Small Great Things(158)

I began my research by sitting down with women of color. Although I knew that peppering people of color with questions is not the best way to educate oneself, I hoped to invite these women into a process, and in return they gave me a gift: they shared their experiences of what it really feels like to be Black. I remain so grateful to these women—not just for tolerating my ignorance but for being willing to teach me. Then I had the pleasure of talking to Beverly Daniel Tatum, former president of Spelman College and a renowned racial educator. I read books by Dr. Tatum, Debby Irving, Michelle Alexander, and David Shipler. I enrolled in a social justice workshop called Undoing Racism, and left in tears every night, as I began to peel back the veneer of who I thought I was from who I truly am.

Then I met with two former skinheads, to develop a vocabulary of hate for my white supremacist character. My daughter, Sammy, was the one who found Tim Zaal—a former skinhead who had Skyped with her class in high school. Years ago, Tim beat up and left a gay man for dead. After getting out of the movement, he started to work at the Simon Wiesenthal Center talking about hate crimes and realized one day that the man he had nearly killed worked there, too. There were apologies and forgiveness, and now they are friends who talk about their unique experience to groups every week. He also is happily married now, to a Jewish woman. Frankie Meeink, another former skinhead, works with the Anti-Defamation League. Although he once recruited for hate crews in Philly, he now runs Harmony Through Hockey—a program to promote racial diversity among kids.

These men taught me that white power groups believe in the separation of the races and think they are soldiers in a racial holy war. They explained how recruiters for hate groups would target kids who were bullied, marginalized, or who came from abusive homes. They’d distribute antiwhite flyers in a white neighborhood and see who responded by saying that the whites were under attack. Then they’d approach those folks and say, You’re not alone. The point was to redirect the recruit’s rage into racism. Violence became a release, a mandate. They also taught me that now, most skinhead groups are not crews seeking out violence but rather individuals who are networking underground. Nowadays, white supremacists dress like ordinary folks. They blend in, which is a whole different kind of terror.

When it came time to title this book, I found myself struggling again. Many of you who are longtime fans of mine know this was not the original name of the novel. Small Great Things is a reference to a quote often attributed to Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.: “If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.” But as a white woman, did I have the right to paraphrase these sentiments? Many in the African American community are sensitive to white people using Martin Luther King, Jr.’s words to reflect their own experience, and with good reason. However, I also knew that both Ruth and Kennedy have moments in this novel where they do a small thing that has great and lasting repercussions for others. Plus, for many whites who are just beginning to travel the path of racial self-awareness, Dr. King’s words are often the first step of the journey. His eloquence about a subject most of us feel inadequate putting into words is inspiring and humbling. Moreover, although individual changes cannot completely eradicate racism—there are systems and institutions that need to be overhauled as well—it is through small acts that racism is both perpetuated and partially dismantled. For all of these reasons—and because I hope it will encourage people to learn more about Dr. King—I chose this title.

Of all my novels, this book will stand out for me because of the sea change it inspired in the way I think about myself, and because it made me aware of the distance I have yet to go when it comes to racial awareness. In America, we like to think that the reason we have had success is that we worked hard or we were smart. Admitting that racism has played a part in our success means admitting that the American dream isn’t quite so accessible to all. A social justice educator named Peggy McIntosh has pointed out some of these advantages: having access to jobs and housing, for example. Walking into a random hair salon and finding someone who can cut your hair. Buying dolls, toys, and children’s books that feature people of your race. Getting a promotion without someone suspecting that it was due to your skin color. Asking to speak to someone in charge, and being directed to someone of your race.

When I was researching this book, I asked white mothers how often they talked about racism with their children. Some said occasionally; some admitted they never discussed it. When I asked the same question of Black mothers, they all said, Every day.

I’ve come to see that ignorance is a privilege, too.

So what have I learned that is helpful? Well, if you are white, like I am, you can’t get rid of the privilege you have, but you can use it for good. Don’t say I don’t even notice race! like it’s a positive thing. Instead, recognize that differences between people make it harder for some to cross a finish line, and create fair paths to success for everyone that accommodate those differences. Educate yourself. If you think someone’s voice is being ignored, tell others to listen. If your friend makes a racist joke, call him out on it, instead of just going along with it. If the two former skinheads I met can have such a complete change of heart, I feel confident that ordinary people can, too.

I expect pushback from this book. I will have people of color challenging me for choosing a topic that doesn’t belong to me. I will have white people challenging me for calling them out on their racism. Believe me, I didn’t write this novel because I thought it would be fun or easy. I wrote it because I believed it was the right thing to do, and because the things that make us most uncomfortable are the things that teach us what we all need to know. As Roxana Robinson said, “A writer is like a tuning fork: we respond when we’re struck by something….If we’re lucky we’ll transmit a strong pure note, one that isn’t ours, but which passes through us.” To the Black people reading Small Great Things—I hope I listened well enough to those in your community who opened their hearts to me to be able to represent your experiences with accuracy. And to the white people reading Small Great Things—we are all works in progress. Personally, I don’t have the answers and I am still evolving daily.