Reply All - #162 The Least You Could Do

Episode Date: June 18, 2020

Black people all across the US are receiving the world's weirdest form of reparations: Venmo payments from white people. Producer Emmanuel Dzotsi investigates. Additional Reading: Noni's petition to reform the film department at UNC: https://www.change.org/p/patricia-parker-racism-within-the-screenwriting-minor?recruiter=17176211&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=tap_basic_share Milly Tamarez' podcast, "All Dick is Trash": https://open.spotify.com/show/4eREYSWtBckafqqobfP42u?si=6TrZ8EfESpqiTwEF0_l_gg Annika Neklason's article on Civil War Conspiracies in The Atlantic: https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2020/05/conspiracy-theories-civil-war/612283/ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

From Gimlet, this is Reply All. I'm Emmanuel Jochi. So last Monday, after two weeks of protests over the killing of George Floyd, Brionna Taylor, Tony McDade, and so, so many other black people. I ended up in a conversation with a black woman who told me about a very weird situation she found herself in. If you don't want to go by your real name, we can change your name. Yeah, I don't because the only reason is I feel really sorry for this girl. Like how I feel and my understanding of it is not what she feels.

and I'm almost just like, oh, poor baby, but I don't want her to be embarrassed. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I feel like if she ever hears this, she's going to know this is her because, so anyways, yeah, because of how it was how I responded to her. This is Maya, and as you just heard, Maya is not actually her real name. She's a photographer, lives in L.A. Maya told me that shortly after a recent protest, one of her colleagues posted to Twitter in support of black women photographers.

It was opposed to editors and opposed to just people in general that was, was kind of saying hire black women right now because, you know, it directly affects them and they're covering these issues that are happening. And so she did this list, which was just incredible highlighting black women photographers and, you know, just created a lot of traction for a lot of us. And so I just saw a lot of activity on my social media and just, you know, people sharing my photos and, you know, just leaving me comments. At some point, Maya got a message from a white woman who was like, I'd love to support your work. Just let me know how and let me know what your Venmo is.

I said, here's my website. Please let me know what print you'd like to buy. You know, we can work that out. If not, maybe I can compile some images from this protest. I will be more meaningful. And then we can just figure out something from there. This is my Venmo. And then, shortly after she sent that message,

Maya looked at her phone and saw something confusing. A Venmo payment from this woman, along with a message saying that she was traveling, and would reach out about getting a print when she got back. And so I was like, hmm, well, that's not really what I meant. And also it was really low as well, like, because she said, let's talk about a print. So I'm not sure if she thought that was the price of a print. Maybe she did. Or if that was just money that she was just gifting.

I don't know what it was. Yeah. But I just know it was interesting because we hadn't talked about any exchange in terms of the pricing. Maya went back and forth about whether she wanted to tell me the exact dollar amount of a donation. She was worried that the amount could be a giveaway to the person's identity. But eventually, she told me. It was $0.00. It was $0.00.

Yeah, it was $0.000. Whoa. If it was a charity donation to me, that's mad insulting. If that was for a print, really insulting. What was that? What was it? It was that amount. I mean, sorry, I think what we do, if we use this, we'll just. bleep it.

Okay. So that it was. The amount was $1.000. And to me, if it was a charity, charitable donation to my being black fund, I don't, I don't even know what that would have done for me in any way because in 2020, you know, things are expensive. And I'm not expecting anything from anyone, you know? And like, I'm pretty okay.

This thing, my experience, this incredibly confusing pay. Some variation of it has been happening to everybody I know, like my sister, my neighbours, my friends. White people have been sending black people Venmo payments in these really weird, bizarre ways, often completely out of the blue and frequently completely unsolicited. I put out a call on Twitter asking for people to share their experiences with this, and I heard from all of these black people who had gotten a notification that some white person had sent them cash in the weirdest form of reparations. As if to say, here's a few bucks,

a few bucks, sorry for racism. I just got a random Venmo from a friend, and it said for weed or drinks. And I was like, thank you so much, but I'm sending it back. This is happening all over the country. I heard from clothes designers, aspiring filmmakers, political organizers, computer programmers, teachers, academics, podcasts, photographers, comedians.

