Disclaimer: Yes, this was inspired by a real-life conversation. If you were there, you know it, because I wasn’t subtle. Nothing here will identify you, nor will it offend you, because it’s so much nicer than what I said to your face. All others, if this post offends you because you feel that, in some theoretical way, it could be directed at you, maybe take it up with Jesus. Maybe talk to him (or a licensed professional, if you prefer) about why it could have been directed at you.
If you say something racist within earshot of me, I consider it my business. I will confront you. Even if you weren’t talking to me at the time. Even if I don’t know you. I will do my best not to embarrass you, because shame is a lousy motivator, but I will address it.
I will confront you, just like I expect you to confront me when necessary, because I am not perfect and need to be confronted sometimes.
It’s not that I think I’m better than you. This is not image management; I’m not trying to look smart or culturally sensitive. I’m not even really trying to teach you something, although in the best case scenario, we would both come away from the experience having learned from it.
It’s just that it is my business.
Racist speech inevitably draws a line, dividing the whole of humanity in two. It breaks the natural design of the universe. Our differences are meant to empower us and to give us voice. Racist speech corrupts this design and turns difference into a silencer. Your racist remarks draw a line and force me and everyone else around you to choose which side of the line we’re going to stand on. And lest the word “force” sounds like it’s some great burden, the truth is that my having a choice in this situation in the first place is a privilege afforded to me by my lily white skin. The easy choice is to stay quiet and pretend that it doesn’t concern me, or to say that there’s nothing I can do, or to hide under the cloak of “no one needs me to speak on his or her behalf.”
But as a friend recently reminded me, I don’t have to make the easy choice. So I choose to use my privilege in a different way.
When you draw that line in the sand between us and them, I choose them.
If you are a complete stranger, I choose them.
If you are my very own flesh and blood, I choose them.
If you are randomly wandering through my building at work, I choose them.
If you occupy any rung of the ladder at my workplace(s), even rungs that are far above me, I choose them.
If we are friends despite our having nothing in common, I choose them.
If we are friends because we have so much in common, I choose them.
If you are trying to get my attention because you want to date me, please note that this is the exact wrong kind of attention to get from me. I choose them.
If I have shown interest in dating you, don’t expect my crush to silence my response, because I choose them.
Even if telling you that you’re wrong will cost me our relationship, I will still choose them. If that’s going to break the deal, I’m going to go ahead and let it break (for a little while at least). My hope is that eventually you will cross over the line with me. My hope is that one day the line will be destroyed and diversity will be a place of celebration, not competition.
But if you draw that line in the sand, I will choose them.
M. Suzanne Terry 
Wow! I wish my response wasn’t ‘What a brave woman!’ because what you describe should be expected of anyone who claims to love their neighbour as themselves. Or who believes we are all created in God’s image. But that is my response, probably because I haven’t always ‘chosen them’. I feel the deserved hot shame on my cheeks (and that’s right and proper) but also the determination to speak truth and witness to my beliefs. Thanks for this.
This – “I wish my response wasn’t ‘What a brave woman!’ because what you describe should be expected of anyone who claims to love their neighbour as themselves.” – is so important. I often catch myself wanting credit for saying something that ought to be seen as a given, not as extraordinary. When I realize my motivation, I feel so bratty (because it is). Thank you for peeling off another layer of the entitlement onion!
I think I know what you mean. I often leave a teaching session, or counselling session thinking how wonderful I am and immediately feeling bad about it. BUT what I meant with you is that I DO think it is wonderful. We don’t stand up as often as we should for what we know is right. Let us name that goodness in each other and celebrate it. Let us encourage it.
[…] my story sister, Suzanne Terry has been killing it lately, and I especially loved this post about where she stands. Osheta Moore has been standing her ground in prayer. I wish the church always did this hard work […]