Dear Zoom Participant:

I don’t know for sure if you were a student or a hacker, but your private chat message to my sixth-grade son, “You’re the worst fucking nigger I’ve ever met”, has left a mark.

Unfortunately, your racist comment isn’t the first he has experienced.

Once last year, a student on the bus told him his nose was too big.

And twice, fellow middle schoolers have called him the n-word, saying an African-American kid gave them a “pass” to do so. Our son’s response both times, “No one, Black or White, can give you a pass to say that word. Don’t do it again.”

But then you came into our lives during the spring of 2020, in the heart of the COVID-19 pandemic, when online learning took over classroom learning. My husband and I sat on the front porch of our home one evening when our son came outside to tell us what had happened.

“Mom, Dad. I was on my Zoom call with my teacher and class and I got a private message, ‘You’re the worst f***ing n***er I’ve ever met’”.

We sat in stunned silence.

“What did you do?” my husband asked.

“I responded back, with ‘?’”.

“How did that make you feel?” I asked.

“Less than,” he replied.

My husband and I had several options, and we rolled them over quickly and silently. We could’ve become indignant, and fueled the anger inside our son, which would’ve left him heated and resentful. We could’ve told him this is just the way the world is right now and has been—racist and hopeless. But instead, unbeknownst to you, we chose to use this teachable moment to empower him.

We suggested he email his teacher and let her know what took place. She would then determine whether you were a student or a hacker. If you were a student, she could discipline you appropriately. Even though we could tell your comment was a big deal to him, he tried to shrug it off, telling us he didn’t want to email his teacher.

We reminded him that racist talk like this happens every day to people of all colors, not just the Black community. It happens in corporate America, small towns, school hallways, and to kids on Zoom calls. To take a stand and email the teacher would be a way for him to be an advocate for the adults and kids of color who don’t have the bravery to do the same. “Imagine if this person is found and justice is served, all because you gathered your courage to write an email,” we said.

Our son agreed and did so.

But when the teacher reviewed the chat, your message was gone, and only my son’s “?” remained. Probably a hacker, you swept in to do psychological damage on my son’s psyche, then ran away. You took your message with you and were off as quickly as you came, maybe to find another child of color on a Zoom call.

You accomplished your goal and injured our son. But you accomplished something else you did not intend—our son grew empowered to stand up to people like you. Although he learned his efforts won’t always get justice, he also learned to dig deep into his soul and find the fortitude to use his voice. And using our voice, in all the ways we can and should, is one of the most effective weapons we have against racism in our country.

I don’t wish you ill; in fact, we as a family have chosen to forgive you. The hate in your heart, as well as your desire to pour hate into someone else, must be a crippling way to move through life. We hope you come to a place of freedom and remorse, and that you find immense love for others. Our family believes this is the only way to live. And if you discover this love within your heart, I have hope you will use the story of hacking into my son’s Zoom call to describe the person you used to be, but it’s not the person you are now.

May you find love and deep peace,
Lisa Lloyd