In the aftermath of my father’s incarceration, I became deeply involved in criminal justice reform (although certainly not for his sake) and began to wake up to the inherent inequalities and injustices on which our society is built. If for this awakening alone, I’m grateful for my father’s incarceration. I don’t know that anything less could have opened my eyes.
But it wasn’t until I returned to DC in 2017 to write this book that I fully internalized the extent to which white supremacy perpetuates itself, and how it unconsciously and consciously continues thriving in white communities through the abuse of political power, discriminatory clubs, galas, property, family inheritance, and greed, to name a few.
I went in search of information that would help me understand how and why the white, antiquated culture in Washington, in which I’d grown up, was being preserved through the next generation. What I found was Robin DiAngelo’s book White Fragility, which explained to me what I was experiencing. At a birthday party for a childhood friend I overheard one of the guests say, “Let’s go downtown and hang out with the commoners.” When I confronted him, bystanders laughed, and I was met with “I was joking!” and “He’s a good friend,” or “He didn’t mean it like that.” How did he mean it, then? And why were they defending him? DiAngelo’s book describes this defense as a psychological phenomenon that happens to white people when confronted with white privilege: we become “fragile,” expressing defensive emotions out of guilt, anger, fear, and centuries of silence.
Visiting my father in a minimum-security prison in El Paso, Texas, after spending my childhood flying in private planes paid for by the exploitation of others forged a sense of urgency within me to sound the alarm. But it was White Fragility that helped me begin to understand how to do it as a white woman. There were many other publications I read that inspired themes throughout the story. You will notice footnotes in the book where I provide historical context; a list of these publications is in the acknowledgments. But I am still continuing to learn and unlearn my own inherent biases.
I completed this book at the end of 2019. Given the current state of the world, I am encouraged that white Americans are being confronted with our whiteness and our personal responsibility to break subconscious and conscious cycles of classism and racism—that we are finally being challenged about what our whiteness means in our daily lives. However, I am also skeptical. So I ask: What does it look like and what will it take for us to break those cycles—institutionally, personally, and within our own families? Is it possible? These are the questions The Cave Dwellers sets out to explore.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people for whom I owe an enormous amount of thanks. First and foremost, this book would have been impossible without my genius editor, Alison Callahan. Thank you for your unwavering belief in me. I am the luckiest to have you. Nancy Palmer and team: Molly, Carter, and Hope, for welcoming me back to Washington with love and open arms, and for giving me a room of my own. You are my family. Aaron Karo and Joshua Thurston, my first readers, my champions, thank you for taking my calls at ungodly hours. Thank you to my dearest friend and forever soul sister, Annie Hudson-Price, for your endless love and support, for your tireless legal work on behalf of those most vulnerable, and for our honest discussions on race and class. Thank you to Hannah Sward and Claire Titelman, for our weekly gatherings and critical feedback, and most important, your friendship and support. Alice Fox for countless hours listening to chapters and Valerie Johns for telling me I wasn’t allowed to hand in anything until it was finished! To my agent extraordinaire, Peter McGuigan, and the entire team at Foundry Literary + Media, especially Kelly Karczewski for being one of the first to read. Thank you.
I’d like to thank the incredible team at Gallery Books/Scout Press for their hard work, Maggie Loughran for your fresh eyes, Brita Lundberg for your early support, Alexandre Su for bringing this to fruition, Joal Hetherington for your sharp eye, Lisa Litwack and Claire Sullivan for this clever and gorgeous cover, and Queen of the house, Jen Bergstrom. I’d also like to thank Aimèe Bell and Sally Marvin, as well as Bianca Salvant and Jessica Roth, for your early support.
I’d like to thank my friends on the frontlines of social justice in this country. Heather Warnken, thank you for your passion and dedication to restorative justice and all that I have learned from convening with you, you are forever my Swamp soul sister. Jim St. Germain, for your advocacy on behalf of the juvenile justice system and for picking up the phone when I called four years ago to tell you I wanted to write this story. Thank you for your encouragement and grace during our many discussions. Tony Lewis Jr. for your leadership in the District and your advocacy work on behalf of children with incarcerated parents. Sarah Comeau for your work at the