Usually middle class, most of the time, under 40. Payments were continually kept coming through. And I was like, oh, well, thank you. According to my completely unscientific survey, it seems like you're more likely to get demo payments from your white friends if you live in a mostly white area, went to a mostly white college, or if you work in a mostly white field like sketch comedy,

you won't get any of these, it turns out, if, like me, you tweeted about doing a story on said demo payments. Thankfully, white people don't tend to send these with emojis. these payments just seem to be small amounts of money, like the amount you might contribute to a colleague's birthday card made to people that are, on the whole, financially completely fine. I don't want to seem like, you know, for lack of a better term, like, oh, thank you, thank you, like, miss whoever, for giving me some little pennants.

I've heard of people actually, like, receiving money from colleagues, colleagues that in some cases actually make less than the people that they're sending money to. And these payments can also come from XVI's. Grab a cup of coffee on me. It was just like really weird because I had never seen a dollar amount that's treated with police brutality before. He later found out that same person had sent double that amount to a cop. Anyways, the main thing I learned is that it's extremely likely that you, a black person,

are going to feel bad about it. Like the photographer, Maya. I fell a little bit insulted. Yeah, totally. I don't want to take your charity for you to feel better. you know, I don't know. I mean, there's a lot of assumption on my end, but I just don't want to be a point of your conversation with your friends.

Like, hey, I donated to this black photographer, and that was my contribution. Like, let's make it more meaningful, you know? Yeah, especially since the initial post had been, okay, yeah, higher, higher folks. Yeah, yeah. Maya thanked the woman, donated the money to a national bail fund and matched it. She gracefully just sort of washed her hands of the whole thing. but she never did find out what exactly this person who sent her money was thinking.

That question I was able to get to the bottom of when I heard about the case of another woman named Nani. She's 23, lives in North Carolina. I was just in my room on the phone with one of my friends, and I'd get a notification on my phone, and it is a random Venmo from a guy I went to college with. And so I click on it, like right as it's coming on my phone, because I'm like, what the fuck is this? And I'll like, I'll go on my app

and read it to you. Yeah, yeah. Okay. So, so he gave me $5. Five bucks? Yeah. What can you get with five?

Anyway, sorry, continue. Continue. Okay, yeah. Here's what the memo said. Thanks for spreading awareness. Have a coffee. Wait. Thanks for spreading awareness.

Have a coffee. Yeah, it's a Starbucks campaign It kind of sounds like It kind of sounds like it Yeah Nani wasn't sure what to do She hadn't talked to this guy in a year So after waiting a day

She just decided to click like And until I called her That had been the end of it But now There was something she wanted to find out Has anyone found out Why? Has anyone asked why? Like

What do you mean? Like, just like in the world No, well has anyone you've talked to you today any of the black folks who've gotten random venmos? Like, have they had a conversation with the people who have Venmoed them, like, figuring out why they got Venmoed? No. I don't know.

I think it's like... That's really interesting. I think for the same reasons you didn't ask why. I don't know. Did you... Why didn't you ask why? Um, well, I don't... See, what's interesting to me is that I feel like what they're thinking and what they might

say could be two very different things. I wanted to know if I could talk to the white guy in this interaction and get a sense of what was really going through his head when he sent not even money. So with non-intermission, I called him. Hi, um, Blake, can you hear me? Yes, I can. Hi, hi. How are you doing? Doing well, how are you? I'm great, I'm great. That's Blake, the white guy in question. The first thing I wanted to know was just how exactly he'd gotten the idea to send nonny money. because in the past few weeks there have been a lot of white people online

on Twitter posting takes about how to be a good ally and nonny figured they could happen to catch one that was sort of stupid which turned out to be pretty accurate how did you get the idea to like donate to your black friends Twitter 100% oh Twitter? Yeah someone tweeted

like hey send some money to your black friends this is a really bad time and they could use the support So he did. He sent money to Nani and one other black person he knew. I think that when Blake opened his Facebook last week and saw a message from me, a black reporter, asking him about a payment that he, a white dude, had sent to like this one black woman. He knew something was up. He was probably like, oh, okay, this gesture did not go the way I wanted it to. So when we actually started talking, Blake and I did this weird dance where we talked around and around the thing for a while. Before, I actually got to the part of the interview that we'd both been dreading. I feel like you've done this point of the interview is coming. Oh yeah, go for it. Can I tell you how Nonny felt?

