"I Believe So"—More Than Just a Question About Race
I came across a video on my Facebook timeline yesterday that I can’t stop thinking about. It immediately resonated with me and I did what I often do, share with family and repost. However, long after I hit share I couldn’t stop thinking about the message in the video and had to rewatch a few more times.
In the video a Rasta man stops a white man, YouTuber Charles Veitch, on the street and asks him, “Are you white?”
Without skipping a beat, Veitch replies, “I believe so.”
Veitch’s answer made me pause. It was kind of funny. Kind of thoughtful. And surprisingly… honest. Most people would’ve just said “yes.” But “I believe so” left room for reflection. It didn’t feel defensive or performative—it felt like someone who hadn’t really been asked to examine that part of themselves before.
From there, the Rasta man takes the conversation somewhere deeper. He talks about how we only can believe in what we don’t know. He challenges Louis to think about what it means to call yourself white. Not as an attack, but as an invitation to really think. And what struck me is he peaceful, loving, and clear his energy was. He wasn’t trying to argue—he was giving a sermon on common sense.
And it made me think about the difference between how white people often experience race compared to how we do as Black people.
For us, identity is never just a belief—it’s something we live. Something we know. From the time we’re kids, we’re made aware of our Blackness. Not because we chose it, but because the world reminds us. Sometimes in beautiful ways, and sometimes in painful ones. But either way, we don’t get to float through life saying “I believe so.” We know so.
That’s not a complaint—it’s just the truth.
What I loved about the video, though, was that it wasn’t confrontational. It wasn’t a “gotcha” moment. It was a real conversation. Honest. Grounded. Thoughtful. And I wish we had more of that.
Then he uses a can-and-water metaphor. And this is where his message really hit me.
He says, if you pour water into a green can, a red can, a blue can… what color is the water?
The answer? It’s still clear.
That simple image was such a beautiful way to talk about identity. About the spirit in each of us and how that should be what defines us. The can is the body. The label. The color. But the water is what’s inside of us—our spirit, our thoughts, our character. Who we truly are. And yet, we live in a world that judges everything based on the can. We live in a world where the can decides our worth. What we look like on the outside, what kind of car we drive, what neighborhood we live in, where we went to school, etc. The list goes on. Unfortunately, in most cases, race plays the biggest part.
We see people, and we immediately place them in a category—race, gender, age, class, status. And once we do that, we start assigning value, intelligence, trustworthiness, and intent based on that label. Meanwhile, most of us never even think to ask what's really inside.
But here’s the thing: the world would be a different place if we approached people like they were water instead of cans.
That conversation reminded me that:
We don’t ask each other enough real questions.
We don’t give each other enough space to not know something.
We’re quicker to react than reflect.
And we spend too much time trying to look the part, instead of being the part.
What if more of us said, “I believe so,” instead of acting like we have all the answers?
What if we asked people questions—not to catch them slipping—but to truly connect?
What if we taught our kids that being proud of who you are doesn’t require dismissing someone else’s truth?
This video was only a little more than two minutes long, but it unpacked things I’m still sitting with. Not just about race, but about ego. About labels. About how we move through the world and how we see each other.
At one point, the Rasta man asks another passerby, “What color is your mind?” And the man laughs, “I don’t know.”
Exactly. You don’t know. But that’s the part of you doing all the thinking.
It was funny, but it was also deep.
We put so much focus on skin color, status, and surface—but rarely do we talk about what actually drives us, what guides our decisions, or what it looks like to lead with truth and love instead of fear and performance.
So here’s what I walked away with:
Let people surprise you.
Ask better questions.
Get curious about your own identity.
Don’t just look at the can. Take time to consider the water.
That conversation didn’t solve racism. But it offered something we need a whole lot more of: real dialogue rooted in love, patience, and truth.
It reminded me that the world doesn’t change through shouting matches and call-outs. Sometimes, it changes when two strangers pause long enough to listen to each other—and leave just a little bit more (dare I say) woke than they were before.
