I Used To Be Peacemaker

I used to be a peacemaker. I accepted the phrase, “I don’t see color.” I suited up in my pencil skirt and heels and walked the walk of corporate conformity. I used to be a peacemaker, watching my friends in high school befriend and date people who proudly refer to my people as nig**rs.

I kept the peace by smiling and nodding. I kept the peace by giving white people the power to dictate what I said, how I looked, and what I did. I used to be a peacemaker.

I made space for question upon question from people who said, “I had no idea” or “I’m so shocked” about the injustices that black people face. I gave way to the notion that white people just didn’t know what they didn’t know. I kept the peace.

My efforts in peacemaking lead to Unity Tables, a space for women to share a meal together and talk about racial reconciliation as it relates to their faith. It was a beautiful space filled with so much hope. I kept the peace by wearing the weight of, “Tell me what to do” and “How can I help” until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I kept the peace by not requiring the women I shared the table with to DO THE WORK. I was peaceful when I was told, “You should let other women talk at the table. You let the black women take up too much of the time allotted to talk.” I was silent in order to keep the peace. I wiped tears. I rubbed backs. I handed over tissues all while never once shedding a tear of my own.

I was a peacemaker in my place of employment, my house of worship, and every public space I took up. I kept the peace in every single home of a white person I entered. I kept the peace while I played with my white friend’s kids, sat at their dinner tables, attended their events, and consumed their microaggressions. I kept the peace even when they said I was too aggressive, too loud, too angry, too much. I used to be a peacemaker.

I kept the peace, all the while my own peace was being disturbed. Black people’s peace is constantly being disturbed. Every single effort to keep the peace feels like it was done in vain. I allowed life to be sucked out of me to now watch all of that energy go to waste. Imagine spending 9 years championing diversity and inclusion for it to all be swept away the moment you walk out the door. Imagine speaking up for 7 years to be told you’re aggressive or angry. Imagine sharing your heart and not being heard, but watch white women share your heart for you and having it heard. My efforts never found a place to land because people couldn’t accept the fact that I’m not an intimidating person; they are just intimidated by me.

I gave up on being a peacemaker quite some time ago. I’m a troublemaker for black justice, black lives, and my very own beautiful blackness. My peace comes in the form of being loud and being proud. I don’t look for peace, I demand it. I don’t cower over injustice, I get louder. I cannot be at peace if I’m not doing what it takes to stand up for black justice and for black lives.

I am a troublemaker. For my mind, for my soul, and for my people.

In a recent Instagram post I said that, “Allies are worthless. I want white troublemakers for black justice. No more allies who only do it for the gram.” A troublemaker looks like someone who disturbs the peace made by the status quo in order to create peace for others. A troublemaker is someone who doesn’t keep quiet and is proud to be loud.

White troublemakers, don’t expect applause. You can’t do your part and expect praise. Your post on social media doesn’t gain you praise. You are doing what should’ve been doing all along. Look at it this way — an employee does a job and collects a paycheck. An employee gets a bonus for doing an exceptional job. Fighting for black lives and standing for black justice is not exceptional. You are doing the job you were put here to do.

Stop being a peacemaker. Make trouble for black justice. Make peace for black lives.

Update as of June 2020, get a great list of resources to start your journey.