Absolutely. Sure. So mostly, dude, she was just confused. All right. Mostly, like, she was just like, oh, I haven't talked to Blake in like a year. Yeah. And I think the language that you ended up using, like have a coffee. I remember when I first heard it, my reaction was sort of to her to be like,

does he like work at McDonald's? That is the sound. I hear it now. Yeah. Do you hear it? I absolutely do. Yeah. You know, it did feel a little weird to her. Okay. Yeah. What do you think about all of that? I mean, it's totally fair. Like, I absolutely would not argue a bit of that.

the fact that that was received weirdly that I didn't go about it well, that I was gone about it better, communicated it, or yeah, maybe, I don't know, I'm learning, and I, yeah. I got the impression that Blake, like a lot of white Americans, has been spending this month thinking and talking about racial injustice a little more than he's used to. And I was curious to know, like, how much. had this figured into his life before this moment. How did like the concept of race and like discussion?

Like how did it show up like while you're growing up? Honestly, none. It's the it wasn't really talked about because it didn't really show up. Oh, like it just wasn't talked about? Not in any drastic sense. I mean, obviously examples of media. My family loved hairspray, but to that extent, yeah, it's not very much. But yeah, it's like it was never something that had.

to be addressed or that, you know, my family ever felt the need to explicitly talk about. One thing I wondered about was the comment Blake had sent with his memo payment, that thank you for spreading awareness line. He told me what that had actually been about. He'd been in classes with Nani in college at the University of North Carolina, and he'd always really admired how outspoken she was. They had this one film professor who only screened movies by right directors, and Nani used to stand up to him.

How did you feel like watching Nani take on on this professor like day after day in class? Honestly, I was glad she was doing it, but yeah, a lot of times I felt bad that she was the one who had to do it. What do you mean? Say more about that. Yeah, that's, and I absolutely, yeah, it's, I felt bad that she was the one. I say had to do it, but recognizing that she, like, I could have done it.

Absolutely. I could have spoken up. but that she was the one who was doing it time and time again. And I personally, a lot of the times I didn't notice. I'm still in the middle of my self-education when it comes to race relations, really understanding these topics that we're getting into. So I sometimes wouldn't notice, but then other times, yeah, I definitely let it slide, and I shouldn't have.

Blake and Nani had very different experiences at U and C, but there was this one thing that happened. at the end of college, that stood out for both of them. We had a huge issue with a Confederate monument that was up on campus, Silent Sam. Something that only memorializes the worst of us and the worst of our history and celebrating it is not something we needed on our campus, something for students to be walking by on a regular basis. And I went to a lot of the protests for that and just a lot of the protests that happened around Chapel Hill.

the statue was taken down during one of these protests about the beginning of our senior year. So you knew that was going on, but like you didn't really go to the protest? Right. Why? Like I said, I was lazy. I was not being an active part of, you know, stuff that I supported in theory. But, you know, at the time, I thought that was enough. Just being someone supportive of my friends, you know, going to protest, being like, yeah, you go get them.

well, you know, hanging back in the comfort of my home. I would say I definitely regret it, but not much I can do about it now other than moving forward, doing more. Obviously, right now, around the country, there are tons of protests happening. Like, in North Carolina, where Nani is, things have been pretty hairy.

I mean, everything is up in arms, just like how it is in a lot of parts of the country. I've got friends out at protests who are, you know, being tear-gat, violence is escalating. Obviously, a lot of people need to be bailed out. And part of what sucks for me is I'm high risk for COVID, so I can't be out there. So I really do want to be out there. But I just can't.

And that part's frustrating. And of course, where Blake now lives in L.A., they have been protests daily. So I wondered this time around, is Blake doing anything different? There was a protest, what was it, two days? I think it was Saturday that I could have gone. on to and I really struggled with whether or not to go. And the reason that is is because I live in a house with eight people. That's a lot of people. You live in a house with eight people? I do. It's a, it's a crowded place. But the kind of, it was a real struggle determining, like, I one, really wanted

to go to this protest. Because, yeah, like, I do feel regrets for not going to these protests being more active as an ally. And I was like, I really want to go to this one. But I also know that should I come back from a protest and bring something into this house, there is almost a 0% chance that not all of us catch it. And so I found myself very torn in that moment, deciding between going to the protest and putting my house at risk. Blake ultimately didn't go to the protest. And that's part of what made my conversation with him tricky. I was calling him as a journalist, but I also felt like I'd accidentally put myself in a position of being some judge in a case where he was defending his innocence. It's not a job I wanted.

