YSWNPY-Zine 20, final - Flipbook - Page 40
I am equal parts privileged and ashamed to say that the
concept of civic engagement did not occur to me until I
began college.
Prior to my freshman year, I both maintained a willful
ignorance surrounding this country’s history and the
realities of life for many of its Black citizens. Of course, I
was vaguely aware of the evil below the surface, but when
you are raised racially ambiguous and moneyed, those
evils tend not to touch you.
Nor Will I
By: Charlotte A. Swain
Charlotte (She/Her/Hers) is a writer, activist, and aspiring
plant mother. She spends her days as Co-Executive Director for Fund Texas Choice, and her nights reimagining
what love, friendship and accountability can look like.
Instagram: @charlotteann1
Twitter: @charlotteann56
Why did I hate this place? Weren’t we lucky to be born
into a free-ish
society? Shouldn’t we
honor this gift we had
received merely by chance?
Shouldn’t we engage?
I gave the same rote
answers I always did. None
of which were untrue. How
I wanted to live in a
country that
acknowledged my right to
exist. A place where I could
love freely. Where I had
the means to exist safely,
without concern for my
access to healthcare or
housing or food.
My comfort providing criticism regarding our first Black
president, just as easily as I yelled it at GOP trolls on
comment threads, would come much later.
Thankfully, both of our politics have evolved since then.
This is how I learned.
Civic engagement starts at home.
The Work as we so lovingly and cynically refer to it is
ever-changing and vast. One thing; however, remains as
true today as it was during those hushed late-night chats.
The ones closest to us are who we can influence the most.
So this is where I started.
As a mixed-race, light-skinned Black woman, I have
access to spaces and places that many in my community
do not. Over the years I have made the only choice - to
use my voice. To speak to those who will listen to what it
means to be Black in Amerikkka, only when enunciated
from my pink-brown lips.
It began by necessity.
People often feel more
comfortable sharing
their most blatant racism
with those of us who are
white-proximate. I swiftly
learned that the best way to
avoid being brought into
those complicit spaces is to
ensure my disgust is voiced
before they open their
hateful mouths.
Now, I am committed to
the fight for Black freedom
in every aspect of my life.
It is an uphill battle, and one that I do not see ending
anytime soon, but it is the close wins that keep me going.
A few nights ago, I sat with my mother discussing the
many things she has learned in the months since George
Floyd’s death. The uncomfortable talks we have had
about politics and race. The ones I forced.
Nearly ten years on from those first clumsy conversations
about privilege, politics and race, my roommate and still
best friend, sends me this message:
“I learned so much from you this year.”
“You were honestly the person most responsible for my
change of heart and mind. You have made me a better
human. Thank you.”
I think back to protesting together. The first she had
attended in her life.
I am grateful to have been allowed the space to mold
myself within these containers, and many others in the
decade since. There have been times I was the one asking
the harmful question. The one saying the wrong thing
to people I love out of ignorance or fear. I am sure there
She says it in a way that tells me she is proud. So am I.
If my mother, a 61-year-old white woman, can adapt, can
learn, can grow, then I have hope that others can too.
And for those that won’t? Your silence will not protect
you, nor will I.
Photo provided by Charlotte A. Swain
Charlotte and her mother smiling in a selfie
41
YOUR SILENCE WILL NOT PROTECT YOU 40
I did know that I hated this place. I espoused my dislike
of Amerikkka long before I knew entirely why. It was
my roommate who pushed me. I respect her for this.
An equally, if not more so, privileged white woman, she
questioned me.
will be many more of these moments.
