On Teaching My White Friends About Race
Growing up as a kid of color in a predominantly white neighborhood, I quickly learned the difference between ignorance and innocence. Most of the innocent people I knew were simply ignorant, but rarely were the ignorant people I encountered innocent. The day before I wrote this, I was exiting a Chinese restaurant near my house with takeout. A quad of white middle schoolers walked by and saw me, an Asian American, and shouted out “Ching chong ping pong wing wong!” while pulling their eyes into slits. They then ran away laughing. I am 17 years old, nearly 18. I hadn’t heard that type of blatant racism face-to-face since I was around 14; I’ve been sent racial remarks on social media, but racism has a certain impact when it is in person, especially so close to home.
I was livid. After some exchanges of words between the bigots and myself, I sat in my car and sent a voice message, ranting to my two closest friends in our group chat about what had happened. Of these two friends, one was Latinx and the other was white. My white friend replied to my voice message with “Wow it’s so crazy that this stuff is happening. It’s 2023, I can’t believe that people are still like this.” When I saw the message on my screen, I hesitated on how to respond; his reply was very innocent, but with that freedom was also some heavy ignorance that I wanted to point out to him. But how could I do that? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him feel guilty or uncomfortable. However, with these thoughts came a realization that I had been striving to make racial conversations comfortable for my white friends and peers.
I couldn’t just let it go. This friend is one of the kindest and most open-minded people I know. I knew that if I were to educate him, he would learn. But I didn’t want to have to educate him. It wasn’t my responsibility. But then again, how could I be frustrated with him if he truly didn’t know and no one told him the ignorance of his statement? I was at an impasse in my mind, fighting a paradox of code switching, hurt feelings, and frustration and anger with white privilege.
“Can I be blatant? I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” I eventually replied. He needs to know the importance of his words and reactions as a white man in America, I thought to myself.
“Always.” As soon as his message showed up on my screen, there was no stopping my typing. Line by line, I explained the ignorance of his statement with my own feelings and thoughts, rather than writing for his comfort. I told him of the disconnect between us when it came to race. He “[couldn’t] believe that people are still like this” because he didn’t have to. He could live his entire life without having to worry about having a racial target on his back.
After ten minutes of “reaching the word limit” and six paragraphs on Instagram’s messaging system, I had emptied the racing thoughts in my head into our trio’s group chat. I had stepped through the paradox of the idea of discomfort vs. ignorance because I was determined to help him understand my perspective. And he did. Nothing has changed in our friendship except for a further insight into each other’s lives.
I have sustained this determination to do what’s right since I was little, especially when it comes to social and societal justice. I am forever a learner, but as I mature, I’ve also become an educator when I can. My sense of morality has determined who I’ve become, and is shaping my future and helping me change the world around me, one text at a time.
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