Growth is uncomfortable.
I’m not sure it’s in the definition. But it’s hard for me to imagine growing while remaining unchallenged.
Or taking any kind of risk.
And I want to keep growing.
It’s outside of our comfort zones that real learning can take place.
Where we enter into a place of understanding.
Away from ignorance.
Yet even I find myself unwilling to venture deep into the waters of discomfort at times.
Being near the shore just feels so much safer.
I also know that that attitude isn’t good enough.
Not for me. Nor should it be good enough for anyone else.
Which is why, when I saw Emmanuel Acho’s book Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man, I knew I should pick it up.
Is reading a book really taking a huge risk? No.
But it’s a great first step to understanding better something I, quite frankly, understand very little about.
In my journey to understand better the struggles that Black people face in this country and in world, I’m always looking for guidance.
I’ve read a few of the recommended books.
Taken notes.
Attended rallies.
Talked with friends and acquaintances.
Where I wish I’d started, though, was with Emmanuel Acho’s book.
It was just recently published. Yet for anyone who, like me, doesn’t know where to begin, this is it.
Acho, without talking down to the reader, explains so many of the questions that I, a white male who predominately knows only white maleness, have.
I know I can’t use the N-word under any circumstances. But why is it OK for Blacks to?
Why is Colored People outdated and offensive when the official national organization has Colored People in its title?
Why can’t I wear cornrows flippantly, without knowing the context or cultural significance? (OK, perhaps that’s a stretch, seeing that I outgrew most of my hair years ago.)
But what’s best about this book – most important for readers like me – is that it humanizes the history and struggles of Blacks in America.
Acho weaves history with humanity, bringing life to topics about race that I was aware of, but to which I didn’t have any emotional connection.
For example, the story of Crystal Mason, a footnote of a news story to me.
Before this book.
Yet now I understand more context behind the story of a woman who was arrested and sentenced five years in prison for trying to vote. Meanwhile, politicians who are found guilty committing election fraud are sentenced to… well, they aren’t sentenced to anything.
I don’t care if Mason knowingly broke the law or not. The disparity in punishment is unjust.
But the story wasn’t humanized enough for me.
And that’s on me. But now I know better.
I claim to care deeply about injustice.
But oftentimes, it’s just the self-righteous injustice that affects me and my discomfort. Or, perhaps, those I know well and care about most.
But the life Acho brings to the injustices Black people have faced the past few centuries helps me understand exactly what is at the heart of the struggle.
Acho summarizes his own book this way:
“Let me tell you what the movement for racial equality can’t afford: white people being fragile about racial issues. The premise of this book is about putting those issues on the table, about engaging with tough conversations, about white people having to sit with the discomfort, because that’s how progress is made.”
Now, I want to be careful.
I want to make sure this isn’t about me.
I also know that I need to start with the self before I can become an ally, join the fight, and help out in whatever small ways I can.
Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man was a great place for that.
It’s only a first step.
And where I go from here will be more important than this first step.
But if you’re wondering where to start, start here.
In discomfort. With Acho and his book.