It's not a job anyone wants. And frankly, like, as a journalist and as a person, I don't want to be in a position of judging whether Blake should have left his house and gotten his roommates infected with COVID. Like, that's a completely personal decision. So that's how I was feeling. And then I asked him one more question. Did any of your roommates go? Two of them did, yes. Oh, two of them did go.

And I guess watching them go, how did you feel? Once again, torn, because they were adamant. Like, they actually didn't necessarily ask. They first said they were going and then brought up the notion that, well, will this make anyone uncomfortable? I guess it's just like the way this conversation happened, it sounds like, and correct me for wrong, it sounds like two of your roommates felt really strongly about going and were informing you guys about doing it. And even though you kind of felt like you wanted to go, you kind of hung back. I did.

And then like after that, then you sort of like, we're like, okay, what else can I do? And you saw the thing on Twitter and you donated money to two of your black friends. Is that sort of like the chronology of this? I think so. I can't, honestly not quite sure. as you might understand, the days are blurring together. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess, like, how do you feel about yourself?

Yeah, I mean, as, as we continue to talk, you know, a little more guilty. But I know that guilt is not, guilt is not, and, I mean, it's an actionable feeling, but it's not the most beneficial. And don't get me wrong, but I'm not, like, my goal here is not to make you feel guilty. God knows, Gimlet Media does not pay me enough to make white people. people feel guilty. But I do, I don't know, I am just curious about this, like. No, and that's, and that's the, you're asking great questions and you're tapping into the cognitive dissonance that I've been grappling with in that I think, I think a lot of it stems to

just have it, because I have spent so many years of my life being willing to stand back, to not take the more active role. And so I think that part probably played a part in balancing the the hard thing that might be dangerous or the certainly easier thing, but one that I could, you know, I guess, justify. Yeah. It was, you know, given my history and my habitual actions, it was easier for me to take the latter. By this point, Blake's discomfort was palpable, and it made me incredibly uncomfortable. It was a part of me that wanted to let him off the hook and be like, it's totally okay. It's totally fine what you're doing.

but I didn't say that, because I actually think it's a good thing for white people to sit with their guilt. Guilt is something you feel when you realise there's a gap between how you're actually behaving and how you ought to be. We're in this moment in our country where we're looking at where we are, where we want to be, and it feels like white people who have a biggest part of that aren't sitting with that guilt. Instead, every day when I wake up, I turn on my phone to see messages from my black friends pointing out the latest weird gesture white people are making. Two weeks ago, it was every company under the sun and this podcast, changing their logo to a black square. A week ago, it was Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer wearing kentaycloth stalls. And this week, it seems like every city is copying Washington, D.C., and painting Black Lives Matter in the middle of some street.

These gestures look ridiculous and hilarious. They are. But the question I wish people are asking themselves is, am I doing this stuff because I feel bad and I want to make things better? or do I feel bad and I just want to stop feeling that way? Either way, none of these gestures are going to really change anything, especially not five bucks for coffee. And it's crazy that white people think it might, Blake included. So after talking with Blake, I agreed to be a spiritual guidedness,

to help him move from superficial Venmo activism to the real thing. We'd meet every week, I'd coach him towards being a genuine force against racism in America, a perfect ally. Just kidding. I have no intention of being someone's a magical negro. God knows, I have my own life, and that is not how I want to spend it. I can't imagine a black person who wants to do that,

which is why I was so shocked when I heard about just such a person, somebody doing it for fun and money. After the break, Millie. Welcome back to the show. So my conversation with Blake had been really draining. It felt like I was playing whack-a-mole, just trying to understand why he'd made the decisions he'd made when he didn't even really know.

