Commemorating Black History Month as a White Guy

Each year I struggle to write an article reflecting on Black History Month. I always want to make a statement about the tremendous contributions of Black people to the American culture throughout our country’s history and commit my support to creating a more inclusive society, but something always feels inauthentic.

Here we are 25 days into the month and I’m still trying to think of a theme for my article that doesn’t come across as self-gratifying or patronizing, so I decided that a good way to commemorate this year was to reflect on my own journey of understanding, including acknowledging the privilege I hold as a white male.

I grew up in a home where my mom and dad recognized the differences in people in our society, but they didn’t care. They chose friends based on whether they liked being around them, so my white Christian parents would socialize with Black, Hispanic, and gay people regularly because they were enjoyable people to have as friends. They went out with mixed race couples, and mixed religion couples, and I grew up with people from a variety of cultures and backgrounds regularly coming to my house to socialize with my dad and mom. However, I grew up not understanding that the rest of the world was very different, especially for the people that my parents treated quite equally as just another friend in their lives. I didn’t understand that those people’s lives weren’t as blissfully ignorant and easygoing as mine. At least not until I left college and went to work.

My eyes were opened during my first tour at IBM early in my career. I spent most of my time on the road travelling as a distribution industry specialist. The expert I was paired up with was a Black woman named Tyra. She was amazingly knowledgeable in distribution, she had a refreshingly direct way of communicating, and she was a mentor to me in the formative years of my career. Our plane flights were great because we would talk for hours about all kinds of topics and current events. One evening, after flying through the dinner hour as we were about to land in Atlanta, I suggested that we should go out and grab dinner at a restaurant before heading to our hotel. Tyra quickly responded with a firm “no” but didn’t give a reason. I poked more at it and she said she just wanted to eat in her room. I kept prodding and saying it would be much more enjoyable to eat at a restaurant. Finally, she looked at me and said something like, “There is no way that you as a white man and me as a Black woman are going to go to dinner together in Atlanta. One or both of us will end up dead.” First my head started to spin, and then we spoke more about it and I eventually said something ignorant like, “the Civil Rights Act ended all that racism, that’s behind us.” She chuckled and said in her truly caring but direct way something like, “oh you sweet young man, it must be so nice to be that ignorant of the world around you. Racism never left, it just moved underground.”

We travelled to several other cities on that trip, and in more progressive geographies we ate out together, while in others she ate alone. While together we spoke for hours about the realities of civil rights for Black people, and Black women in particular, and what equality did or didn’t look like for them. When I left IBM, we slowly lost touch over the years since we lived in different parts of the country, but I have always remembered the lessons she taught me. I learned how to be a better distribution industry specialist, how to communicate more directly and confidently with customers, and most importantly about the realities of race and culture in our country.

I’ve come to realize that the privilege I enjoy isn’t something I’ve earned. Instead, I recognize it’s been granted to me simply because of the color of my skin and my gender. Over the years since then I’ve learned that recognizing privilege doesn’t have to be about feeling guilty or defensive, yet I guess I still do which is why writing a post for Black History Month feels awkward for me. Recognizing privilege is more about acknowledging the systemic inequities that exist, and seeking out ways that I can leverage my privilege to challenge these systems. It’s also about listening to and amplifying the voices of those who have been marginalized and silenced for far too long.

Black History Month reminds us of the strength and resilience of Black individuals and communities. It’s a time to celebrate and this year’s theme is “African Americans and the Arts.” It’s also a time to reflect on the work that still needs to be done. The fight for equality is far from over, and it requires the participation of us all, regardless of our racial or ethnic backgrounds.

As a white male, I believe it’s my responsibility to educate myself about the experiences and struggles of Black individuals, to challenge my biases, and to use my privilege to advocate for change. Change can be as subtle as amplifying the voices of those who struggle to be heard or as bold as working to dismantle the systems of oppression that perpetuate racial disparities.

I’m inconsistent and I’m too often a silent bystander, but I remain committed to continually improving and using my privilege to effect change and create a more inclusive society. I encourage my friends and connections who hold similar privileges to do the same. We all need people like Tyra in our lives who can gently remind us about what we take for granted, so I also encourage my friends and connections who are struggling to feel included to keep reminding me when my actions and words are inconsistent. I’ve worked with several people over the years, including mentors, peers and employees, who have been willing to keep me honest and call me out when my actions were inconsistent with my intent. I have appreciated every one of you, remember your feedback years after receiving it, and continue to make those corrections in who I am.

Let’s listen, learn, and leverage our positions to advocate for justice and equality.

“One day our descendants will think it incredible that we paid so much attention to things like the amount of melanin in our skin or the shape of our eyes or our gender instead of the unique identities of each of us as complex human beings.” — Franklin Thomas, first Black President and CEO of the Ford Foundation