Blog Post #6: “I Witnessed a White Person Abusing a Person of Color — and Did Nothing”

While I realize that in writing this piece I am “centering whiteness” — that is, focusing on my feelings and actions as a white person rather than those of the person of color affected — I feel compelled to share an upsetting recent incident that I was party to. I — a self-proclaimed white anti-racist activist — did not offer support to the Brown-skinned attendant at a gas station in an affluent Los Angeles community as he was being called a “wetback” and threatened with the police by a very vocal, very pissed-off white woman at the pumps. Exactly what she was angry about I am not sure.

Her tirade happened right in front of my eyes, not on a YouTube video taken at Central Park or in some other newsclip of an angry white person using their white privilege and power to abuse Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) in every scenario imaginable.

Even knowing the possible consequences…

At the time, I was well aware that if the gas attendant’s boss had heard about the situation, the attendant might have been fired for “harassing” a customer if she had later complained (with the boss possibly valuing a white customer’s judgment of what had actually transpired over a person of color’s account of it). If the police had come, the man could have been arrested, and possibly even physically injured and/or killed if taken into custody. I wanted to support the attendant. But because witnessing anger makes me afraid and want to run away from it, even when it’s not aimed at me, that is what I did — a choice that I, as a white woman, had the privilege to make because of my white skin. Retreating into a default state of white fragility, I drove away.

My integrity took a backseat to my fear.

Although I have personal values that include compassion, inclusion, and justice, these were not reflected in my actions that day. I am an anti-racist activist who left the scene of, if not a crime, a real psychological harm done to another human being, with likely emotional and physical consequences to him from the trauma of such an encounter. What other harms has the attendant already endured in his life simply because of the color of his skin and a system that dehumanizes him because of it?

What happened next?

I felt bad driving off, out of alignment with myself. That wasn’t who I was. So, after driving a quarter block away, I made a U-turn, returning to the same gas pump. The woman had left, and the police had not come — if indeed she had carried out her threat to call them. I had hoped that going into the minimart and telling the attendant that I had seen what had happened, and was so sorry, might be a bit soothing to him. He shook his head and told me the incident didn’t affect him. In writing this, I don’t want to reduce this person to his reaction about this particular incident; he is a human being, with a family and friends. There’s more going on than what I’m writing about, but I can only write about the parts I know.

20/20 hindsight

On reflection, I could have acted in ways that I have, in fact, advised others to act. The “Road to Racial Justice” game I created in 2016 provides game cards that describe racist situations and possible interventions for gamers to discuss and choose from (the game is free and downloadable). The shortcoming is that it’s all hypothetical. It couldn’t provide me with the courage I needed at the gas station, where I might have taken any number of actions — recorded the situation on my phone, walked over to the man and stood by him in support, served as a witness if the police had shown up, challenged the woman who was complaining, or honked my horn to create a distraction. I only thought of this last one right now as I’m writing. The “could have, would have, should have” effect of 20/20 hindsight. Knowing and doing are two different things.

Where does the courage to act come from?

Hearing about anti-racist actions that individual people have taken is inspiring, and I’d like to hear more. That is, not just by reading or hearing about the actions taken by famous anti-racist activists, but by learning about actions taken by ordinary people in ordinary, everyday situations: “I was here, this happened, and I did this.” This is the sort of thing that was shown in a video made by Black educator and author Dr. Joy DeGruy, in which she describes a trip to the grocery store with her very light-skinned sister-in-law (whom many people think is white). In the video — which went viral — she describes how her sister-in-law spoke up and took issue with the cashier when Dr. DeGruy was asked for extra identification, while the sister-in-law had not been. I urge you to watch the video, which is sad, powerful, and inspiring all at the same time.

With all of this in mind, I encourage readers to comment on this post with like-minded actions they have taken. Let’s support one another through sharing what we have done.

“When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.” ― Audre Lorde

Can Role-Playing Help?

In addition to my wanting to hear about particular anti-racist actions, I realize I must strengthen my intention to intervene to the point where I’m able to put that intention into action in real-life situations, even if I’m afraid. Practice through role-playing can help me to prepare. Even though a person role-playing a situation is unlikely to encounter that specific scenario, role-playing allows participants to experiment with different ways to intervene, building stamina and grit, while others watch and provide encouragement and ideas.

Thinking back to the gas station incident, I wonder how many racist incidents happen every day all around us — incidents that may not quite register with us if we’re not the targets, because racism is so pervasive and so insidiously woven into everyday life. When we do notice, we can take the opportunity to show compassion and courage. What white bystanders do all too often — and all that I did on that day — is just that: stand by. At a recent protest, I saw a sign that seemed to speak about bystanders who don’t speak up, with the words “Silence Is Violence.”

Uneasily, I wonder: Is there really much difference between vocal white racists and those of us who remain silent, since we’re all perpetuating racism?

BIPOC are always at risk. Every day, they endure, and resist as best they can, the devastating economic, social, and physical effects of white people’s racist actions and the systemic racism that gives white people power through the policies, practices, and laws in our country. We white people must support them even when it feels uncomfortable and risky for us. We must fulfill our commitment to justice; silence and inaction should not be options. Having power and privilege beyond measure, let’s activate the courage I know we all have within us to act boldly for racial justice.