My White Person Manifesto Statement

Two years ago, I had no idea about what it meant to be white.
Two years ago, I thought racists were individuals who were outright and visibly cruel to members of the BIPOC community and racism was something that had mostly died out after the Civil Rights Movement.
Two years ago, I thought BIPOC communities were making a big deal out of nothing.
Two years ago, I would’ve thought “enough already” about drudging up the past of slavery.
Two years ago, I would’ve subscribed to the notion that to not see race was a good thing and meant that I was treating everyone equally.
Two years ago, I would’ve been the white person to counter BLM with ALM.
Two years ago, I would’ve sloughed off such things as white privilege and deemed white supremacy as something that applied only to extremists.
Two years ago, I believed what it says in our Declaration of Independence about how all men are created equal and endowed with certain unalienable rights including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Two years ago, I was extremely un-educated and harmfully mis-informed.

Two years ago, I never would’ve possibly considered saying what I’m about to say: I am a racist; I help propel white supremacy; I have white privilege.

Let me break it down for you:

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This morning, in an effort to whittle the pile down, I took one book off of the growing stack perched above my side of the bed, with the intention of returning it to the library from whence it came.

14 books remain, which is a number high enough to make anyone ponder my intentions for being able to make my way through them all.

In the mix sits the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, The Dharma of the Princess Bride, and two books by Bill Bryson.

Sometimes when I’m laying underneath the shelf that supports their hulking weight, I imagine being suddenly visited by them all, when the dark-stained rectangle of pine makes the well-timed, conscious decision to give up its thankless role as propper-upper of things and heaves them all off with one push of breath onto my head, chest, and stomach.

The book I am most actively reading, however, sits on the coffee table in the living room.

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