I was supposed to interview a bunch more white people about why they'd sent black people money, but I just couldn't do it. Then I got this one message. It was from a comedian in New York, a black Latina named Mini Tamirez. Milit had she'd been charging white people for their guilt for fun, and that she'd been doing it for years. I really wanted to talk to her. It felt like she's gone so far in this other direction that I didn't understand.

understand. She told me she'd fallen into this by accident, and Bannie had actually started as this sketch comedy video she'd made. Hey, white people. Are you feeling super guilty because your race overwhelmingly voted for and thus elected Donald Trump to be our 45th president of the United States? This is a video Mimi made in 2016. It shows her standing in front of a blue background, giving a Billy May-style pitch for a service called White Forgiveness. One of the first things we did when we talked was watch it together. Is the guilt so intense

that not even a safety pin will make you feel better about yourself? I just want to pause us and say, I forgot about the safety pin shit, right? I forgot about it too until right now. White forgiveness is a service where you, Venmo me, Millie Tamaris and I will publicly acknowledge

you as one of the good white people. As a woman of color, I see oppression from all ends and it will be that much more valuable if I tell everyone that you're super woke. Jill Steinway, $7 million, but she's a white woman.

Why not give this money to me because I'm super broke? In other words, Millie's saying pay me and I'll forgive you. And her pitch feels disturbingly real. Like, there are even tears of payments. $5 will get you a like from Millie on a Facebook post about bashing

Donald Trump. For 100, Millie says she'll share that post and tell the world how great of an ally you are. I found it hilarious. But I found one choice she made in the video kind of surprising. Venmo, my real Venmo, Millie to Marys. You used your real Venmo? Yeah.

Venmo me, and I will absolve you of the sins of your people. You're welcome. The schedule was inspired by a thing that had happened to Minnie a few years earlier that was actually pretty hurtful. It was right after George Zimmerman killed Trayvon Martin. And she was on Facebook, having a conversation with a friend about the racist encounters they've been having in their own community. when another friend, a white guy, showed up to tell Millie that actually the racism she and her friend were talking about didn't exist.

Millie ended up unfriending him. But a few years later, in 2016, this guy popped back up. So then this guy reaches out to me and he's like, hey, I'm really sorry about what I said all those years ago. I've really reflected. And, you know, I thought, like, I thought about what I said. And, like, I've been thinking about it ever since that thing. And I understand now and I'm really sorry.

And I wonder if we can be friends. And I was like, sure. Like, yeah, of course. Like, thank you for acknowledging that. Thank you for your apology. And he's like, yeah, if I'm ever in New York, we should grab coffee. I'm like, sure, yeah. This is great.

Thank you. Then, like, two days later, he was like, hey, so can I screenshot our conversation and posted on Facebook to, like, you know, show people how to apologize and to, like, move past this? Wait, what? And I was like, yeah, I was like, what the fuck? No. Right then and there, Minnie realized something she'd never forget. That was like a light bulb or like that was a switch of like, oh, you don't even care that you hurt me.

You don't even care about it. You just like want, you just want other people to see that you're a good person. He wasn't apologizing for me. He was apologizing for him. So this guy's guilt was like completely performative. Minnie didn't even respond. but she never forgot about it. And then, a few months later, after Trump got elected,

Minnie made that video. This is the equivalent of going to college and majoring in African American studies. Don't fuck this up more than you already have. Venmo, my real Venmo, Millie Tamaris. Minnie figured that, like, a lot of her sketch comedy up until this point, a couple of her friends would watch it and like it on Facebook,

and that would be it. She had no idea that this whole thing was going to take on a life of of its own. So you made that video and then what happened? People actually sent me money. People sent you money? Yeah, so first it was like my friend. He sent me like $5 or something and he's like absolved me. So then I like screenshoted it and then I posted it on, um, on Facebook and I'll write like

a commentary of like, this is my friend. He wants that sweet, sweet absolution. I'm going to give it to him. Eric, you know, and I said his last name, like, I now absolve you from all sins of white people. You are now saved. I speak for all people of color when I say this. You are saved.

You are free of guilt. And then he's like, thank you. And then all these people liked it. And then more people started sending and more and more. And then what ended up happening is in the memo of the Venmo, like, transaction, they would confess like something racist they did or like why they need to be

forgiven. People were sending Millie real Venmo payments. So Millie decided to keep the joke going. He set up a Tumblr page where she would post some of the best messages and payments she'd gotten. Millie showed me the page. It's called the White Forgiveness Project.

