ALL THE WHITE FRIENDS I COULDN'T KEEP

A powerful examination of White assumptions about Black people and the obstacles that stand in the way of social justice.

“One way or another, the white world tries to convince people—even Black people—that there’s no need to organize for racial justice like Black Americans have always done.” So writes Henry, an activist and columnist for Religion News Service. Sometimes the argument takes the form of “racism is not a problem here.” As the author observes, this usually hinges on negative definition—e.g., we’re not racist in New York because we’re not Southerners, or we’re not racist in the South because we don’t belong to the KKK. Henry embarks on a searching exploration of unspoken beliefs about Black people. In the company of the family of longtime White friends, he looks into the thesis that there is “some extraordinary violent impulse unique to Black people,” voiced by one family member who became a police officer. A second encounter with the family occurred when they asked that politics not be discussed at the table, to which Henry responds, “When white people demand the privilege to sit comfortably in restaurants and theaters…without having to consider the violence that pervades their society…they invoke a consumer-capitalist tradition that stretches back to colonial times.” A fellow seminarian ventured the thought that slavery wasn’t so bad, since some slaveholders were nice folks; another White interlocutor encouraged Henry to “get all the facts” surrounding the death of Philando Castile. After presenting these cases and others, Henry demonstrates how White people can be allies, first by not declaring themselves to be so but instead awaiting acknowledgment of that status by Black people. He also encourages a kind of separatism. “Black people may need to rethink the fight for the proverbial seat at the table in white institutions,” he writes. “We need tables of our own.”

Wise, essential instruction for all who seek redress for the inequalities that persist in America.