White Fragility and the Art of Apology: Why It’s Critical To Understand Both

Like all of you, I have spent the last few weeks thinking, processing and grieving over the events of racial injustice we’ve been hearing about in the news. I have had so many thoughts and feelings about the events of the last two weeks that have pierced my heart. I have had many conversations with people, with myself and with God. My friends with brown skin have shared with me at various times how they have experienced racism in both subtle and obvious ways all their lives, and I’ve been heart broken. But being heart broken is not enough. When the words “I’m sorry” seem so wildly inadequate, where do we even begin?

I’m struggling to find words to wrap around all these things. I am not an expert, or a therapist, or a theologian. I am just a girl who loves Jesus and people, and over the last two decades of my life, he has gently and patiently taught me a few things about apologies. It has become clear to me only in the last couple of weeks how fundamentally my perspective on apologies informs my fragility in the context of racial inequality, and particularly my white fragility. So, I would like to share this part of my story with you here, because even though it is uncomfortable, I believe it is important. It is relevant. And it is time.

I was never a very good apologizer. I was sensitive and defensive and quick to explain and deflect and rationalize. I thought that my intention was the most important factor to be considered. If I could just get you to see and believe that my intentions were good, kind or loving even, then your hurt would go away, and then so could mine. The pain of being misunderstood was just too great. In restrospect I know realize, my apology was all about me, and forgiveness all on them.

It was many years before I began to realize the “backwardsness” of my ideology. The truth is that forgiveness is about my heart, and apology is about theirs.

What is White Fagility?

Consider this picture with me:

A friend with a third degree burn on 90% of her body comes to my home, but I can’t see this burn, because she is wearing a long sleeve shirt. When I hug her, she cries out. My gesture was loving in its intention, but it hurt her. How should I respond? Is it helpful to her if I jump back and immediately begin defending myself: “I didn’t mean to!” “But I meant well!” “Can’t you know my heart?” What if I start deflecting: “You should have told me before!” Or worse yet, interpret her cry as a personal attack: “You actually think I would hurt you? How can you not know me?” If I react this way, then what I have just done is sacrificed a human being’s dignity on the altar of my own comfort. My precious reader, this is the reaction of white fragility.

Can I tell you something? She already knows my heart. She already knows I do not intend her harm. If she is honest with me about where it hurts, it is because she already trusts me, and is hopeful that I will care for her wounds and help her heal. If I respond out of fragility, I teach her that I am actually not a safe person after all. In addition to suriving her devastating burn, I have now just given her the extra work of coddling my fragile ego to make me feel better about accidentally hurting her. I show her that avoiding my own discomfort is more important to me than attending to her pain.

We both know that I am not the individual solely responsible for burning her, but in my well intentioned ignorance, I pressed it, and she cried. I may not realize it until that moment, but her pain already exists.

One of my fellow HopeWriters, Bria Bracewell, posted this on Instagram a few days ago:

“…This is my reality. Day after day. Year after year. It’s a compounded pain, my wound growing larger each time another Black life is mistreated, beaten, taken away.”

She goes on to say:

“And I wonder, what made this series of events stand out more than any of the rest? I’ve carried this burden ever since I was a child. And I have been bleeding the entire time.“ (Bold italics mine).

What is the ‘art of apology’?

So how, then, should I respond to my friend with this deep, life-long wound? This is the art of apology, that God has taught me through my husband.

Early in our relationship, we had a difference of opinion and my sweet husband said something hurtful. He wasn’t intending to hurt me, but something about his tone and word choice pressed on a “burn” I had, deep beneath my skin. Of course I spared no breath or words expressing my hurt to him, preparing for the battle that was surely ahead because, of course, apologies always involve a battle. But instead, his response shocked me:

“You’re right. I said that, and I hurt you. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, I’ll be more careful with my words next time.”

I was stunned. I don’t recall ever recieving an apology like that before, and I had certainly never given one. It was the beginning of my learning how to grow separate from the fear of being misunderstood or unforgiven. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the beginning of learning to shed my fragility, and even my white fragility, and grow towards restoration and healing instead.

Over the course of our marriage, I have seen that this pattern, this way of apologizing, is an outworking of my husband’s character. It is what makes him my “safe place.” He may not always understand me, but he always welcomes me, and values my wholeness more than his own comfort. Slowly but surely, I have learned this pattern by watching and recieving this from him.

It is also how we have learned to parent, teaching our children how to apologize, as well as how to recieve an apology. And this is a start, but it is not all we can do. These recent events have made me realize how we can be even more purposeful in joining the hands of apology and racial inequality so that our children are equipped to continue working towards racial reconciliation, understanding that it’s not about them. It is about tending to the wounds of those still carrying the trauma of being crushed under white knees for generations.

To my precious readers with black or brown skin:

You are beautifully, and wonderfully made. Your existence is a gift to this world. You deserve to be treated with value, respect, and in dignity. If I, in the past or in the future, do or say something that hurts you, please tell me. Tell me where it hurts. I welcome you, and I welcome your story.

To my precious readers with white skin:

We can do this. We can do this work together without being diminished ourselves. We do not need to apologize for being white, but we do need to recognize that because we are white, we have not earned, but inherited by our birth a level of priveledge and opportunity that others have not. Instead of feeling guilty about this, let’s instead be good stewards of it, and use it to ensure that people who don’t look like us are treated with the same value, respect and dignity that we receive, and that they also deserve. Let’s make the dignity of all humans the same as white humans.

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What can we do?

The first step to anti-racism in not to merely accept the color of the skin around us, but to consider the thickness of our own. It begins on our knees, heart in hands before the living God, asking him to search it, and reveal the harmful things, the hidden things, even the ignorant things, and lead us in the way everlasting.

This summer, I will be intentionally seeking out those who can speak much more personally and powerfully about the pain of racism than I can. I want to listen to voices and stories of those who don’t look like me.

Another blogger I enjoy, Emily Lex, has offered this list of resources that she and her family have found especially helpful. I have already begun working through this list. Won’t you join me?

• Be The Bridge. This 101 Workbook is a great place to start.
• Austin Channing Brown and you can follow her on Instagram
• Morgan Harper Nichols She makes beautiful things with art and words
• Just Mercy movie based on the life work of civil rights attorney Bryan Stevenson
• This short video explains systematic racism in such a concise and eye-opening way
• What if 2020 Isn’t Cancelled? To inspire you and give you hope

What are some resources you have found helpful? Please share them in the comments 🙂

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