At first, it was mainly people in on the joke. There was this white woman who asked forgiveness for liking Ms. Anderson movies. another person who'd taken part in a production of West Side Story, where all the Puerto Rican parts were played by white people. But what I found really remarkable about this Tumblr is that Minnie didn't just post what people had said. She also responded to them.

Take this one Minnie read for me. Hey, Millie, it's me, John. So I started abroad with this black girl. We made out one night and got touchy and stuff. I thought things were going to go all the way, so I started acting weird and distant, and ultimately blew it on purpose because I was positive. I would disappoint her sexually

because I was sure she only had sex with black guys who had to have been better than me. I feel like I made three to seven racist calls on this one. I regret this and would like to be forgiven. That's super dark. It's dark. And then I wrote, I mean, I can read you what I wrote in response because I feel like I still stand by this.

This Venmo comes from John. This makes me super sad on so many levels. racism sucks and it's so stupid. Oh, John, don't you know that all dick is trash regardless of race? Take comfort in knowing that no matter what you are and what you do, your dick is probably going to be garbage. And even if you honestly feel like your dick game is awesome, know that you are probably a bad person anyway, thus making you trash as well. My philosophy is liberating to both men and women. Please remove yourself from the shackles of thinking that your sexual experiences will be anything beyond straightway.

waste. John, I speak for all women and people of color when I say that you are now forgiven for the sin of forgetting that all dick is trash. Wow. One of the things I really admired about Minnie and her white forgiveness project was how in control of it she seemed. I had not felt that sense of control in my conversation with Blake at all. Listening back to it, I didn't even recognize myself. It's like the version of me that my white work colleague swear does not come across as angry or frustrated in meanings when I actually kind of mean to be. But Millie, she told me that eventually the white forgiveness thing got to be too much. Five dollars a pop to deal with white people's weird racism and steps was not worth it.

So she pretty much quit. I had been convinced that Millie had cracked the code, that she'd found a way to talk to white people about race that didn't diminish her. But if even Millie had gotten burned out, was it even worth it? Was it just this impossible, pointless task? I asked me me about it. Sometimes I feel like people of color, engage with white guilt, or like put themselves in positions to dialogue with white people about these things. Because I feel like they, they feel like if they engage with it, it'll make more sense to them.

Yeah. And they'll get a better understanding. But like, it's not fucking worth it, dude. Like, a lot of this shit just doesn't make sense, you know? like, even if they pay me. They're not paying me enough. Yeah. And it's not even that I come from like this super, you know, my family is pretty progressive.

And we still have a lot of issues with like misogyny and even colorism and all that stuff, you know? So it's not like I don't have work to do myself, you know? So why am I going to do that for you? That is also still like supporting white supremacy. of like ignoring the work that I do and like my community needs to do to prioritize you. This past weekend while I was working on this story,

I helped move my girlfriend down to Alabama where her family lives. At one point in our drive down, we stopped at a gas station just outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee. And as soon as we pulled up, I took a look at the people around and noticed this one big biker gang out front. And I realized that we were the only black people there.

We were also the only ones wearing a mask. You didn't have to. to read our license plate to know we weren't from around there. It could have been pretty fine. I could have just stayed by the cars we pumped gas, but I'd cut my hand while loading the car earlier, and I was bleeding fairly badly. I needed a Band-Aid.

And here was a gas station that probably had some, so I decided to go into the store. I walked in and couldn't find the Band-Aids at first. The clerk was busy looking at her phone, so I tried to get her attention so I could ask her for some help. Excuse me, I said. The woman put down her phone, looked at me for a second, and was like, what do you want? The question felt really loaded, and it felt like every person in the store was looking at me wondering the same thing.

None of the white people in the store could imagine I was there just for the reason I was there. It was like they were too scared to hear the basic sentence I was saying, which is like, I need a band-aid. And back home in Brooklyn, it doesn't feel like. that different. It's something I've talked about a lot with my black friends, which is that everywhere I go I'm having to maneuver around white anxiety. It feels like white people just won't let us be. The last person I talked to for this story was a friend I'm going to call Jonathan. And when he texted me saying he wanted to talk, I'm not even sure he knew I was working on this piece. But the story he ended up telling me, it felt like it encapsulated everything that was going

through my mind when I talked to Millie, Nani, and so many others. How's everything with you this week? It's been a rough week, I imagine. Yeah, it's just been, I mean, it's, yeah, what do you think? Yeah, exactly. We're all on the same page. So the reason we're talking, right, is because you sent me a text. Yeah, I did.

