myself to say it aloud because I’m aware of the awful sound it makes on white lips. In it, I hear every chance I had to speak up. Every opportunity I missed to engage in a hard conversation. To me, that word on white lips makes me remember my personal failures of character and the failures of my family and all those that came before me to face up and be accountable for my contributions to America’s clear systemic imbalances. Frankly, I’m not even comfortable writing “nigger”, but I’m afraid I have to look at it and be uncomfortable if I hope to change. I’m sorry if that’s wrong, it’s just the imperfect way I’m going about internalizing this lesson:

Ultimately, the word is not mine to use and I’m happy about that. When black men and women I admire say that word, it reminds me that hate does not win. That love and community can triumph despite the greatest human pain: being enslaved. People were taken from their homes, families, and even themselves. Yet love somehow lived on in those enslaved people. It is a situation I struggle to imagine but in struggling to imagine it maybe I can learn to be better. Black America’s struggles and progress toward equity, equality and enfranchisement in this American Experiment were not and still are not accidental or inevitable. Men, women, and children were maimed, murdered and violated along the way for standing up for themselves and others. It’s still happening.

I admire Black Americans because, in my mind, their struggle is the real story of America. The way I see it, the story of Black America is simply a more honest story, and because it’s more honest, it’s a better. It goes something like this:

Black Americans throughout history have continually done what was thought impossible by their white captors. They’ve risen from slavery despite our white forefathers’ relentless attempts to suppress, silence, and destroy them. That is worth contemplating. If I doubt their triumphs, I’m not paying attention and should open a book. There are hundreds on the subject. What’s upsetting is, despite all the dying and killing and hurting and writing and reading and speaking and voting and debating and winning and losing and falling and standing that’s been done, there’s still a long road to true enfranchisement, equality and equity. But I believe if I do not relent in my pursuit of personal accountability and remain steadfast in my commitment to teach myself, I may further that cause by just a few inches.