It takes time and effort to learn

This letter was going to ask you to join me in a letter writing campaign to the Burrells. I am writing to tell you why it isn’t.

I was horrified and angry when I heard about the racist act perpetrated on the Burrells during their stay in Wimberley. I was shocked that such a thing would happen here. I felt compelled to act. “I must do something!” I said to myself.

I decided a letter writing campaign was just the thing. I imagined the Burrells opening a box full of love from Wimberley--all manner of letters, card, and postcards. It could be a teachable moment. I imagined parents discussing the wrongs of racism with their children as they helped them write a letter. I ran the idea past some of my (white) friends and we agreed it was a wonderful idea.

Turns out the letter writing campaign would assuage our guilt and make us feel better. It would change the focus of the incident to us, rather than on catching the vile perpetrator(s). Moreover, it wouldn’t address the systemic persecution of black people and how to stop it once and for all.

But what of the Burrells? Imagine they are back home recovering from the trauma and press attention and receive our care package of letters. We believe we have sent love, but perhaps for them the trauma has followed them as an invasion of their safe space (home).

George Floyd’s murder hit me particularly hard. COVID-19 has been difficult. My husband and I enjoyed our last pre-quarantine outing at the Project ART Wimberley Adult Prom on March 7. That seems like a lifetime ago. Little did I know how drastically our lives and world would change. My worries then seem trivial now. My stance on issues then seems impotent and shallow now. Sure, I was angry at and horrified by Trump. Yes, I felt terrible as more and more black people were killed (make that murdered) by police. Our capitalist, “the one who dies with the most toys wins” culture sickened me. But none of it affected me directly, I said to myself. It’s not my fight, right? Turns out that’s privilege. My silence made me complicit.

That awakening alone doesn’t make me understand the black experience, let alone how to help, or if, indeed, my help is even needed.

My friends, I have much to learn. Turns out I am one of those well-meaning white people who have no clue how to help. As such, I risk making a situation worse when I believe I’m being helpful and a good person. Based on a recommendation from friends on this same journey, I have started reading White Fragility. I understand that reading one book isn’t enough. It’s a mere beginning. I am having discussions with others. I’m sharing this with you. I hope we can have more discussions as a community. I hope we will call out wrongs when we see them. I hope we will make it known that we in Wimberley will not stand for racism. I hope we can affect real and lasting change.

Shannon Marlow du Plessis