My first day of college presented an opportunity to graduate with more than just a degree.

I was attending the welcome banquet for a scholarship program that had accepted me. As an Arizona boy new to southern California’s Azusa Pacific University, the buffet of Mexican food from the local restaurant across the street made me feel right at home — like I was precisely where I should be.

A program intern greeted me at the buffet. “You feeling comfortable enough here?”

Perplexed by her question, I said, “There’s Mexican food. I’m great.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable here,” she responded, with a curious smile. “I ask because you’re one of the only white students in the program.”

Looking up from my plate of tacos and scanning the room, I realized she was correct. There weren’t many students in this program who shared my somewhat tan but still pale hue. I hadn’t considered this for even a moment.

As it turned out, I was the first white student to be admitted to the Multi-Ethnic Leadership program — a four-year scholarship I applied for without really knowing what the word “ethnic” meant. A leadership scholarship felt like a natural progression. I led as the president of my high school Christian club for three years. Plus, as my dad had pointed out numerous times, the tuition for this private school was expensive. I applied for every scholarship I had even a vague chance of receiving.

It was later revealed that the incoming director of the program had advocated that a four-year leadership program representing multi-ethnic students should include the full range of human diversity — including white boys like me.

There was also a woman in the program. A beautiful woman. She had an eclectic ancestry, identifying herself with the term Blaxican. I was attracted to her from the moment we met at the banquet. We both would eventually study for a degree in sociology. She was always one or two steps ahead of me, performing better at leadership and academics. And I was far too intimidated to express my interest.

Instead, I did what ignorant white boys do best: I unknowingly used a historically racist term to express my interest in her.

I referred to her, for far too long and on far too many occasions, with the term mulatto, an insidious word used by racialists in the 18th and 19th centuries to demean and deem people of multi-ethnic backgrounds inferior by claiming that such individuals were sterile, like mules — the hybrid offspring of a horse and a donkey. Using the term was my shy way of letting her know that I thought she was beautiful.

This woman gracefully informed me, on numerous occasions, that referring to her with this term was a long shot from acceptable. And yet, I continued. Maybe I thought she was being jocular. Maybe I wanted to believe it was her coy way of flirting back with me. Like the way I believed the girls in elementary school didn’t really want me to stop pulling their hair because they liked the attention. Whatever the reason, I missed her point entirely.

After a year or so, she told me flat out, “Jeremiah, this is the last time I’m going to tell you not to call me that.”

There was something about the way she protested that said she had reached her limit with me.

The probable reason why it took me so long to hear her?

In addition to being ignorant of the wretched nature of the term, my thinking that it was okay to tell someone they were beautiful by pointing exclusively to their racial identity made bad matters worse. Unfortunately, this happens on a regular basis. Rarely does a white boy realize why it doesn’t work.

Secondly, this was problematic because I allowed my good intentions — thinking she was beautiful and having a crush on her — to take precedence over her voice. It just wasn’t getting through to me how offensive this was to her.

Few things could be more indicative of white male privilege than to rarely, if ever, have to actively listen to others, much less hear them. And this from a white boy energetically involved in the Multi-Ethnic Programs department.

Eventually, it became clear to me that racism is something I had been subconsciously trained to believe and practice. And as such, I carry biases and generalized stereotypes and limited perspectives about people of other identities.

Here’s the key: When we white people recognize and admit this truth, then we can actively battle against the belief that our good intentions override their negative impact.

But it wasn’t enough for me to simply stop using a racial epithet.

It is not enough for all of us to merely avoid the N-word. Not enough to simply have black or brown friends. And not enough, even, to vote for our first multi-racial president.

These things are all important — but not antiracist.

We cannot simply bid farewell to being racist. We must actively welcome being antiracist.

For the woman I had a crush on, my good intentions were abusive. I had to graduate from the training and limitations of my whiteness in order to stop harming someone I cared for. This couldn’t merely be a matter of not doing something harmful and replacing it with something reparative. Sure, I could stop being abusive by ceasing my use of the word. But what does this ignorance imply about my deeper ignorance? What about all the other white boys still using abusive language? What about all the other violent and oppressive realities that occur when privileged people with authority assert their intentions, benevolent or malicious?

The moment she gave me a final warning, I not only heard her frustration, but I also saw it in her eyes. Like most frustration or anger, there was an evident pain. She wasn’t just mad; she was hurt. Her friend was ignoring her — failing to see how his affection was, in reality, an infliction. She had a strength that wouldn’t allow her to be demeaned by my lowly failures, but she also offered me the chance to be a friend within certain parameters.

I don’t know if I apologized enough to my crush. What I do know now is that I can live that apology. We all benefit from not harming our neighbors and loved ones. And those who fail to do so lose the most.

The only chance my crush and I had at weathering the storm was for me to welcome her — embracing the respect and care of antiracism and its rewards.

She and I never dated, but I will always be grateful for the patience and affection and gifts she gave me.

reference: medium.com/our-human-family/graduating-from-harmful-good-intentions-f550197d608b