I used to think that I would be more viable and worthy as a person if I were a “Person of Color”. I used to believe the voices of angry people who projected their pain onto my skin. I used to believe I owed them something. I used to believe I was in some way fundamentally different from them, as if I were not as magical or worthy or wild as my fellow humans. I’ve decided to stop believing those voices, to exit the new cult of race-hatred that tells me I have “fragility” if I dissent. Now I know that Whiteness reflects light and color: some people get angry at that, aren’t comfortable with the mirror of my being, can’t handle how many different shades of paint are needed to paint the color of my impossible skin. The truth reflects their insecurities and false narratives back at them. The truth reflects your love and friendship and creaturely kinship as we co-create a future together. Your Browness is enough. My Whiteness is enough.
I know my Whiteness is something I can never shed. It is this literal animal hide I carry upon me, as evident to my fellow humans as their ancestral hide is to me. I have to have some self-protective limits around it: my ancestors live in it and my own blue rivers run under it. I cannot take onto it all the pains of those who have suffered because of some parts of its history. But this white hide of mine is already as uncolonizedly animal as yours and convictedly no less wild or softly permeable to the heart beating beneath it than that of my darkest brethren. It did not come into the world begging anyone’s pardon, nor does it demand answer from others. My Whiteness can adapt and breathe and blend and expand its identity and self-understanding, but it doesn’t want to apologize for its existence.