Dear White Folks: Bring Sunscreen
I have a diverse group of friends. Over the years, I've had great conversations with my white friends about what my experience is as a Black American. Often in those various conversations, a few statements have recurred:
“I won’t ever know what it’s like to walk in your shoes”
“I don’t see color”
“I don’t know what I can do to help”
Generally speaking, all of these statements were said with good intent. So I've come up with a simple but impactful analogy that might help shift one's thinking from apathy to care.
In my travels and most summers, I love to go to the beach. Growing up in Brooklyn, I never felt that I had a connection or access to picturesque beaches but there is calming quality in listening to the waves crash under the sunshine. I find that the beach is a great place to read a book, listen to music, have few drinks, and/or connect with friends. When I take out my beach bag to leave for the beach there is always something inside the bag that I don’t really need; sunscreen.
Now before you get all preachy on me about the dangers of skin cancer hear me out. First, my doctor tells me every year that I have a vitamin D deficiency. Second, my dark skin can absorb the sun's rays and I’ve never gotten sunburned in America. Third, my skin looks radiant and I look great with a tan.
So why do I buy sunscreen and remember to take it with me to the beach? I know that when I leave the house for the beach that I will likely be going with other people, of lighter skin (i.e. white folks), who will need sunscreen or else they get sunburned.
Now, I’ve never had a bad sunburn but I have been around plenty of white folks who didn’t apply sunscreen properly and have gotten a bad sunburn. To be frank, it looks awful and extremely painful. Because I’m not apathetic, I’ve asked my white friends to share their sunburn experience with me. What does it feel like? When does it go away? What happens when you touch it? How does it heal? Why did you not apply sunscreen more effectively? You really have to go through this entire sunscreen application process before you layout? Why do you want to get a tan anyway? Yes, I know being darker is sexier but is all this worth it? So I’m thoughtful enough to leverage my Black privilege in this instance to bring sunscreen just in case.
Similarly, when I leave my apartment every day there are things that I have to think about that white folks don’t. I’ve previously written about some of the things that I have to think about when I leave the house. While I can’t speak for the 42+ million Black folks in this country, I can tell you that acknowledging our struggles under the metaphorical sun will go a long way to improving the racial discourse in this country.
You see, Black folks are familiar with the white experience in this country because that experience has remained prominently at the forefront of our culture. In an era where access to information is just a few clicks away, I’ve come to feel that some white folks are simply apathetic to our experience and choose to remain ignorant of the full spectrum of the Black experience. Folks choose to remain uninformed and believe, just as our current administration does, that only negative portrayals of our communities are worth highlighting.
In his usual eloquence, James Baldwin, explains the white apathy towards the Black experience as a segregated wall where there is no desire to peer over the other side of the wall because there is a conscious effort to remain ignorant of the Black experience.
In short, we want our white brothers and sisters to look over that wall, we want you to understand the complex spectrum of our experiences, we want you to be curious about how we live, we want our struggles under the metaphorical sun to be acknowledged, we want you to join in our interconnected fight against racism. We want you to bring sunscreen, even if you don’t need it.
“Most of the white Americans I have ever encountered really, you know, had a negro friend or a negro maid or somebody in high school. But they never, you know, or rarely after school was over or whatever, you know, came to my kitchen. You know, we were segregated from the schoolhouse door. Therefore, he doesn’t know - he really does not know - what it was like for me to leave my house, you know, leave the school and go back to Harlem. He doesn’t know how negroes live.
And it comes as a great surprise to the Kennedy brothers and to everybody else in the country. I’m certain again, you know, that like - again, like most white Americans I have, you know, encountered, they have no - you know, I’m sure they have nothing whatever against negroes. That is not - that’s really not the question. You know, the question is really a kind of apathy and ignorance which is a price we pay for segregation. That’s what segregation means. It - you don’t know what’s happening on the other side of the wall because you don’t want to know.”