The “S” in PRISM stands for stereotype replacement. Gupta guides us through a few examples, again saying a word and asking us to be mindful of the first association that appears in our minds, and then inviting us to consider alternate examples, adding depth and complexity to our automatic associations. I found the practice to be simple and helpful, something I can easily do on my own when I notice stereotypical associations arising in my own mind, and something I can teach others to do.
Gupta speaks the names of various roles and asks us to note the very first association that appears in our minds. Examples of the roles includes scientist, entrepreneur, yoga teacher, and lawyer. I’m disappointed and a little embarrassed that the first association my mind makes for scientist, entrepreneur, and lawyer are images of white men, and a white woman for yoga teacher.
Gupta introduces us to himself, his interest in anti-bias work, and his PRISM framework. He then invites us to reflect on this quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in meditation:
Our goal is to create a beloved community and this will require a qualitative change in our souls as well as a quantitative change in our lives.
As I reflected on the parts of that quote, I found myself feeling a longing for my Social Justice Training Institute cohort during the first clause, since that has been my most direct experience of what I think Beloved Community might actually feel like. During the second clause (qualitative change in our hearts) I felt warmth, as I usually do when thinking about inclusion. It was during the the third clause (quantitative change in our lives) that I felt fear. I feared the guilt that arises when I think about my relative material privilege, and I feared having to give up things I enjoy, like bikes, eating out, and traveling.
I’ve begun a course in Insight Timer by Anu Gupta called Breaking Bias with Mindfulness and plan to post short reflections on the lessons here.
Since our current president is trying to get this claim of election fraud to stick, I thought I’d share my experience with counting absentee ballots on the Ingham County Consolidated Absent Voter Counting Board. We were told the rules we were being required to follow were dictated by Michigan law, and so its reasonable to expect that similar processes were being followed everywhere else in Michigan. In fact, we got threatened with having to appear before a judge and potentially get a felony multiple times. The county clerk staff took ballot counting very seriously! We were not allowed to bring any technology that connected to the internet into the building, including smart watches or kindles. And we were not allowed to leave the building until they let us, which you’ll read about later.
The deputy county clerk said that until the day of the election, the ballots were stored in a vault in the county building that could only be accessed by ID by a couple people, and he said they would run a report of access to that vault the morning of the election to ensure there wasn’t any unauthorized access. The ballots, which were in sealed bags, were then transported from there to the place we were doing the counting by a Democrat (D) and Republican (R). This is a recurring theme: any tasks that involved any potential for mistake or fraud or decision-making had to be done in D-R pairs. If one person needed to get a drink of water or use the restroom, the other had to stop working and wait until their partner returned.
We were allowed to open the bags and start processing the ballots at 7am. There was a whole assembly line of people opening the envelopes, removing the secrecy sleeve, tearing off the stub, taking the ballot out of the secrecy sleeve, flattening, counting, and preparing the ballots to be tabulated. I wasn’t involved in that processing, so my friends could answer questions about how that worked. What I do know is that the process was designed to protect the confidentiality of voters, so that even if you knew the identity of a voter, you wouldn’t know how they voted because the ballot doesn’t get removed from the secrecy sleeve until a couple steps down the line after any identifying information has been removed.
I was on a tabulation team, which meant I and my R colleague were grabbing stacks of ballots from the processing team, feeding them into the scanner, ensuring the scanner read the correct number of ballots, sorting out any errors, sending the scans to the adjudication team, labeling the stacks of ballots with a precinct and batch number, and placing the ballots back in the bags so they can be saved in case there is a recount. The errors I mentioned were infrequent. Sometimes the scanner would miss a ballot, so we would have to reject the batch and rescan it until the number scanned was the same as the number in the batch (which, in our case, was almost always 25).
Every once in a while a ballot was from the wrong precinct, which usually meant a voter somehow voted a ballot from a precinct different than the one in which they lived. Sometimes a ballot could not be scanned because there was a smudge on the “timing marks” along the borders of the ballot. The solution for either of these situations was to send this ballot to the duplication team. The duplication team would work in D-R pairs with a well-defined process to transfer the votes from the original ballot onto a fresh ballot from the correct precinct. Eventually we’d get the duplicated ballot back and tabulate it. Like I said, these were infrequent, maybe 5 ballots out of 1,000 at the most, and both the originals and the duplicates were saved.
