By Kenneth L. Hardin

We can’t disagree on racism and still be friends.

I severed 35-year friendships with two white friends because they opted to stand on the wrong side of the debate wall. I met these two during my time in the military, served in their weddings, celebrated welcoming their children, mourned alongside of them when family members transitioned and was happy when our families met for the first time. For over three decades, we talked about the good times we shared as barracks mates, laughed over how many beers we drank as young men forging our paths and marveled at how we morphed into settled old men who dispensed advice to pieces of ourselves now trying to find their way. But Trump made it OK to act on deep, hidden insecurities, to openly hate. Sadly, things changed. 

After some intense discussions about race relations and my support of some parts of the Black Lives Matter movement, the conversations regressed to a point where I threw my hands up in exasperation, and told these men, who I no longer knew or understood, to never call or reach out to me again.  

That happened in 2017, but hate didn’t begin with Trump, and because I had the courage to call it out decades ago I started losing white friends long before he soiled the office and brought racial hatred from the shadows. It wasn’t just white folks who I removed from my consciousness either; there were Black folks who didn’t make the cut or who did me a favor and emptied the trash themselves, saving me the time and effort. I’ve weathered the verbal threats of physical harm and professional castration by those wearing updated KKK attire. I know those who give me a hearty handshake and a welcoming smile while telling me I don’t know my place or engaging in subtle underhanded actions to impugn my character simply because I don’t allow racism to take root in the world I exist in. I’ve had misguided Blacks call me to plead and demand I don’t speak out so loudly about the inequities and injustices that exists for fear it may somehow impact their opportunity at assimilation and inclusion with an asterisk. I’ve had these same-skin folk go to their handlers to disparage and demean my character, hoping to gain acceptance that will never be fully given.  

Back in the mid 1990s, my father paid me a visit late one evening to encourage me to stop speaking out. He was a man born before the civil rights era and raised during a time when most Blacks knew their place and rarely emerged from it. I could see the pain dancing all over his face before he uttered a single word. He explained how he and my mother talked, and both felt if I didn’t stop calling out racism and putting names to those who engaged in it I would see a life full of unemployment, inability to secure a home loan and a man unable to take care of and provide for his growing young family. I said very little in response because, to me, there were people muting their real voices and still not getting any of what he described. So, what was there to lose?

I viewed his advice born out of an era that yielded not much more than false and unkept promises. I said, “I refuse to live on my knees” and walked out of the room. During my time as an elected official, I was approached by a well-known white citizen while at a function at Catawba College and told, “Kenny, I agree with everything you say about racism. I just don’t like how you say it.” What he didn’t realize is his discomfort in hearing how something that doesn’t impact him negates any realism in his own words that he abhors racism. The mere fact he was willing to minimize my pain and the manner in which I use to disseminate it because it makes him feel bad shows he, too, stands on the wrong side of the fence. He will never understand or acknowledge he’s a contributor to the racial divide. 

We have a lot of Blacks speaking up and sounding the trumpet, calling out racism in this safe and comfortable environment today. I wish I had the support of those who call me privately engaging in one type of conversation where you share your hurt, pain and disdain, but then put on your going-out make up and show a different face publicly.  

I still have a few white friends left who truly understand the importance of standing on the right side of the racism wall. 

Kenneth L. Hardin is a writer who lives in Salisbury, a former city council member and a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.