Growing up as a child, I remember learning about Martin Luther King Jr. as one of our country's greatest peace makers and most famous leaders. The way it was taught was that a long time ago, black people had fewer rights than white people, but through the practice of virtue and peace, they had won their rights as Americans through their efforts. While this is still true today, I was given the impression that whites and blacks of today really were as Martin Luther King had dreamt it: that racism and hate were a thing of the past and we had achieved the goal of peace and love.

In my innocence, I saw the message simply and without considering the swarm of contributing factors. Color should not determine how love is allocated in America. Perhaps the line, “I have a dream… that little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers,” stood out to me because I was a white little boy and that helped me to identify with what he was saying while seeing his message of love in difference.

Today, I find it hard to argue that any other interpretation would suffice over that which I had concluded at the age of 6, and it begs the question as to why it becomes admittedly harder to understand with age. The truth is that with age comes baggage, the baggage of the mind that holds down our thinking in one way or another that keeps us from opening up to what is unknown. You begin to see that people look at you differently; that what you look like does have an effect on how the world will treat you.

I believe that a large portion of the black community feels very similar to, if not the same as, those who struggled in the civil rights era of the sixties and seventies. Even with all the legislative and social progress we have made throughout the years since Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech, we see black individuals and organizations who are vocalizing and expressing their pain through protest. Every day it becomes harder and harder to look away from black faces and fall back on the comforting idea that this was a problem for our parents and grandparents, but not for me.

As a white man, I cannot relate my feelings to America's greatest struggle. I know that I am not a part of this struggle and can never speak of it as a victim. However, I would like to relate my feelings as a witness to the African American struggle, with great stress on impartiality, and an extreme detail to the sensitivity of such an issue.

The first question I often find myself asking, in spite of the childlike simplicity of the "I Have a Dream” message, is: can a formerly enslaved people subjected to all the horrors accompanied with being dehumanized and stripped of all dignities be forcefully assimilated into the society that had enslaved them in the first place? Is it possible that those two groups could ever forget the past?

Well, to forget and truly be one society, there are two steps that must occur: honest reconciliation for the past and forgiveness. The problem with this is that many people rightly feel that they, who have wronged no one, should not be obligated to continually apologize and make amends for something that they find themselves completely separate from. And on the side of the victimized, no one can be forced to forgive because over 150 years after the fact a majority of black individuals still harbor a sense of profoundly deep-rooted pain and believe in a stagnation of societal progress.

The issue is not forgotten simply because of legal standing equality, or even time passed. The issue that I see as a witness to this American feud is that an entire community was stripped of everything which makes it special; culture and history. Essentially, that means ownership and stock in this country. We need to begin asking ourselves as white individuals, to what extent do black Americans believe they have a stake in this country?

For a people that was forcibly brought here, subjected to unimaginable labors and suffering, freed, but forced to live among its captors, I would imagine that would inspire an unwelcome feeling and perhaps a sense of not truly belonging. While black men did fight on the side of the north during the American Civil War, freedom was given, not taken.

Receiving a gift is different than purchasing something yourself. In a gift, gratitude, and to a degree debt, is expected that no matter the intent of the giver, is lauded over you. Only by your own power can something be truly yours. Participation by any others cannot interfere with claims as to how or why you got what you got. I imagine that is something of a factor in the division Martin Luther King so eloquently spoke of.

As well as this, I cannot help but feel on the part of the victimized that it was wrong to set free someone in the land of another. Of course, by the time of the Civil War, most reasonable solutions had sailed long ago. I still believe that obvious mental or psychological repercussions were derived from leaving this “freed” people among its captors. Imagine being kidnapped, abused, raped, and subjected to all sorts of terrors from someone, and then a friend of his forces him to release you. You would leave! To stay there would be madness even if you did receive a few more rights.

The enslaved Jews of biblical Egypt were freed and then LEAD OUT of Egypt to the promised land, because while time does heal all wounds, it must be time spent away from that which inflicts pain, time to heal. While it was obviously an issue of not wanting to concede land to a supposed lesser race, it would have been much better to give a portion of unsettled land in the west that this community could call theirs.

Even if it would be a gift, it would at least separate the victimized from their captors, show an honest effort to make amends by the U.S. government, and give something to build their own unique and esteemed culture upon with no interference from those who hate.

However, these things did not happen, forging our disparaging path of struggle as we grind slowly towards a goal of racial unity and reconciliation. And when I turn on the news, or an NFL game, or talk to a black friend, I cannot help but wonder whether MLK’s dream will remain just a dream. Whether one can reconcile and the other can forgive.

I find that every year becomes a little bit more raw in what I have learned and observed about one of the greatest societal conundrums in history, and I get exhausted with it. I get exhausted with the term racist being cheapened by applying it to anyone who does not feel exactly as you feel. I get exhausted seeing yet another video of an unarmed, perfectly compliant black man being shot in cold blood for reasons that truly do amount to racism. And, I get exhausted being made to feeling like I should not have something to say on race relations because I’m a part of the problem that is whiteness and white privilege, while simultaneously hearing about having this discussion. Do discussions not require a perspective that differs from your own?

So, I have decided to partake in the discussion and provide my thoughts. It is admittedly not without fear that I do so because I know the kind of blacklist repercussions speaking on race in America can have, from any group or faction. If you read all the way through, thanks, and just know that I don’t take my words for gospel knowing I’m just one perspective in millions.

What I do advise and believe to be true is that everyone should realize their perspective is just that, a perspective. So, if we, as Americans, truly do wish to conduct a discussion, I would hope that everyone would listen before they speak, at least try to understand, and attempt to present their thoughts in a way that will cause no more pain than has already been caused.

Because I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re exhausted.