Coffee with A Racist
On a warm sunny day, oblivious to what was about to occur, I pulled over to The French Bakery, a tiny cafe by the beach, for my customary cappuccino. As I parked my bike, I noticed a man sitting at one of the two tables located outside the cafe. After sitting at the empty table, I took a second glance at the man. He was an older white man; unshaven, with short grey hair and glasses. The man was dressed in a rumpled shirt and khaki pants, and had a cane propped against the window of the cafe.
I thought, “This guy looks a little disheveled, and as with most that come to this cafe, he will probably want to talk. Do I feel like talking with this guy? I decided to be open-minded regardless my first impression.”
The man introduced himself as John, and said, “It’s nice out, you live in the area?” I replied, “Yes, I live in the area and am enjoying the weather as well. Where are you from?” He said, “Mississippi.” I replied, “My mother is from Mississippi.” At that point, a feeling of familiarity appeared in the air, our eyes made direct contact, and we shared a look that said, I know all about you.
As a Black man whose mother was born and raised in Mississippi, images of the KKK, Jim Crow, and the killings of Emmitt Till and Medgar Evers quickly flashed through my mind. Without speaking, John and I were in instant agreement that he was a perpetrator of or a complicit bystander to the Mississippi that arguably lynched more Black people than any other state in the United States of America.
What followed was a long, deep, and emotional conversation about Mississippi, and John’s racist past. John openly volunteered this racist past, things he saw his parents do to Black people, his own negative feelings and actions toward Black people and now, his search for reconciliation with that past. John also spoke of recent conversations with his peers that left them each feeling guilty and sad about how they viewed and treated Black Americans.
John is a 73 year-old retired Christian pastor of a large church who now travels the country consulting with pastors on how to manage their employees and parishioners. He mentors a large number of pastors and seems to relish in providing advice and counsel to younger pastors. To share a relatively mild example of his bias, John said, “At one of our church events, the group facilitator asked us pastors to partner with a pastor of a different race to conduct an exercise of faith. Because I felt uncomfortable, I refused to participate.”
John also shared, “Me and my friends from the old neighborhood speak about how our feelings are overrun by self-guilt and deep sadness.” John’s sadness came home to roost a few years back. His daughter, upon learning of the life he lived as a Christian and a racist, told him that he and his white Christian pastors were hypocrites and that she did not want anything to do with him. I asked, “How does your daughter feel about you now?”
His facial expression became sad, his eyes began to water, and through a flow of tears, he said, “She’s not forgiven me and to spite me, she married a Haitian missionary, moved to North Carolina and will only attend black churches.” As we spoke, he sobbed “I don’t know what to do to regain my daughter’s love and respect.” John wanted a second chance with his daughter.
The achilles heal of the racist is how their children view them. Are some children taught racist views (consciously or unconsciously) and inaccurate history at an early age to shield parents and America from facing the wrong of their ways. Are the teachers thinking, if the kids think like me, I won’t ever have to own up to my wrong doings and my hypocrisy? Sweep it all under the rug and, hopefully, the truth will remain hidden.
It was clear that John’s friends were struggling under similar circumstances. After his second cry, I realized that John needed direction on how to reconcile his pain and inescapable feelings of guilt.
Among other things, I advised him, “John, you need to look beyond yourself and instead to how you can help former and current racists from experiencing the pain you feel. You can help them, and the country, by telling your story of racist behavior, how your views have changed, how living with the pain you inflicted on others is just too much to bear, and how racism is just plain wrong.”
John could be courageous, tell his story and motivate others to share their stories and apologize for racist behavior. A first step toward healing. In the process, John and his friends would also confirm the reality of Black people in America, gaining respect from Black people. Although some will point fingers and focus on their past, many would respect their willingness to expose their racism, the pain they inflicted, and the deep pain that eventually comes from having to live with guilt and sadness. The difference now is that racist perpetrators are living long enough to feel the pain of self-guilt and disgust brought on by anti-social, inhumane, and racist behavior. A pain that many former racists are living with today.
Conscious former racists can help heal the country. By coming forth and sharing their stories, they can start to heal the lingering affects of slavery, Jim Crow, and racism. Black people can’t solve American racism. White people that profited economically, socially, legally, and politically from an unjust America, thereby creating their white privilege, can solve American racism. And, the healing can begin with a sincere apology.
American racism should not be swept under the rug for future generations to deal with. Pain is not going away for anyone. By helping to heal America, John and those like him will gain the forgiveness they so desperately seek. And, Black people will give grace and mercy.
For it to work, though, the testimonies of former racists must be sincere and authentic like John’s was on that warm sunny day at The French Bakery.