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*Editor’s Note: Elephant Journal articles represent the personal views of the authors, and can not possibly reflect Elephant Journal as a whole. Disagree with an Op-Ed or opinion? We’re happy to share your experience here.
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I need white people to understand something:
Black people are not responsible for educating us about racism.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently because of a recent interaction I was a part of on social media.
A Black friend of mine posted a picture of Nolan Wells on Facebook. A white man who repeatedly questions and debates my friend responded in his comment section by asking, “Who is this person?”
On the surface, maybe that sounds like an innocent question. Someone doesn’t know who a person is, so they ask. But here is where context matters. When someone is continually questioning and debating a Black person on their own social media page, at some point those questions stop existing in isolation. They become another request for that person to stop what they are doing and explain, defend, contextualize, or educate. And honestly, my friend posting the picture should have been enough.
Enough to make someone curious.
Enough to wonder why this person mattered enough to share.
Enough to take 30 seconds, screenshot the picture, put it into Google, and learn something for yourself.
Also, Google is free.
Instead, the responsibility was immediately placed back on a Black man to provide the explanation.
That interaction may seem small, but it made me think about the educational and emotional labor we routinely expect from Black people.
We ask questions and want explanations.
We ask them to tell us why something is racist.
We ask them to explain history.
We ask what we should read or what we should say. Sometimes we even expect them to debate us about whether their understanding or experience of racism is legitimate.
Meanwhile, we have an extraordinary amount of information available to us.
There is an important distinction here: listening to Black people is not the same as expecting Black people to educate us.
We absolutely should listen to Black voices.
We should read from Black authors.
We should learn from Black scholars, historians, activists, artists, educators, and people who have chosen to publicly share their experiences.
But seeking out what someone has chosen to teach is very different from approaching an individual Black person and expecting them to personally fill the gaps in our knowledge.
When I stepped into the Facebook conversation, explained who Nolan was, and told this man to please educate himself, he told me to “stay in my own lane.” No—this is our lane.
I have learned that if I believe in anti-racism, then I cannot expect Black people to be solely responsible for confronting racism. I cannot claim to care about racial justice while remaining silent whenever speaking up becomes uncomfortable. White people need to be willing to have these conversations with other white people.
We need to challenge each other.
We need to recognize when we don’t know something and take responsibility for learning it.
Sometimes that means shutting up and listening.
Sometimes it means reading.
Sometimes it means realizing the question we are about to ask someone could probably be answered with five minutes of our own effort.
And sometimes it means speaking up when we see something happening instead of waiting for a Black person in the room—or in this case the comment section—to handle it.
There was another part of this interaction that bothered me even more. The original post was about Nolan Wells. Yet suddenly, the conversation was not about this young boy at all anymore. Time and energy were spent answering questions, arguing about who should educate whom, and debating whether I, another white person, should have said anything at all. The person my friend was trying to bring attention to became secondary.
And that, in itself, feels like part of the problem. A Black man shared something that mattered to him about a Black person whose story he wanted people to know. Instead of simply taking initiative to learn, another white person required attention and explanation. Therefore, the entire focus shifted back to comforting this white man’s fragile ego.
Anti-racism cannot just mean caring about racism when someone else packages the information for us.
It requires curiosity, humility, responsibility, and action.
Do your own homework first.
Listen to Black people.
Read from Black authors.
Learn Black history, not just during Black History Month or when tragedies happen.
Seek out additional learning about racism and what it is like to move through this world as a Black person.
Learn beyond what happens to appear directly in front of you.
And when you see racism happening, speak up, even when staying quiet might feel more comfortable or easier in the moment.
We are not going to know everything. We are going to have questions and get things wrong. Weaponizing our naivety or truly having a lack of knowledge does not automatically become someone else’s responsibility to fix. White people educating ourselves and holding other white people accountable is not the same as speaking for Black people. It means taking responsibility for ourselves and our actions as white allies.
When I was told to stay in my own lane, I realized something important: calling other white people in and explaining why actually is our lane.
And after all these words, I don’t want to repeat the very thing that bothered me most about this interaction by allowing the conversation to end up somewhere other than where it began.
It belongs with Nolan Xavier Wells—his life and his story were the whole point. We won’t stop saying his name until the truth is acknowledged and accountability follows.
Justice for Nolan Xavier Wells.
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Take a deeper dive into how to be an ally written by our Manging Editor, Nicole:
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