Time to Be a Voice for the Silent

I’m not often at a loss for words.

I can talk about almost anything. Body image. Sex. Politics. Food. The sinking of the Titanic. Why I like cats more than dogs. But I struggle with talking about race.

My family was never overtly racist around me, but certain things they said always carried that undertone. They would insist that they weren’t prejudiced against others, but then they would talk about how Jackson has gone to hell and now Rankin County is going to hell because “they” are taking over the suburbs and how Mexicans are taking all the good jobs and how Muslims are going to kill us all, etc., etc.

If I had followed the principle of “monkey see, monkey do,” I probably would have turned out very differently. When I was younger, my family would often tell me to “love others” and “treat everyone with kindness” and “don’t say the n-word” (to this day, I’ve said it maybe once in my life), but then they’d go and do the exact opposite. And the funny thing is when I’d call them out on it, they’d act like they never said such a thing.

I’m a firm believer that if you’re told something over and over, eventually you begin to believe it. But most of their derogatory comments were noise to me. Of course, prejudice was never entirely lost on me. I’ll admit that I’ve had my moments, and I’ve tried hard to overcome them.

I’ve noticed more and more lately that my younger family members are beginning to develop the same habits as their parents. They’ve said “n*gger” more than they ever should. They often refer to their African American peers as “they,” and I’ve heard them speak negatively more than once about LGBT people.

I’ve long been silent about it, at least when it comes to them. Growing up in a conservative family, sometimes it’s easier to just shut up. But I’m tired of watching them go down the same path as their parents. I fear for them, and more than anything, I fear for my niece and nephew, who are old enough that they are beginning to observe and absorb the world around them, and the rest of their generation. I can see the cycle of prejudice repeating itself, and I don’t want to see the next generation go down that path. I want them to see people as people, not as skin tones or religious backgrounds or sexual orientation or gender. I don’t even like it when people try to confine colors to specific genders.

A couple of months ago, I saw a Buzzfeed video where people did a “privilege walk.” Activity directors read the participants questions, and they stepped forward or backward based on their response. The further back they were, the less privilege they experienced in life.

I’ve been curious about where I’d fall in that spectrum. I come from a white upper-middle-class family. Together, my mom and stepdad make upwards of $100,000 a year. While we did struggle here and there when I was growing up, I never had to go without food or clothes or shelter, and for the most part, they gave me what I wanted. I even had the bonus of having a father who was still in the picture, who always made sure I got everything I wanted when I was younger. It even caused problems when he married my stepmom and introduced her two daughters into my life. They hadn’t had much of the privilege I did, so it caused a lot of conflicts between me and my younger stepsister.

One time right around when my dad and stepmom married, I blurted out to my older stepsister, who had just had a son and was very clearly broke, “Where is my Christmas present?” (I wasn’t exactly the most tactful or nice child sometimes).

My stepmom’s reaction to that made it clear for the first time in my life that not everyone had a childhood like mine. I think that was when I started really listening to what people told me and paid attention to what they did, which was often contradictory.

The hardest part of watching the Buzzfeed video was when people would let go of each other’s hands because some went up higher and some went lower.

I know I’d be pretty high on the privilege scale, and not just because of my upbringing. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced any racism or prejudice in terms of work, but I’m sure it’s happened when I couldn’t see it. I can’t prove it personally, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ve gotten more opportunities than some.

It’s been weighing on my heart and mind that it’s time to stop being silent. It’s time I fight for those who don’t have a voice, and fight against those ingrained beliefs.

The problem I’m faced with now is how to go about it. Race wasn’t discussed in my house in an open, safe manner, so this is new territory for me. I may not know how to say it yet, but I’m ready to further that dialogue. I think Mississippi and this country are on a path of change (a good one, if we play our cards right), and I want to be a part of that change. Because I’ve always had a hard time fitting in, I’ve long wanted to fade into the background, but I’m discovering that I’m one of the ones who can help. I’m one of the ones who has to step forward, because if people like me don’t, the cycle of prejudice will never end.

If we don’t stand beside our brothers and sisters of different races and genders and sexual preference, their voices may not be heard.

I’m tired of people being discriminated against for things they can’t control or things that make them different. I’m tired of watching people being marginalized. And I’m tired of watching silently as all of this happens. I’m tired of leading a privileged life and standing idly by as others get discriminated against and denied jobs and housing and food and the ability to love who they choose.

After this last legislative session, I’ve given serious thought to leaving Mississippi. But every time the thought crosses my mind, I remember that if I leave, I’m only playing into the negativity.

So instead, I’m going to consider planting roots and raising my voice. It’s time more people like me stand up and give voices to the silent. Because if we don’t, who will?

Assistant Editor Amber Helsel is a foodie-in-training and an artist, and her favorite past-time is people-watching. Her patronus charm is a cat. Email her story ideas at amber@jacksonfreepress.com.