It’s been 157 years since Abraham Lincoln freed (some) of the slaves in America. And it’s been 155 years since the formal order of emancipation was finally issued in Texas and celebration of Juneteenth commenced. Unfortunately, Juneteenth is an occasion for reflection and resolution rather than celebration. Evidence of systematic racial discrimination, white incivility to Blacks, unequal administration of justice, and official violence against Black Americans keeps piling in upon us. As white people of goodwill, we are often inclined to react to these dark stains on our country’s presumed decency by reaching out to our Black friends, acquaintances, and colleagues to express our empathy with their pain, our shared sense of outrage, and our personal shame at our unearned white privilege. Yet this is thoughtless of us, for we should never use our Black friends as a way to relieve ourselves of our own sense of guilt. If Black people reach out to us, that is one thing, but if they don’t, we need to respect their grief and trauma and not seek to demonstrate to them that we are different, that we are not like those people. As white people, our job now is not to talk about our feelings (however sincerely felt they may be), but to act to affect positive changes in the status quo. And we should do this without waiting for—or expecting—Blacks’ encouragement or thanks. Perhaps the clearest and most powerful call to such action that we have heard recently came in a letter from our dear friend Ellen Rozelle Turner, President and CEO of The William Everett Group (TWEG). Written to TWEG’s family and friends, we found Ellen’s letter so painfully heartbreaking and yet so generous in spirit and hopeful about the future that we asked her if we could publicly share her letter. She agreed and here it is.

Dear TWEG Family and Friends,

Like many of you, I have watched the events surrounding the murder of George Floyd and the subsequent results of the public’s response to this terrible tragedy. When I watched the video and heard this grown man call out for his mother (who as we now know had passed), my heart broke. Years of withholding my own anger, frustration and sadness of the many years I have had to deal with my own history of racism and discrimination came forward in a very profound way as I watched things unfold day after day. I found myself so immensely sad and angry that for several days last week I literally had to lay down and rest. My heart was so heavy. I watched all of the looting and unrest with mixed feelings. While I don’t condone this behavior, I understand some of the level of rage that is felt in the hearts and minds of the people who live in some of our country’s poorest communities. I have spent my life volunteering and working in these communities and until you have spent the day in the life of someone who lives in Chicago’s Austin, Roseland and Englewood neighborhoods, you don’t understand.

I have lived a life of privilege even in the midst of experiencing direct racism and discrimination. Over the years it has manifested itself to me in some intense situations. One incident occurred when I was in Dayton, Ohio, as a young woman visiting some of my female cousins. We were sitting in a car about to pick up a pizza order when two white men walked by our car and called us “n*****s” [our ellipsis not Ellen’s] and then spit on our car. Without hesitation my two females cousins jumped out of the car and began a physical altercation with these men. I was so shocked by the men’s insidious comment and gesture and by my cousins’ rage and response, for a moment I was frozen. I literally did not know what to do. It was so surreal and finally myself along with their mother were able to pull them apart. What I learned later was that this was the final straw for my cousins, they had been called “n*****s” on a regular basis and they were not going to take it anymore. Up until that day I thought they were the most gentle, nonconfrontational, Christian and loving people, but sometimes I guess “enough is enough.”

I have also been harassed by a police officer and berated in front of a group of moms and dads at my son’s baseball practice when he was 7 years old. I pulled up and double parked to gesture to him to come and get in the car, for this act that was a regular occurrence at this park, a police officer drove up and literally went berserk when I tried to explain my son was coming to jump in. I was pregnant with my youngest child and were it not for the fact that I began praying to ask God to help me understand what to do to deflate a horrible situation, I believe it would have resulted in something even more sinister. When the police officer insisted that I follow him to the police station after my continued questions as to why he was threatening to arrest me, I simply told him “no” I would not go. I knew my agreement to follow him would surely seal a worse fate for me. After he realized that there were many witnesses to his brutal verbal assault, he finally left. I was terrified of the police for years afterwards. I also learned that this police officer had a long wrap sheet of brutalizing and berating citizens, but the “code of silence” continued to protect him even after I submitted a complaint.

Even earlier in life, I grew up in St. Louis, Missouri, during the civil rights movement. It was a really difficult place to live. (Just think Ferguson and you pretty much have it.) We knew that there were certain places in the city where we could not travel and places where we were not welcome and might even be killed. I also had another encounter with a white police officer, who stopped me while I was going to visit a friend in a mostly white community. I asked him if I’d done something wrong and he said I had illegally rolled through a stop. I of course didn’t argue and even apologized, but he began to treat me in a very inhuman manner, again I was spared more berating because my brother Jeffrey who was one of the first black St. Louis County police officers had already told me what to say if I was stopped and threatened with a ticket. I mentioned to the officer that my brother who was a fellow police officer could vouch for me and that I was a good person and he instantly let me go. Almost looking ashamed that I would surely report his behavior to my brother. It was terrifying and for years as well as now, I am very aware that while traveling the highways in America, you can be stopped for any reason and things can go badly. Of course, I did report it and it opened my brother’s eyes to some of the people he served with. I have to say that I support the police and I believe that most of them are good and decent people/officers. We must change the culture that hides and supports the criminal behavior of the few bad ones.

We later had to have a discussion with my own son about how to react if stopped by the police. Despite our discussions and our attempts to keep him safe from their reach, he has been stopped several times just simply walking down the street. When he was in grade school he was walking home one day with his bookbag on his back and in proper clothing. The police stopped him and questioned him because they were looking for a suspect. I believe he was only 12 or 13 years old. Of course, he was not even close to being their “suspect.” This situation was a regular occurrence in our Hyde Park community, the home of our first black president Barack Obama. Police just stopping innocent black men, lining them up on their cars, on the ground and on the walls of businesses, just because they “might” be a suspect. How do you contain your anger after years of these situations.

These are just a few of the many situations that have formed my life and my view of being an African American in Chicago and the United States. I have survived this primarily because I have had a praying family who have taught us to forgive and to have faith in God. I am writing you because I felt it important for people to know that things happen to people you know. It’s not just someone on television. We survive because we are blessed with loving families who remind us of who we are. For many of the folks out there, there is no one and they have nothing. I have survived as a business owner because of the grace of a number of nonminority partners/friends and people who genuinely cared and understood the importance of us lifting up everyone in our community so that we can all live better and be better. And despite the many people who tried to stand in my way and try to discourage me “I/we persevered.” At one point in the beginning of my business when I was dismissed and put down on a regular basis, I hung Nelson Mandela’s quote “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul” on the wall of my tiny office. I had to keep that in front of me and continue to pray to keep the naysayers from destroying my faith and dream. Everyone is not so blessed. We are celebrating our 10th year in business!

These past two weeks have challenged me and thankfully the response of the many Americans and people around the world who have shown their solidarity with George Floyd’s family and people of color have helped diminish my ensuing sense of despair. Seeing all of the protest from as far away as South Korea has once again restored my faith in humanity. I only pray that my 18-month-old grandsons will live in a world where they only learn that in our “past history” these events such as the murder of George Floyd once occurred. A few of my white friends asked how can we help, what can we do? I say everything begins with children, by teaching them to love everyone regardless of color or ethnicity. Openly discuss the bad behavior of those who spew hate and discrimination. Actively engage with people of color. Most of this hateful behavior begins in our homes. Children are watching and listening. Also don’t be silent. Openly state your displeasure for the status quo. We must be united together.

I wish you all peace and happiness and pray for a better future for us all.

Warm regards, Ellen