Let me pull that up. Well, okay, I don't know if this is a typo, but you were like this white fuel. I used to date in college. texted me asking about what she could do about the current climate. Yeah, bro. My dad for the typo. Is that supposed to be white girl? Not white fuel.

So here's what had happened. Jonathan had gotten a late-night text from his white ex-girlfriend. It's like, I love you. You know, I hope you're doing okay. If there's anything that I could do, like let me know, you know, and stuff like that. And when I first saw it, I was kind of like taken aback because, like, this was a girl that, like, you know, know, I dated in college, and one of the reasons why we broke up is because both her parents were racist.

And they kicked her out of her. Yeah, bro, they kicked her out of her house for dating me a black man. Holy shit. Yeah, bro. There's like history there. You feel me? Jonathan's ex ultimately chose her parents over him. And now, years later, after burying from her, Jonathan's wondering, why is she reaching out?

It felt so strange, you know what I mean? Because it's just like, you know, I don't know. I'm still the only black person that you're all having your lives. Jonathan didn't text her back right away. He wanted to let it all just sit for a bit. Weigh his options. He's a grad student. He doesn't really have a job right now because of COVID.

So that night, Jonathan's online, scrolling through Twitter. I was going through social media and, like, you know, you see tweets and like, you know, posts from, like, white people who are, like, posting about the current climate and, you know, doing it in a very, like, trying to absolve their sins type of way. Yeah. And a lot of the times you see people, like, retweeting those things or reposting them and saying, open your wallet. So I thought to myself, like, well, maybe I said ask her to open her wallet.

Jonathan was going to ask his ex for cash because he was annoyed and, He kind of wanted to be a little rude. Paid his comfort with discomfort. But he still struggled to write the text because a part of him worried about whether he'd come off mean or if he'd ruined the movement for someone who was just trying to get involved. In the end, though, Jonathan sent her a couple of texts about way she could be a good ally. Andy asked her for money, but in a nice way, not in an open your wallet kind of way. Then you texted me, right?

Right. This is too funny. dog she said yes well she did say yes and how did she say yes um well she framed it in the position of like

you know I understand where you're coming from and I have dealt with the same thing right so like she was like oh honey I feel bad you know recent like maybe a year ago I got laid off of my job and then like you know this woman that I know, she offered me a job and doubled my previous salary, so now I'm good.

And I was like, oh, that must be nice. I literally said it must be nice. I was like, yo, like, you're trying to, like, identify with my struggle. And I didn't even go into, I didn't even get to go into detail about why I got laid off or what was going on. She kind of just was like, well, you know, I got laid off too, like a couple years ago. But now I make double the salary. like what like are you serious

yeah that laughter like the way we were laughing it felt really cathartic to me it's the way I've laughed about Blake and all the other interactions I've been hearing about for the last couple of weeks

it's a dark laugh it's a sort of what are these white people doing laugh anyways After talking about her new job, Jonathan's ex asked about the logistics of sending the money. So she was like, I would love to send you something like, I don't have cash tap or Venmo, but I have PayPal. So give me your PayPal address and I'll, you know, I'll send you something whatever I can.

So I dropped my PayPal to her and then I didn't get any text messages after that. Oh, so that's when the conversation ended. Yeah. But did she send you money? Nah, she hasn't sent me anything yet. Oh, she hasn't actually... I didn't realize that. Wait, so she said yes. After all of that, like, back and forth, after all of that emotional labor you had to do,

and then she still hasn't sent you your cash. Still hasn't sent me nothing. I don't want to ask her, like, hey, like, by the way, I didn't get your PayPal yet. Like, you know what I'm saying? I don't want to do that. I felt bad for Jonathan. His ex-girlfriend has sent him an annoying text message. He'd wanted to be curtain-cutting, but had ended up sending a...

pretty nice response, and then she'd ghosted him. He'd wanted to think he was this totally different person from the Jonathan who'd rolled over when she'd given him to a racist parent, but instead, he was like Charlie Brown for football. He made me think about who Jonathan was when I met him a few years ago. We'd both just graduated from predominantly white schools, and now here we were, two black men in New York City. We bonded super quickly, in part because we felt the same way about the world. For four years, we'd both been in a sea of white. But now we were out, and we were really only trying to make back friends.