Once my colleague and I were finished tabulating a precinct, the deputy clerk would come over and compare the number of ballots scanned with the number of ballots that precinct reported they collected. This was usually a matter of excitement and fanfare. This is important: if the number of ballots scanned differed from the number that precinct reported collecting, even by just one ballot, that meant we had to find the cause of the discrepancy and potentially retabulate the entire precinct.
While we were working, the adjudication team was reviewing ambiguous ballots. They worked in D-R pairs to review any issues the tabulation system identified, such as over-votes, write-ins, or ambiguous markings. Over-votes happen when someone votes for more candidates then there are available seats in a particular contest. My understanding is that write-ins eventually get sent to the “board of canvassers” to consolidate votes for candidates (e.g. Bob Smith and Robert Smith are votes for the same person, which was reportedly not allowed before write-in candidates had to register). Ambiguous markings are resolved by determining what a voter’s most consistent markings are. E.g., if the voter filled in most of the ovals completely and then one oval just had a slash through it which resulted in an over-vote, the adjudicators could rule that the slash was accidental (the person sneezed) and invalidate it, allowing the voter’s vote to count in that contest. Again: none of these decisions were made unilaterally. The D-R pair had to agree on every decision. If they could not agree, they were to fetch the co-chairs (also a bipartisan pair) and the four of them would make a decision together.
I have not yet mentioned another source of accountability: the election challengers. There were representatives of the Democratic and Republican parties there as challengers, watching the process to ensure rules were being followed properly. They spent most of their time watching the screen of the adjudicators, but they would occasionally walk around and observe the other teams working, writing in their notebooks as they went. They were not allowed to talk to the election workers. They could only speak to the county clerk staff, who were neutral, not associated with a party. My understanding was that they could only challenge something if they felt a rule was not being followed. There was only one time the entire day I saw them speaking with the clerk staff in a way that made me think they might be challenging something, but I’m not sure if any challenge was actually made.
Of the 19 precincts we tabulated that day, 16 of them balanced on the first try, meaning we tabulated the exact number of ballots the precinct reported. For the other three, three large teams had to be assembled to hand count every single ballot envelope from that precinct to see if perhaps the precinct miscounted. 1.5 hours later, we learned that turned out to be the case for two precincts, so those precincts balanced. The third, largest precinct (almost 2,000 ballots) ended up with one extra ballot remaining, meaning we had tabulated one more ballot than the precinct reported they collected. At this point it was 8pm, we had all been there since 6am, and the deputy clerk said it’s possible that two of the envelopes stuck together when doing the hand count. I was thankful he didn’t order another 1.5 hour (actually, probably 2-2.5 hours in the case of that precinct, since I think they started hand counting earlier than the others) hand count. He must have deemed this acceptable, and I assume if any race came down to a difference of a single vote, a runoff or recount could be ordered.
This seems worth highlighting: out of 18,795 ballots, at the end of the night we only had one ballot not accounted for.
After all the processing, tabulating, adjudicating, and double-checking was finished, a whole bunch of steps were left that apparently could only be done by the co-chairs while the rest of us either stood around or helped put away chairs, tables, carry sealed ballot bags out to vans, etc. This took 2.5 hours, I kid you not. It seemed every single page in a gigantic 3-ring binder had to be signed by the chairs, multiple reports had to be printed and then signed by every single person in the room, with more threats of tracking us down and putting us in front of a judge if we weren’t compliant. Ballots had to be sealed and signed by co-chairs and then loaded into a van to be driven back to the vault from whence they came by two Dems and two Republicans. And all the results and reports had to be loaded onto a flash drive. Oh, I forgot to mention: we were told that the three computers we were using for tabulation and adjudication and the flash drive used to transfer the results had never touched the Internet. Once all of this was completed and we had all signed our time sheets, we were finally allowed to leave.
