Lipstick

My mom never goes out of the house without lipstick, and she never leaves home in a T-shirt or sweatshirt. Even a quick trip to the grocery store involves a clothing change and a quick (minimalist) makeup application. Not me. I don't even wear makeup to work anymore, though I did in my 20s and 30s. Several years ago, my mom and I were in a grocery store together and gave each other a look when we saw a woman in her pajamas, and once we were in the car, I said, "I used to feel sloppy because I don't put on lipstick to go to the grocery store like you do, but, hey, at least I don't go out in my pajamas, right?" And my mom said, "Don't compare yourself to those people."

A few weeks ago, we took a little vacation to New York City and stopped to visit my parents on the way home. Sunday morning, I went to church with my mom, and the pastor at that little church spent the first several minutes of her sermon time reading a message from a bishop in Virginia that stressed the humanity of all people and condemned white supremacy. I was a little surprised to hear the pastor of that small, entirely-white-for-its-whole-151-year-history, rural Lutheran church reading that statement—not that anyone there is overtly racist, but it’s not a topic that comes up very often.  On the way home to Ohio after lunch, I learned about the violence in Charlottesville, and the morning's sermon made sense.

One of my first thoughts after seeing the marching neo-Nazi white supremacists in Charlottesville was to think, basically, "I might be a little bit racist, but at least I'm not marching in the streets with torches shouting anti-Semitic slogans." And my mother's voice came into my head immediately, as it often does, saying, "Don't compare yourself to those people."

Unfortunately, I think my mom’s voice in my head got it wrong that time. Maybe I don’t actively work to create a state where people recognized as white have all the power and keep everyone else out, but all those times I’ve been silent when a white person said “those people” and wasn’t talking about folks who go to the grocery store in their pajamas, I was allowing white supremacist ideas to go unchallenged.

I need to compare myself to the blatant white supremacists and figure out how my biases and prejudices are hurting other people. I need to compare the white-washed history I learned to a deeper understanding of the generational legacy of slavery and institutionalized inequality and white refusal to acknowledge it.

And, maybe most importantly, I need to stop being afraid to go out without lipstick—that is, to stop being afraid to speak up and speak out even if I’m not sure the words are quite right, even if I am worried about offending someone, even though I know I don’t understand everything, even though I know I am racist and benefit from a racist system.