“‘Stay Woke’ means being award of your surroundings and things going on, with a particular focus on social injustices” – quora.com
So, what does a middle-class white girl know about “staying woke,” you find yourself asking. And I can agree. Being from small-town suburbia, social inequalities were never on my radar. Women asking for higher pay, whites receiving preferential treatment, immigrants fearing for their lives, gays being mistreated. None of these things ever crossed my mind. The closest social injustice I ever encountered in my suburbia days was an argument with a black girl in computer class my senior year of high school. It had been a week since I received my rejection letter from Vanderbilt. I was bitter. Still. I was venting to my fellow computer classmates about it being unfair that I was rejected.
“If I was black, I would’ve gotten in, and that’s not fair,” I remember exclaiming. Me and a black classmate argued for ten minutes about my statement. And that was that.
Life moved on. I attended UTM, a small suitcase college, where zero social issues were raised. Farming and hunting were sports and Greek life was the only life.
Life moved on. I attended MTSU, a large university less than an hour from a booming city full of millennials and new ideas. My best friend there was gay. And he struggled with his relationship with his family. Because someone was attracted to their same sex, they were alienated from family. Something wasn’t right.
But life moved on. I was content being in my bubble.
Some people can remember specific moments in their life and how it changed them. I can’t tell you the specific moment I felt “changed” or aware of the social injustices of our world. It’s not like it was an “AAAH-HAH” moment or an epiphany. It was a gradual realization, I think.
But I really started thinking this past year. And wondering. Does racism still exist today? Does sexism still exist? Are we all really treated equal?
“Well, ya know, people’d rather see my son walking down the road than, ya know, a black kid with a hoodie,” she whispers to me.
It’s July 2016 in Dallas. I was working in a retail store when I helped a customer check out. It was an upper middle-class woman. She is proud that her son is white and not black. She’s not proud that he’s trying to make some summer money by painting sidewalks. She’s glad that he won’t be judged because he’s white. All I can do is stare at the customer and nod my head.
“Lisa, I wished I like girls, that would make it easier. I cry at night and ask why I don’t like girls,” a friend tells me.
It's December 2016. I wonder why should anyone cry because of who they like? Why should someone be scared to love because they will be judged or disowned from family?
“’YOU, BEANER!!! I just want my effing medicine!!’ he screamed at me,” says my Uber driver.
It's April 2017. I’m on my way home from a night in Dallas. I have this thing about questions. Like I’ve said before, I’m the question master. So, here, during this 20-minute drive home, my Uber driver has divulged racist memories that happened to her, just this past year.
She was a pharmacy technician and received this belittling statement from an obviously un-medicated man.
“THAT’S WHY WE’RE BOMBING YOUR FAMILIES! TRUMP’S GONNA KILL YOU AND ‘EM ALL!!!” he screamed at the Saudi Arabian clerk.
It’s May of 2017 and racism is still happening. And ignorance. Because, well, America bombed Syria, not Saudi Arabia. But why did this angry man so quickly jump to attacking the clerk’s race and assume he was a Syrian bomber?
And what was worse was no one at the gas station was doing anything. I was appalled. I threw my keys on the counter and chased the man outside and began yelling at him. After my rant was over, I ran back inside and locked the gas station door. I was fuming. After we all watched the irate man leave in his car, my friend and I unlocked the gas station door and left.
She walks down the sidewalk in her abaya dress and hijab. Common clothes for Muslim women. Instead of wondering how her day is going, I instantly envision her walking home to an extremist husband who is building an IED.
It's last week. Am I just as bad as the others mentioned above? I mean, I’m racially profiling, but I’m not verbalizing it. But just because I’m not verbalizing it doesn’t mean my thoughts are right.
I think back to an episode of ‘The Walking Dead’ that really stood out to me. It’s when Spencer and Gabriel are making a run for supplies. Spencer is the son of the ex-leader. His mom used to run the town and she died. So Rick took over. Spencer is venting to Father Gabriel about his thoughts and sinning.
Spencer says to Father Gabriel, “Hating somebody, is that a sin?” referring to himself hating Rick.
Gabriel replies, “No. Well, not necessarily. Thoughts are just thoughts. It’s our actions that matter in the end.”
After five more minutes of banter, Spencer admits he wants Rick dead.
Gabriel replies, “What you’re saying now doesn’t make you a sinner. It does make you a tremendous shit.”
Am I a tremendous shit?
The hardest part about “staying woke” in my opinion is the realization moment. I’ve spent 27 years not knowing or even accepting really that this stuff happens. We’re all content in our bubble. We’re like the people at the gas station. And we don’t do anything about it. And we think, “Life goes on.” Life may just go on to you, but at some point, you’ve got to make a change. Even if it’s within yourself.
Like changing my instant terrorist assumptions when I saw a Muslim. I can’t pinpoint what caused me to jump to these thoughts. Was it something I was exposed to growing up? Was it news coverage? Was it the attacks on 9/11?
It’s embarrassing to admit that, that Islamophobic thought runs through my mind, specifically when I know I'm open-minded and accepting, but I think it’s important to pinpoint when something is wrong and try to make a change.
The change I've committed to making is volunteering with the Texas Refugee Services. I've researched ways I can help refugees find a home and feel welcome in the area. I would hate to be racially profiled if I was fleeing my 'home' country to the country that promises hope and freedom.
I have no words of wisdom or funny banter to try to relate to you all. I just have some recent experiences that moved me. Moved me from napping, to being awake.
Are you awake? Or just napping?
