I'm a "Race Traitor" and proud!

I've taken to painting "race traitor" on the front and back of my t-shirt! And here are some of the responses I've gotten:

The first response I ever got was in Berkeley walking down a side street toward the Berkeley Bowl. A young man on the opposite sidewalk lifts his hand over his head of long dredlocks, makes a fist, and, smiling broadly, effuses “YES”!

I cross the street to talk with him and let him know I’m so happy he’s responded. I ask him if he thinks the message I am sending is clear. He looks at me and laughs “Fuck my people”. I love that!

At the store, a older white womon passes me glaring like I was insulting her first born. When I ask her what the problem is, she amps up the glare but remains silent so I try to help her by asking if she understands the message on my shirt. “Not all of us are stupid you know”. I ask her what she means by that but she’s over it and stalks off.

Gay white boy approaches me shyly and asks me what my shirt means. I talk to him about the historic roots by the klan to label white people who stood up against them. Then I said now, I write it to broaden that definition to mean white people who speak up and act against racism on all the levels it thrives and survives on. Plus it means I support Black liberation.

A teller at Trader Joe’s flashes me the broadest smile and tells me she loves my shirt! I tell her I have her back! She comes out from behind the counter and we happily embrace in a long hug!

On the sidewalk, a white womon points to my shirt and says “wow, very artistic” and asks me if I painted it myself. I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic – it’s not a very artistic rendition – but I said I did and asked her if she knows what race traitor means. She says of course, it means you’re against the klan. I get a chance to explain it’s more than that. When we’re finished, I ask her if she’s going to paint her own shirt, to which she responds that she’ll think about it.

I’m in the south, getting ready to go into a thrift store to see if I can find my shoes. As I approach the door, a white male who appears unhoused, is unattaching from the railing his old bike loaded down with backpack, sleeping bag, and a large jug of water. He sees my shirt and says to me with an almost toothless grin “That’s wild!”. When I ask him what is wild, he simply looks around and then points a crooked finger to my shirt.

“Oh” I say, “what does this mean to you?”

After furtively looking around again and I guess deciding it’s safe, he leans over the railing and whispers in my ear “white people who are for Black Lives Matter”.

I smile at him and say in a regular or maybe slightly elevated... voice “Yes I am for Black liberation, Black Lives Matter, and the end of racism!”