For me, the tree is like a living, breathing historical timeline. I imagine how this tree may have been planted just a few years after the last-known cross-Atlantic slave ship landed in the U.S. I am awed to think this tree is rooted in an epic precipice of the 1870s — the end of a 400-year-old economic system based on human trafficking, and the beginning of a 150-year-old resistance to that end.

The life span of this tree grounds me in reflection of the not-so-distant past of U.S. racism, and the oh-so-current presence of U.S. racism.

Like many others following the Memorial Day death of George Floyd in south Minneapolis, a neighborhood I know fairly well, I have engaged in a process of self-examination to understand and clarify my values. As a 50-something white woman, I am discovering my privilege by learning about racism through education — through books, movies, art, discussion.

And I am also discovering that Black people and people of color learn about racism through experience — through humiliation, horror and generational trauma.

As I reflect, some of my white family and friends have asked me: “Why do you differentiate between white and Black people?” Well-meaning, they say, “We’re all the same.”

Well-meaning, I used to think that too. I sought to be colorblind to skin tone as my way to be a strong, fair leader and a good person. However, I’ve learned “colorblind” is a trap. Sure, our humanness and mortality are the same. Our bones, blood and tissue are the same. But our lives are vastly different simply due to melanin. I am learning what Black people and people of color have known for years, decades and even centuries.

The truths I’m learning are absolutely based on skin color.

I am also learning I’m not good at succinctly answering the colorblind question. And, I am learning that those who ask may not want my response anyway.

As a white woman, I am confronted with my lifelong biases and influences. Long-held values and messages wave dangerously like tree branches in a storm. I’ve found it necessary to ground myself by turning inward toward self-examine with purpose — to ask myself these questions: Who are the teachers? What do I need to know? Where will I find resources? When should I speak up? How will I act?

Many may ask why self-examine now? It’s a valid question. The historical timeline I see in my backyard tree reminds me that racism is not new, but deeply embedded in the core of our nation. I have no good answer to “why now?,” but I‘ve adapted a proverb that helps me: The best time to plant a tree is 150 years ago. The second-best time is today.

Maybe I can help create a better future.