19th June in the United States is a celebration called Juneteenth, which commemorates the abolition of slavery. On this Juneteenth, I’ve been reflecting on what that means.
Prologue note: I am purposefully using the term “non-Caucasian people” in this article instead of POC (people of colour), BIPOC (Black/Indigenous people of colour), or other such terms. I want to be inclusive of all forms of racism against people who are not Caucasian, including those who “lean white” (just typing that out made me feel a bit sick). This includes people of colour, indigenous people, Africans, Middle Easterners, Mexicans, Asians, Filipinos, Pacific Islanders, Eastern Europeans, and any other group. I regretfully don’t have the space to write every single one down, but please know that I see, hear, and respect you, no matter your ancestry or skin colour.
It has been my honour, as part of my work at the Berkeley Library, to serve on the Library’s Equity and Inclusion Committee, Subcommittee on Programming and Communication. This is an extremely fancy name for a group of us who work across different parts of the Library to meet and discuss ideas on how we can foster diversity and inclusion among staff and in staff spaces.
Now we really should zoom out a bit. I am white. No, really, even in Dalmatian form, most of my fur is white! Being white in the United States comes with a form of privilege that is inalienable. I was thinking about this a few nights ago when one of my best friends said “white trans people are more afraid than most because they are used to the system working for them, and it’s a shock when it doesn’t”. My initial reaction was: what system works for anyone these days? I grew up in a part of the country where the system didn’t work for me either.
But then I thought a bit harder. The local police ignore me, sure, but they harass and beat non-Caucasians. Medicaid took four months to approve my mum for coverage, but they deny benefits to non-Caucasians outright. Even the systems that don’t work for white people any more never worked for non-Caucasians, and however hard it may be to believe, they still treat them worse – even now.
All of that is to say: it is still a uniquely privileged position to be a white person in the United States. Even being a woman, and even being a trans woman. And in my opinion, this comes with a special responsibility: to utilise that privilege to lift up the voices that are not being heard, and then get out of the bloody way so they can speak.
When I had joined the LEIC subcommittee last summer, my initial hope was to be able to bring a voice to the people I felt the Library was leaving behind: the LGBTQ community. I had never seen any events discussing how we have been historically (and presently!) excluded and removed from library spaces. I still feel this is an incredibly important topic for our eventual discussion, but it pales in comparison to how non-Caucasian people are treated.
And so, I have been involved in the facilitating of a number of events raising non-Caucasian voices. I explicitly refuse and rebuke the term “organising” for this work, because the events being held are by them and for them. The only appropriate role for a white person to play in these events is one of support and deference. I do not “organise” these talks. I just help ensure that they happen, and that they go on smoothly.
I know that some people will claim that this is some sort of “false” “white guilt” or something. Guilt is not what motivates me. In some ways, I don’t have a reason to feel guilt. Most of my family are more recently immigrated to the States, after slavery had ended. One ancestor I can find that was living in the United States at the time of the Civil War lied about his age to join the Union Army and wrote long journal entries about the vileness of slavery and oppression that the Confederacy represented, which is why he joined the military at all.
At the same time, there is plenty of reason to feel guilt. Even though myself and my ancestors did not build this system – and some of us actually work very hard to try and fix this system – we have still benefited from it, every day we’ve been in America. If we cannot come to terms with even this basic truth, we can never right the wrongs that have been done in our names. And perhaps that is where a lot of people have lost the plot: even if you didn’t commit any wrongs, wrongs were still done on your behalf. That’s why it is everyone’s responsibility to try and make it right.
It doesn’t have to be as big as facilitating talks at a library, either! There are so many small actions that can add up to real progress and change. Look online for anti-racist guides and reading lists. Seek out voices that represent these communities, and then listen to them. Not just as a conversation, but as a guidepost towards the actions that they say will be helpful. Sometimes the answers can really surprise you.
On this Juneteenth, and every day, we must listen to our better angels and find it in us to confront the past. It is only through this effort that we can make a stronger, brighter, fairer, and happier future for everyone.