I Thought I Understood Racism. Then I Married a Black Man.

White fragility and interracial coupling do not go hand in hand

Photo via Canva.

On our third date, the man who would become my husband told me, “You get it.”

The “it” he was referring to was racism. At the time, I was flattered to have a Black person acknowledge my wokeness. But I’ve since realized that three dates in, I didn’t really get racism at all.

Of course, even after 17 years, I don’t fully “get it” and never will. When I venture out in the world, I still do so in white skin. But I now feel racism in my bones, just about as deeply as I can feel misogyny — and I see both reflected in my bank account, too.

Over the course of the last decade and a half, I’ve:

1. Bailed my husband out of jail with the last $200 I had in my bank account and hired a lawyer to fight a fabricated felony charge against him. He was facing 20 years in prison, and the whole ordeal cost us $11,000.
2. Filed a police report against my stepson’s (white) grandfather, who threatened to put my husband’s “black ass” in jail if I pursued a restraining order against his daughter. (“I know some guys,” he told me.)
3. Emotionally and financially supported my husband when he: a) couldn’t find a job after…