listen.

Before you lies a post that was rather difficult to write. Frankly I'm frightened to share this story because I know it doesn't paint me in a positive light. And in the age of selfies and filters, all we really want is to feel like the self we are putting out there is our best one. But this story is not pretty, does note have a pretty bow tied on the end and instead stems from a poor choice I made. Thankfully it was a choice I made in a safe space, otherwise it could have had farther reaching and more serious implications.

This episode explores issues surrounding race relations, a topic of conversation that I in no way consider myself an expert or even someone who should attempt to tackle any aspect of the subject to begin with. But I want to share this story because I took away a lot from it, grew through it and came out more careful on the other side. And my hope is that you may too.

That's enough exposition. Here we go.

Last night my friend Naama and I hung out at a very hipster bar in a fun neighborhood called Vila Madalena in Sao Paulo. The walls were plastered with posters of Bowie, The Smiths and indie movies. There was even an older dude who resembled Carl Reiner's character from Ocean's 11 walking around to tables selling records. The demographic represented was exactly what you'd think : denim-clad, unkempt, and perpetually Instagraming twenty-somethings. Naama and I posted up there for a couple hours, ordering food and "litres" of beer (it's a common practice to order larger, 600ml bottles of beer and share them at a table. Basically the way Americans would share a bottle of wine. But much cheaper).

We were on the Metro on the way back home when I said the thing I shouldn't have.

Naama and I were seated side-by-side in seats on the train car observing a group of four probably college-aged youths. I liked the clothes they were wearing and the way they carried themselves. Apart from being stylish, the four teens all appeared to represent a unique racial composition. One of them I honed in on: he had light skin, brown hair and a brown mustache that he was quick to curl at the end using the tips of his fingers. He wore a flat-brimmed skater hat, a green flannel and brown pants. Without thinking too much, I turned to Naama and said: "He looks like someone from Vermont, no?"

And that's where I messed up.

Naama immediately scowled and fired back "Why because he's white? You realize that saying something like that presumes that all Americans are white and all Brazilians are darker sinned, right? In case you haven't noticed, it's not the color of someone's skin that makes them Brazilian."

Before I continue, a little bit about my friend Naama. Naama was born in Brazil and moved with his family up to Boston at the age of 13. He has lived in Boston, Brazil and England. He identifies as mixed-race. We met as freshmen at Gordon College and for the last eight years I've loved him dearly. And he's one of the reasons why I decided to take this trip in the first place. Okay, back to the story.

Oh how hindsight gives us 20/20 vision. At that moment, what I SHOULD have said was "you're right. I messed up. That was ignorant and stupid. I'm sorry." But instead I fell down a rabbit hole of trying to explain and justify my comment which only made matters worse.

For the next 20 minutes, we were engaged in such a heated exchange that we missed our Metro stop by more than four stops. I found myself pathetically spewing a stream of nonsense rebuttals including but not limited to concepts of bias based on heritage, preferential treatment and, the real doozy, trying to argue that there's a strong correlation between the color of people's skin and the region of the world they come from.

It's a very pitiful feeling when you're in the midst of a debate in which you know you're wrong but you feel like you have to keep arguing in the hopes that you can justify your comments. I felt as though I was past the point of no return in some ways and to cease trying to get my point across would have been a disservice to myself.

If you know me, you know I'm not one to dive headfirst into an argument. I'm typically the guy standing in the wings watching two people go at it. I don't much like to discuss politics or sensitive matters regarding race, gender, etc. I'm aware of my status as a sis-gendered straight white man and, whether my points are accurate or not, don't often feel like I would even have anything to contribute to a dialogue that's worthwhile. After all, it's the voice of people representing my racial/gender/sexual identity that has been loud and clear for hundreds of years and the voice that has created immense turmoil in the world.

But at the end of the day, it's very depressing. If my voice isn't one that needs to be heard right now, then what use are my words? If I can't make any change, why even try? If I can't make a comment and then work to justify that comment, then why speak at all?

The hard part is I know the answer. The answer is that it has never been more important for a sis-gendered straight white man to just listen. If our voice is the one that's been in power for centuries and created so many problems, then it's high time that we just shut the hell up and encourage the voices of the marginalized to step forward and share their stories and perspectives that have always been silenced. As a white person, it's my job to listen and listen fully. The others before me with my racial composition have done the talking and it's time to pass the mic over to those that need to be heard.

Naama and I, being the great friends we are, wrapped our verbal onslaught, reminded each other how much we love and value the other and how important it is that we can have a dialogue like this and be able to come together and embrace afterwards.

I've spent several hours now reflecting on this whole episode and there's a particularly salient point that Naama brought up that I cannot shake: "Mac, there's two types of white people in this world. There's the white people that listen and are thoughtful. And there's the type of white people that are loud and ignorant."

I realized immediately after he said these words, that I have no greater fear than being mistakenly associated with the latter group. And when I heard him say that I experienced what may have been my first comforting thought in the past 30 minutes: the very fact that I try so hard to ensure my words are interpreted correctly and the realization that I care so deeply about the repercussions of my comments is hopefully indicative of my belonging to the second group.

So why did I share this whole episode. Was it in an attempt to still justify my actions to myself? Probably. Was it so that I could process the conversation? Yes. Was it so that I could offer a public confession that I still haven't got it all right? Maybe. But I think that many of the issues in America right now stem from white men, especially those in power, making comments without listening, white men making accusations with no humility. And white men thinking they are still the only ones that matter.

So, although each and every day I long to have a voice that can penetrate the thick walls of social unrest and ache to share experience that can lead to change, I'm always reminded that for me and others like me, there's no more important time to be selective and careful with what we say, and above all, listen. Even though it seems like a small contribution, perhaps an open ear is a seedling we plant to grow the progress we need and realize the change we want to see. For by listening, new voices are brought into the fold, their value has an opportunity to be realized and their dreams can become possible.