Dear White Peacemakers | Grace Jackson ‘25
Last semester the Perkins Fellows read a book together called Dear White Peacemakers by Osheta Moore. One of the best parts of being a Perkins Fellow at UVA for multiple years is getting to read and reread some really wonderful books. In my second time reading Osheta’s book, her posture towards her white counterparts in justice work really stood out to me. My good friend and fellow Perkins Fellow, Megnot Abebe, challenged me to write my own letter to White Peacemakers. This was not a challenge I wanted to receive, but writing it was important work for my soul. As a White person myself, I often struggle to see myself as a Peacemaker or Beloved. Osheta encourages me (and hopefully you too!) to see the belovedness in every individual: my friends, my family, myself, and strangers alike. My words in this letter are honest and raw. I hope I can encourage you to be honest as well. More importantly, I hope to affirm your Belovedness.
Dear White Peacemaker,
I’m sorry for all the ways I judge you and look down on you. For assuming the worst in you. I’m sorry.
To the White lady in the kufiya screaming at the police, blocks away from where Prime Minister Netanyahu was speaking to congress: I’m sorry I turned to my liberal White friend beside me, raising my eyebrows and smirking. You scare me a little because I see myself in you. In 40 years I could be the White liberal spewing words just as hateful as what I am protesting against. I don’t want to be so tone deaf.
To my White friends who refer to any kind of service as “giving back”: I’m sorry I cringe when you say things like this. It’s just that we’re not “giving back” like this is some kind of transaction. And if it were, our ancestors have spent centuries stealing land and brutalizing bodies, minds, and souls, so we’d have to get a lot more serious if we wanted to start “giving back” what we have taken (which I am all for, but that’s a conversation for another time). I don’t want to be scared about how each of my words could be twisted, trying to be politically correct like you. I’m sorry I’m twisting your words right now and not listening to the compassion that you are trying to express.
To my White friends who study cultures, languages, races, and traditions from which you do not come, but spend every waking moment with your White friends, White families, White coworkers, and White boyfriends: I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you say you care about the same things I do, but commit to such a homogenous community. I am sorry for judging you based on who you spend time with; I should not judge a person’s commitment to justice (At all! Full stop.) … by the perceived Whiteness and richness of their circles.
To my White friends who don’t engage at all: I won’t lie, I understand you the least. But I know your apathy doesn’t come from a lack of goodness, mercy, love, and justice. Even if that last word scares you, I know it’s because you’re scared to say the wrong thing or cause more division. I’m sorry that I am angry and impatient with you.
White Peacemaker, I lay before you my honest confessions because, honestly, I have been you and I am still you. I have fit into each of these above categories before, and I’m sure I will continue to land in each one as I stumble along this path we call life. I easily become the raging White liberal, but I am also inclined to letting apathy or fear immobilize me. In each of us, there are strengths to celebrate and weaknesses we can hold each other accountable for.
In my journey to resist White supremacy culture, be in relationship with people across all lines of difference, and reject a lifestyle of homogeneity and complacency, I can so easily reject you, White Peacemaker. And, in a way, reject myself too. I’m sorry. And I want to grow beyond this false binary I put myself in.
White Peacemaker, it is hard for me to write this letter because I see myself in each of you. I see each of my own flaws magnified, so I lash out with sharp words against you and me both. I don’t want to end here, in frustration, as I too often do. In the spirit of Osheta Moore, I want to end by affirming your (our) Belovedness, and thanking you for being you.
To the furious friends: I see you. I’m sorry you are filled with such rage. Thank you for taking your anger to the streets.
To the “giving back” friends: I see you. I’m sorry nobody has taught you that your pursuit of justice is not about what you can accomplish but that our flourishing is collective and deeply intertwined with all of humanity, rooted in our universal Belovedness as children of God. Thank you for your hard work.
To the studious friends: I see you. I’m sorry for judging you. Thank you for allowing your mind and degree and career to be shaped by what is true and right and just.
To the quiet friends: I am trying to see you. I’m sorry for giving up trying to talk to you about the deeper things of life. Thank you for your sensitive heart.
White Peacemaker, I believe there is more in you. I say this because time and time again, Peacemakers of all races have seen my brokenness, affirmed my Belovedness, and have called me to higher. In my own expressions of rage, ignorance, fear, and apathy, I have been seen, fully. I have been forgiven, somehow. I have been thanked for the good despite it all. And I have been invited into this kingdom work. White Peacemaker, will you join me in building? There is room for the loud dismantlers, careful carpenters, and timid painters alike. And I’ll tell you a secret: you don’t have to be perfect to pick up a hammer.
With love,
Grace Jackson
A fellow White Peacemaker