We left all our uncomfortable, weird relationships of white people behind us. So Jonathan's ex reaching out to him, it felt like this relic of a relationship Jonathan used to have with right spaces, a relationship he'd worked hard to bury and forget, had come back. It occurred to me A lot of people I'd spoken to were probably very similar to Jonathan And it's probably what made them likely to get messages like these They'd had one relationship to a white space

And now, even though they had a different one But white people from their past lives Kept trying to drag them back in I'm sure people of all classes saw my tweet But like at the same time I am getting kind of like a rarefied view of like black people You know what I mean? Like I'm mostly hearing from like middle class black folks who probably went to college.

And a lot of people are, you know, everyone seems to have the experience with, like, navigating white spaces. Right. And I guess I think that's part of what makes this whole discussion I feel like hard, at least for me, or at least I think,

I have to think about these interactions clearly because it's like... There's like a line you have to tow. Yeah, well, because it's like, we have a lot of privilege. Yeah, you know what I mean? Like, a lot of... That's what it's weird asking.

that girl for money because I was like, yo, I can like, I have like parents who would like also give me money, you know what I mean? Like, I don't really need your money. Yeah, definitely. And I don't know. I think, I think a lot about this people on Twitter, right, who I think are very right. And people I hear from a lot where it's like, oh, I can't believe that like, you know, the black experience that's being like put out into media right now in films, in journalism, whatever, is basically being put out by people who like, you know, probably grew up black, went to college, dated a few white girls and then decided to become black again when they left. Oh, my God.

Oh, my God. Don't come at me like that, bro. But see, it's not, it's not like, it's not black and white like that, bro. Like, you know what I'm saying? Like, you, like, I feel like a lot of it is like, it's survival tactics, yo. You have to like, like, like, the thing about humanity is we need to both feel like we belong. Like, and it's like so. painful to be excluded.

So, you know, going through four years of exclusion, I don't think anybody really wants to do that. So you'll kind of change yourself in ways that make you adhere to these social norms of, like, you know, I guess, like, white middle class values in ways that ultimately harm you, but you don't really feel the harm in the moment because you feel accepted in the moment. You feel me? Yeah, yeah. You know? And then it's like one of those things where it's like, it's like a stress fracture. It keeps adding on and adding on, building up and building up until a point where you kind of break. And then at that point, it's like, what's next?

Like, you know, what are you going to do now? What are we going to do now? I don't think anybody really knows, me included. But the people for whom that's a question that is more and more pressing is white people. White people who seem to have no idea what to do or what we want, even when the other. answer is very easy. It's funny, in the latter stages of our drive to Alabama this past weekend, as me and my girlfriend drove out of Tennessee, into Georgia, and then into Alabama, my girlfriend told me about this thing she'd learned recently. But during the Civil War,

white people had all these conspiracy theories for why black people wanted to be free. One of them was that the reason we wanted to be free was to rape all white women and thus end whiteness. not, you know, that we just wanted to be free. It hit me that white people are incapable of understanding that our freedom and our happiness might have to happen in spite of them, but it isn't about them. The answer to what we want has been written over and over again. It's been yelled from every black mouth in nearly every major street in seemingly every major city in the world.

Stop killing us. That's it. That's the treat you should. should pay attention to. Reply All is hosted by PJ Vote and Alex Goldman. We're produced by Shufi Peter Menini, Fia Benin, Damiano McKin, Damiano McKinty, Anna Foley, Jessica Young, and me, Immanuel Jochi. Our executive producer is Tim Howard. We're mixed by Wick Kwan, fact-checking by Michelle Harris. Our intern is Lisa Wang. Our theme music is by The Mysterious Breakmaster Cylinder, additional music in this episode by The Mysterious Breakmaster Cylinder,

Mariano Romano, and Tim Howard. Special thanks for this episode to Caitlin and Adezio Koli, and all the people who got in touch about the Venmo payments they'd received or sent. Additional editing help from Lydia Poll Green, Gabby Borgarelli, and B.A. Parker. Matt Leaver is a perfectly packed storage unit. You can listen to our show on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. Thanks for listening. We'll see you in two weeks.