- 1. I promised not to say anything.
My kid made me promise I wouldn’t contact parents or teachers about the fact that other kids freely use the n-word several times per day, in front of my child, who is black. Why would I promise such a thing?
- 2. It would be mishandled.
The adults in charge have a proven track record of mishandling racially sensitive situations at school, leaving my child more uncomfortable and making us wish we hadn’t brought it up in the first place.
- 3. A dangerously large number of parents are racially illiterate.
My direct experience with other parents tells me it’s not something they’re equipped to effectively handle without making things worse for my kid.
- 4. The shock and awe will cause us pain.
When people who care about us express surprise about racism, it’s maddening. Open access to widespread news, research, and personal narratives about racism make people’s continued surprise feel like willful ignorance.
- 5. Disappointment snuffs my fire. The lack of effective and appropriate reactions to such disclosures make the amount of antiracist work ahead of us feel insurmountable, leaving me feeling hopeless.
- 6. Sharing invites violations of boundaries. Well-intentioned friends will want to engage about this at times when I am emotionally unprepared or unwilling, like at the grocery store.
- 7. My kid’s relationships would suffer. Parents would directly confront their child about it in ways that don’t encourage honesty, and my kid would be left dealing with shame, embarrassment, and disrupted relationships.
- 8. The point would get lost. Parents would lose sight of the fact that tolerance of the word is almost as damaging as saying the word, so they would focus on whether or not their child was actually the one who said it, and minimize the importance of their child’s role as a bystander/enabler.
- 9. No one would take responsibility. Parents would struggle to own the fact that their child plays a role in perpetuating racism because he was not taught how to disrupt hate speech and oppressive behavior. They would be tempted to blame the school district, the teachers, the lunch aids, the President, or any factor other than a parental shortcoming.
- 10. Excuses are easier than empathy. Explanations related to context, intentions, or the frontal lobe would distract from focusing on the impact the n-word has on my child.
- 11. It wouldn’t be enough.
Friends would tell me they are devastated to learn about how, on weeks when the incidents are particularly rampant, my kid uncharacteristically fails a test or gets sick, or both. They’ve heard about how micro-aggressions negatively affect performance and health outcomes for people of color, and still nothing meaningful would be done.
- 12. Problematic perceptions would be revealed. Friends with racial privilege would try and share my anger, telling me, “If I were you, I would march right in there and raise hell about this!”… but they don’t, which tells me they perceive this as my problem, not our collective problem. Why are they not outraged that their own kid hears the n-word all day long at school, regardless of their race?
- 13. It’s hard to ask for help.
Few people would ask for guidance from me or trusted others on how to immediately begin empowering their kid to be an anti-racist instead of a perpetrator, enabler, or bystander. And yet, they would still expect that things will get better with each passing generation…
