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I’m a privileged white woman from Los Angeles, and I’ve witnessed the kind of favoritism white people rarely talk about. Let’s be real: most won’t like what I’m about to say. Some will be offended—especially the ones I call “Whiteys.” If that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to put this down now and walk away. This isn’t sugar-coated, and it’s definitely not for the overly sensitive. But if you’ve got the guts, read it with a friend and see who laughs (or cries) harder. I had to weave humor into these pages—because if I hadn’t, I would’ve fallen apart. The injustice in this country, especially toward Black and Latino communities, is staggering. And somehow, we’ve let it get this far. I come from a family tangled in uncomfortable legacies—connections to the Klan, ties to royalty (ugh), Mormons who’d rather not claim me, and Amish relatives who are probably the only ones still sending me Christmas cards. Not all white people are racist—but it’s high time we start proving it, not just saying it. And yeah, I’ve got family in law enforcement. White cops. Some of them are not going to be thrilled with what I’ve written here. They can arrest me if they want—it’s the truth, for once. What I saw growing up? You wouldn’t believe it. Hell, I never told anyone. Until now. God forgive me.