A Million Slices of Humble Pie

It has recently come to my attention that many black people are upset about the way most of America celebrates Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

Five years ago, my response to this would have been, “They’re always mad about something.”

This year, my response is to ask, “Why are they upset?”

It’s a flawed question with a convoluted answer, as is every question I ask on this blog. But right now it’s a question that feels more necessary, more pressing, more relevant than ever.

A few years ago, I read the book Waking Up White and Finding Myself in the Story of Race. It contained enough revelatory information to make me dig deeper into the racial structures of our country—how they were formed and how they influence the daily lives of all Americans today.

It’s so much to unpack, and I’m so egregiously unqualified to unpack it, that I’m not going to attempt that here. I will, later, because I think it’s inexpressibly important.

Bottom line: I've realized that simply being a good person who tries to be nice to everyone I meet falls far, far short of what God has called me to when He says “do justice.”

So I decided to listen.

I decided to listen to a different story than the one I’ve always heard. A story from which I have been entirely insulated and still can be, if I choose to.

I decided to listen to people who are equal or superior to me in intelligence, character, and goodwill but are telling me I am missing something huge.

I decided to listen because it’s the only way it will be possible for me to understand.

Reading Waking Up White was a very safe, very helpful, very protected way to become familiar with some of the key problems with our white-centric culture. It offered slice after slice of humble pie in thoughtfully packaged bites.

A few weeks ago, I dipped my toe deeper into the water by joining a Facebook group called Be the Bridge to Racial Unity. It’s also helpful, but slightly less safe. The humble pie is tasting more bitter. White voices are not the predominant voices—the first time I’ve been in that situation, ever. People are saying things I disagree with. People are making mountains out of molehills. People are lambasting The Greatest Showman.

And I’m sticking around.

The group has a rule that you cannot post for the first three months; you can only read, watch, and listen. It’s hard. I’m having to let so many thoughts come into my head and then pass out of my head, calmly. But I’m beginning to see the incredible wisdom in the three-month rule.

It’s forcing me to hear more than one voice, erasing the false perception I have that all people of color think and feel the same way about everything.

It’s forcing me to stand at a distance to see how my own voice often sounds in these conversations.

It’s forcing me to learn a crap-ton of new information.

It’s forcing me to see the ways in which I am part of the problem.

It’s forcing me to eat humble pie without criticism or reciprocation.

Most importantly, it’s forcing me to realize that eating humble pie without criticism or reciprocation is exactly what people of color have been doing for centuries in our country simply to survive.

I’m fortunate because for me, it’s not a matter of surviving. If I choose to withdraw from dealing with racial issues, I can do so with very little direct effect on my personal life. People of color do not have this luxury, and therein lies the problem.

If you’re ready for some humble pie, I would LOVE for you to join me. Come on over to my house and we can eat a big ol’ slice together.

Note: Apparently “people of color” is the acceptable umbrella term to define anyone who is not white. To me, it sounds uncomfortably similar to the derogatory “colored people” of a few decades ago, but it’s not about me so I’m just going with it.