Ferguson, Missouri: a St. Louis suburb that in the past several months has looked more like the media graphics of the Middle East that the millennial generation as grown accustomed than a pre-text for small town U.S.A.

There is so much I want to say about Ferguson, so much that I want to say well. But, where do I even begin?

How do I navigate and articulate what I want to say about internal bias (which even I may have), the oppressive construction of a society that I am privy to, and at its most bare notions – a concept of life and loss that has never touched me or my family? (While 1/3 of black men in American will be incarcerated in their lifetime – I don’t know anyone directly or indirectly that has ever gone to prison.)

I grew up, and this too speaks volumes to my privilege, thinking that race was something we had “dealt with” already – I mean, I was taught about it in school, and there were all those horrible photographs we had been shown, and my Dad (but he’s really old anyway) remembers “when” it was this way or that… I, like so many others, in never having experienced racism thought it simply no longer existed.

As I got older, as I listened in on the conversations of the adults around me, as I started to think about the world around me in a way that was indicative of leaving my childhood ignorance behind – I realized just how wrong I was, how I had seemingly been misled.

What makes my heart, and my head, hurt about Michael Brown and the no indictment decision of Darren Wilson are the reactions of our community that followed. My friends and family, my local, the national, our global community – I saw things and words I had would have never imaged. I felt embarrassed and sad. 

The death of Michael Brown and the incidents that surrounded and followed are reflective directly of the systemic and moreover deadly racism that exists in America today.

No matter what "side" you're on - no matter who you "believe" - we have to engage in the bigger conversation: 

It's Michael Brown, it's Renisha McBride, it's Trayvon Martin... 

If the story of every death, if every instance of excessive force against men and women of color were to be told -our media outlets wouldn't have time to even run the weather... with, on average, a black American being killed every 28 hours by police or vigilante forces in the United States, the pervasive notions that I thought dissipated with “I have a dream” have more so become, to continued to be an epidemic.

As a people we have become systematically accustomed to the "Criminal Black Man.” As a people we have accepted, and even grown blind to the overlap of racism and economic injustice that have made race into a class issue and have tangled the dialog, perception, and possibility of the American dream.

So what can I do? What can I say? I'm frustrated and upset. I'm embarrassed to know people that said things like "you're embarrassing your race," I'm disappointed in the lack of recognition of the calls for justice and change in wake of more finger pointing - even your jargon to describe the aftermath of the decision are indicative of your status, i.e. "looting" as the only verbiage that come from your mouth or the click-click of your fingertips. I'm mad and annoyed that I have friends and peers that view crime as "a black thing" and mass incarceration is not as a social construct. 

So, I have this to offer: 

First, I recognize that I am the product of white privilege, and a beneficiary of a socially imposed victimization. You see, as a woman I walk quickly to my car. I have been socialized not to linger on streets at night, or park too far away from a light post. But no, I have never been taught how to speak to a police officer, or what to do in case I'm arrested. This is my privilege. 

If my car were to crash, like 24 year old Jonathan Ferrell's did, if I were to be stranded without help, like Jonathan Ferrell was... if I knocked on your door, if I stood on your porch, not only would I more likely than not be let it to use the phone, but my guess would be that I may be offered a cup of coffee, or some water, maybe a clean shirt in exchange for my blood soaked blouse, or a blanket for comfort after facing such an ordeal... I would not be shot ten times as I sought help... that too, is my privilege. 

I recognize that my skin and hair, while all skin and hair is equitably normal and natural, has never been the target of movements to make me think otherwise.

My pigment was always perfectly reflected in society – first in the baby dolls of my childhood and then in the make-up I would all too soon slather on my face.

I recognize that even when I am driving to fast, I, a white, middle class, young woman, in my suburbanite SUV escape the tickets or trails of police officers because there is no predetermined assumption as to my criminal disposition.

I recognize that I am the product of white privilege. 

Second, as a white American I know I have a role in fighting against racism and no, I have not been the victim of it (get out of here with your “reverse racism”). While yes, my family got off the boat with relative recentcy and “it’s not our fault” – this mess of American society was here when we got off-board – I know that I am a direct beneficiary of this mess. I know that I have to do everything I can to help undo racism, because while I didn’t help to create it, the words and actions of those who benefit from the system help to perpetuate it.  

I know that in order to fight racism, I must challenge myself, and other white people in my life - friends, family, or otherwise - to think critically about the things they say, and their perceptions of the things they see. 

I know that in my passion for advocacy I must continue to commit to the practice of intersectionality, because I know, that the experiences of individuals are multifold on the social constructs of privilege, limitation, and opportunity. I know that my advocacy, to help create the world I want to live in, must include those of all genders, identities, orientations, and races. Because "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" and to everyone...

I know that to fight white privilege, I have to recognize and call out when I am the beneficiary of it, even if it's at the sake of my convenience. 

As a white American I know I have a role in fighting against racism.