It's difficult for many White folks to fight for racial justice because we have very few, if any, meaningful relationship with people of color.
Until age 25 I knew a grand total of eight people of color.
In fact, here they all are.
Langston: Black boy; playground friend in first grade; never invited him to my house.
Antonio: Mexican kid; co-champions of fourth grade chess competition; played chess after school sometimes.
Vanessa: Half Mexican/half Filipina girl; close friend in middle and high school.
Ryan: Japanese kid; moderately close friend in high school.
Mike: Chinese kid; my roommate and close friend my first three years of college.
Chad and Lee: Two Black guys; played soccer together in college; occasionally had a beer after a game.
Eric: The only Black guy on the college lacrosse team; barely knew him.
Tom: Black friend of my dad's; we'd hang out when I visited San Francisco in high school.
That's it.
25 years, 9 people of color.
Only two of whom I was close with.
I suspect this is similar to many White people's childhoods.
Then we enter the real world, perpetuate self-segregation, and never seek to understand, appreciate, or validate the truths of people of color.
We show little empathy.
We ignore, dismiss, or gaslight them when they share their lived experiences.
Then we go hang out with our White friends.