Why the “But I Have Black Friends!” Argument May Not Always Be as Awful as it Sounds

Sometimes, it’s in friends from different cultures where prejudice can begin to soften

Photo by Andra C Taylor Jr on Unsplash

There’s a stereotypical line of reasoning that’s often employed in the modern day when people fend off accusations of prejudice. When called out for racism toward those of darker skin tones, a familiar argument tends to reemerge.

The “I have Black friends!” defense may even be so common that you’ve probably heard it before yourself. It isn’t a particularly cogent excuse. But there may be some merit to the thinking.

When someone’s bias is overt enough, of course these stammering justifications for their actions or epithets ring hollow.

Many of the people who recite these arguments turn around and defy their friendships by supporting laws and politicians that make lives worse for people with darker complexions, both at home and abroad. In those cases, the “I have Black friends” argument is no more than a flagrant, face-saving political prop.

But prejudice is a common force in life. To some extent or another, it’s nearly ubiquitous. The most evolved among us struggle to see a world beyond color completely. The notion of people who “don’t even see skin tone” can be almost as offensive to some as those who wear their hatred as plain as day.

People who support progressive policies are often the very same ones to turn around and call the police on peaceful birdwatchers for no crime other than being the wrong skin tone at the wrong place and time. The hypocrisy is commonplace.

I’d love to claim I’ve always managed to look at the world through the unflinching perspective that all people are the same. Yet, even the most broad-minded liberals and peace-loving, long-haired hippies among us have been known to cross the street when a few people of differing skin tones begin walking toward them on the sidewalk late at night. Sometimes, the decision to cross the street may not be made consciously.

Growing up just outside of Philadelphia, I’ve always had a diverse group of friends. They’re people that I love.

But as a child, I’d be hard-pressed to deny that I developed preconceptions of certain cultures. I always had enough self-awareness to find humor in self-deprecating jokes about my own sort of upbringing. The assumptions made of others were never rooted in hatred. At worst they rose from an inability to understand. And the true understanding of life as another isn’t something we can simply glean.

There were times throughout my adolescent and teenage years, though, when less savory thoughts and poorly chosen words left me facing rightful allegations of prejudice. When some of those circumstances arose, I turned to some of those most clichéd retorts. I didn’t know how else to prove that I wasn’t hateful other than to point out that “Some of my very best friends in the entire world are Black.”

And the truth is, even while that remained true, and those were friends I cherished deep down and would grieve if they were gone, a degree of prejudice remained inside me still. There are many things in life that people struggle to see exist on a spectrum. I think that racism is one of those things.

As with gender and sexuality, prejudice is an issue that’s far from binary. For many people, the wall of racism that forms in their lives is one that needs to be slowly dismantled. The bricks need to be removed one by one. And even then, scars of the animosities that once were can rarely be paved over completely.

But so often it seems that a common feature in the fall of prejudice is a friendship with those people who look differently than us.

Musician and activist Daryl Davis has spent years of his life helping dissolve hatred within some of the communities where it runs most deeply. He’s made waves in media for being photographed beside burning crosses and uniformed klansmen. The reactions the pictures elicit are visceral on all sides of the aisle. Some Black men see a traitor, and racists see a craven failure to represent their cause properly with nooses draped over trees.

But it’s these taboo clashes of culture that have resulted in the permanent retiring of over 200 white cloaks, artifacts which Davis collects in his home as keepsakes of the scathing racists that once wore them. He attributes these transitions to the friendships he’s managed to cultivate with them. In people who were predisposed to hating him for the color of his skin alone, he’s built years-long relationships.

There’s no denying that his efforts have been a showcase of bravery and determination. It can’t simply be advised that others try to embody his steadfast commitment to such a risky course of action. With less luck or diligence, the efforts could have also cost him his life. But his career has been a walking testament to the friendships that can emerge from remorseless pits of hatred.

The “I have Black friends argument” is far from enough. It needs to be proven in action. And even then, systemic racism will remain. Many times in life, though, it’s in people who look, feel, and think differently than us that hatred can begin to lose its hold.

One meta-analysis found that “intergroup contact typically reduces intergroup prejudice” and “… that this finding appears not to result from either participant selection or publication biases.” Much of our general knowledge about the effects of community and friendship in the softening of race-related bias date back to the days of segregation.

The challenge that still lingers around race is something that we can never fully confront. We can never truly understand what it is to be another person and it’s a challenge that transcends skin tones.

We might see people different from us in our daily lives. We might even understand their plights on paper.

But friendship is where the seeds of empathy are routinely planted. And without these bonds that travel between borders, cultures, and complexions, we’d be lost in our fight against hate.

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This article was originally published on Medium.

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