I’m a racist. I was told this recently by a young black man who said that if you’re white then you are a racist. He did point out that being a racist did not necessarily make me a white supremacist, and I took comfort in that.

After giving this accusation some thought, I realized that he was right, I am a racist, but, I hope, a recovering one, doing my best to work my program.

We are a very progressive community here in our Valley and many of us support organizations that work to undo the effects of slavery and Jim Crow policies. We place “Black Lives Matter” signs on our lawns, we contribute to black organizations and we march for racial justice. But is this enough?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this, especially since the elections a year ago. Since then, we have seen the faces of racism and hatred marching openly with raised torches, complete with swastikas and Nazi salutes. Horrifying as this was, it became even more so when the president refused to speak out against this display of hatred, instead seeming to defend and support it.

Here’s something that puzzles me … marching as Nazis and expressing hatred for Jews and anyone not white like them is viewed by some, including the president, as protected First Amendment speech, while football players peacefully taking a knee to express their support for racial justice and equality is not. Why should that be? The answer, of course, is that most of the football players involved are black.

Damon Davis, the man who labeled me a racist, is the co-director of “Whose Streets?”, a very powerful documentary that was shown at Amherst Cinema one night last month. It tells the story of the shooting of Mike Brown, an unarmed 18-year-old black man in Ferguson, Missouri, in 2014, and of the black activists who demonstrated against this tragedy and injustice nearly every day for more than a year afterward.

The director engaged with the audience at the end of the film with a sometimes shocking, but refreshing, honesty. The film itself was shocking, eye-opening and heartbreaking, as it allowed this mostly white audience to briefly catch a glimpse of what blacks in this country experience every day.

Because my politics are progressive, because I support “Black Lives Matter,” I’ve tried to understand what it’s like to be black in this country, a country that has at its very roots the exploitation and dehumanizing of African-Americans. But I can’t really, can I? I’m white, and it is white people who hold all the power even though we may not be aware of it. But we do.

As a Jewish woman, I’ve experienced the effects of stereotyping and hatred, though very different than that experienced by blacks. My parents lived through World War II and even as an American citizen my father never recovered from the knowledge of so much hatred for who he was. In those years, anti-Semitism was alive and well at home while millions of Jews were being exterminated in Europe.

I entered adulthood keeping my head down and my mouth shut when people around me made anti-Semitic remarks. I feel shame now for letting those people get away with this, but I was afraid then and I knew I could pass as a non-Jew and that’s what I did.

Can black people pass?

Since Trayvon Martin was gunned down for walking while black, it’s been clear to me that there has been a concerted effort to scare whites into believing that all black men are dangerous. And it’s worked, hasn’t it? If you are white and you’re reading this, don’t you worry when you’re walking down the street at night and a young black man wearing droopy pants and a baggy sweatshirt is coming toward you?

As a recovering racist, I admit to these feelings, to buying into the racist narrative that has relentlessly been broadcast. How many more videos of unarmed black men and boys being murdered do we have to watch to be convinced that there is something extraordinarily wrong going on here? Not white men and boys, black men and boys.

In “Whose Streets?”, the white police officer, who was never indicted, let alone tried — who shot and killed an unarmed Mike Brown whose hands were in the air — said in an interview that he shot this boy because he had the look of a demon. And somehow this was an acceptable defense. I was left wondering if Mike Brown had had a white face would this white officer have seen a demon? I bet not.

Damon Davis also said that it’s up to us, the whites of this country, to fix this and I think he’s right. As a recovering racist, I realize that it’s up to me to change that which is in my power to change, and that starts with me.

I’ll start by continuing to educate myself in the ways that people of color in this country are treated differently than whites. But also, to look deep inside myself to examine the ways in which I am categorizing and stereotyping people and find ways to stop doing that.

Since I no longer keep my head down and my mouth shut, I plan to be even louder about what I see as racist, hateful behavior.

And I intend to engage every person I encounter as the human being that they are, looking beyond color and difference to see the ways in which we are alike. After all, we aren’t so different from one another, just humans on this Earth. Only fear makes us strangers to each other.

Karen Gardner, of Haydenville, a retired computer programmer, is a bird watcher, nature photographer and ukulele player. She can be reached at opinion@gazettenet.com.