As I sit outside on this outwardly beautiful morning, I take a sip of my coffee and start to cry. My dogs obsessively lick my face, confused as to why our morning ritual looks so different today. We are not all snuggled on the outdoor sofa, listening to the birds. Instead, I have found myself on my knees. Literally. In prayer. In fear. In pain. In shame. In need.

Last night was a silent night. No tv. No music other than my guitar and my own voice, no phone calls or outdoor visitors. The sirens were in the background, but I grew used to them. That, in itself, speaks volumes. I turned it all off. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, and inside of my safe house, it wasn’t. It was business as usual. I realize, I have the luxury of just turning it off. I am part of the problem.

I had planned to attend the protest, however my work schedule had a different plan for me. I figured I could just send in a donation, have a meaningful conversation with a black friend, or a difficult conversation with a white friend. I like to consider myself an ally. I mean…I read all of the right books, I take all of the right workshops, I have all of the right discussions, and I have the right diverse group of friends. I check all of the boxes. But yeah…ummm…I don’t. While I desperately WANT to “get it”, I just don’t. Systematic racism is so imbedded in me that all of the books in the world can’t cover up that fact, or that shame. I can devote an entire lifetime to changing that fact, but it is difficult to change that which eludes you.

I did not grow up in an outwardly racist household…thankfully. I never heard the “n word” uttered from the mouths of anyone in my family. In the south, this was unusual. But there was always a difference between “us” and “them”. Being Jewish, we were shielded from labeling ourselves as racist, because we, too, are a historically persecuted minority. I grew up with friends whose parents wouldn’t let me spend the night because of my religion. I knew that pain and that confusion. I wear that like a badge now. Add the gay card on top of that, and I am practically black. Or so I have kept telling myself. I have joked for years that I am a hate crime waiting to happen…but I was wrong. And it isn’t a funny joke. It minimizes the severity of hate crimes, and gives me a sense of pride that I haven’t earned. The color of my skin protects my gay, Jewish ass. I live in a world where my skin color makes me “better than them”, and that is just the facts. This doesn’t mean that I feel superior, but the world sees me as such, and that again, is just the facts.

I keep reading that “all lives matter”. Yes. Sure. All lives DO matter. Go ahead and protect your whiteness by saying this. But this is not about ALL lives right now. Saying that is almost the equivalent of straight people demanding a heterosexual pride month. It sounds ridiculous, right? Like…why wait until people of color are demonstrating to make it a white thing? Why wait until pride month to suddenly demand a straight month? It is just like a white American person…zero creativity, and always holding onto the coat tails, attaching onto someone else’s culture. It is how our story started, so it will not surprise me if it is also how our story ends. I mean really, have we even grown at all?

When I was a child, I used to get upset, and brat OUT, on Mother’s Day. I would ask why there was not a Daughter’s Day. My mom would say “because everyday is Daughter’s Day.” Ugh. I would get so mad. I was young. I wanted a present and a card and a brunch for being a daughter, dammit. But, did I demand this on any other day of the year? Nope. I waited until Mother’s Day to be such a butthole. All I did was take away from my moms special day by making it about me. I grew up and realized that everyday WAS indeed daughters day and that my mother was much wiser than I ever gave her credit for being. I didn’t do anything as a daughter to deserve a Hallmark approved special day. I made very few sacrifices. My parents loved me, cared for me, took me to dance class, piano lessons, softball games. They valued my education, took me on trips, and exposed me to the finer things in life. Their life became about me the second I was born. They put ME first. It is now time for “us” to do this for “them”. My point is that while all lives do matter, like my youthful fantasy about daughters day, celebrating being white (or straight) is the same childish bratty demonstration. Every day is straight people day. Every day is white people day. We are not children. We must stop acting as such.

I’m seeing a lot of people upset that they are being “accused” of white privilege. That shows privilege right there in itself. It isn’t an accusation. It isn’t even something to be ashamed of, or to protect. It is a fact. It doesn’t mean you abuse the privilege, but if you are white, you are privileged. Period. Nothing to discuss. If you want your whiteness to mean something more, then just shut up about your struggle. Save it for white people appreciation month. This is not the time. This is not the time. This is not the fucking time.

This is not about you.

This is not about you.

This is so absolutely NOT about you!

As I am typing these preachy/dogmatic words, it is not lost on me that I am speaking directly to myself, more than anything. The difficult conversations have to happen internally, as well as externally. We have to cut ourselves wide open and really look at, and dissect, what is inside. We have to find the poison and cut it out of ourselves. Yes, it is messy. Yes, it can be bloody. Yes, it can be dangerous. But if we don’t know what’s in there, it can be deadly.

I am scared, y’all. This isn’t the world that I thought we lived in. I have been in my safe home, alone at night, no tv, ignoring what is happening right outside of my front door. I have so much shame seeping out of me, knowing full well that this has been going on for so many generations. I have so much shame for using this time as a time for me to feel for my people who were also persecuted. This isn’t the time to think about myself, and where I have come from. Instead, this is a time for me to think about people who burned down parking garages. Not to pass judgement, but to try to understand why violence is the only thing that gets our attention. Why is violence what makes us angry? It took a gay riot over 50 years ago for us to begin to be heard, but society doesn’t look at gay people as a violent community. Why is that? We did the same thing. The only answer I can think of…it was mostly white and black is scary and white is not.

As we all struggle with what is happening in our country, I challenge all of us to make today about someone of color. Just for today. Spend just today not comparing and contrasting. Just for today, make and hold space for all people of color, and just fucking listen. Don’t respond to posts with “but…but…I’m not racist”, or “I have black friends” or “not all white people are privilege abusers” or “i am so sorry this is happening”. Instead, just read, and just listen, and be silent in words and loud in actions. Don’t pass judgement on how the protests are going down, rather WHY they are going down. Just for today. This anger does not belong to white people, but we can share in the sadness (and solution) as a fellow human and as a precise ally. If you don’t want to be a part of the solution, at least don’t perpetuate the problem. Just ignore it and maybe…just maybe…it will miraculously disappear.

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