I can’t speak for what happened before or after ballots entered that room, but I hope this helps readers understand how incredibly difficult it would be to commit voting fraud in the places where absentee ballots are being processed and tabulated in a strictly-enforced bipartisan process.
I’ve been using Insight Timer, a meditation app, since 2012. I usually just use the timer and meditate in silence, or maybe meditate to some ambient music or sounding bowls. But this year they’ve been honoring Black History Month by featuring guided meditations from Black guides, so I decided I’d give some of them a try. I’ve been so impressed. Lalah Delia’s Energy Cleanse: Sacred Waters is a beautiful guided imagery taking you through a waterfall and beyond. Alexandra Elle has some great guided writing exercises, including one on affirmations and a letter for self-forgiveness. Lauren Ash has a well-rounded practice that includes breath work, a body scan, and connection with intuition, all on top of hip-hop inspired background music.
Rachel Ricketts is a thought leader and champion for Black and Indigenous womxn. As a racial justice activist, lawyer, healer, speaker + author, she educates white folx on their role in perpetuating white supremacy, and helps folx of colour heal from internalized oppression. Rachel hosts workshops that promote racial justice and offer solutions for all hue-mans to dismantle white supremacist heteropatriarchy, heal from racialized trauma, and better connect with themselves and each other.
Her session Lovingly Exploring Our Emtions connects our personal emotional experiences to oppressive, exploitative systems, which I think is crucial in helping would-be activists develop self-interest in the work of resistance and collective healing. I appreciate her warning to address our own pain before or at least as we engage in collective work, so as to cause more good than harm. I also appreciate her acknowledgement of Eastern religious and spiritual traditions that have provided the foundation for many of the meditation practices that are taught today. Her Breathing and Being With the Earth helps us connect to trees and the Earth, ancient sources of calm and wisdom and vitality.
The crown jewel in her library so far, in my opinion, is Stepping Into Spiritual Activism. I think it probably summarizes her mission. It is her invitation to those who want to dismantle white supremacist heteropatriarchy to first dismantle it within themselves, thus avoiding the “spiritual bypassing” she sees often among activists. She gives different advice to white folks and people of color, and acknowledges we’ve all been affected. It’s so good, so helpful, so important, so unflinching and compassionate and well-done. It reminded me of conversations I’ve had with a fellow anti-racist worker about my desire for an activist space that is not owned by a particular religious or spiritual tradition but that welcomes everyone to bring their own religious and spiritual beliefs and practices into the activist work. If we don’t make space for those, I think we rob our movements of deep wells of inspiration and motivation and healing.
I encourage you to check some of these out, regardless of whether you’re interested in meditation. If you like what you hear, consider paying the creators! You can donate directly in the Insight Timer app. Rachel Ricketts can also take donations via Patreon or Paypal.
It’s been difficult to find time to write for anyone other than my professors for the last five years, but I want to start trying. I’m interested in writing about trying to become a professional mental health counselor with a strong focus on social justice, since it’s been difficult for me so far.
Here’s the dynamic I think I’m noticing: for good reason, elders in the counseling world want young counselors-in-training (CITs) to adopt a posture of humility and learning. They want us to recognize that there is so much we don’t know about treating our clients well, and to be dependent on them to learn. That is well and good. It is true that we have much to learn.
But Sue, Arredondo and McDavis was published in 1992, and I imagine it took quite some time to get incorporated into the way that CITs were trained. This means that many of today’s counseling elders likely came up in a system in which Eurocentric approaches to mental health were the largely-unquestioned norm. I imagine that is still the case in a lot of places. In my Theories of Counseling course, we didn’t get to theories that start to question those norms, postmodern theories like multicultural, feminist, narrative and collaborative, until the last two chapters of the book and the last week or two of the semester, when we were already rushing to finish our final papers and the class. So you could say that a strong social justice perspective is still lacking in counselor education. Of course, I can only speak for my own experience, but since my program is close to becoming accredited by CACREP, which places many requirements on curriculum, I’m sure the experience is not wildly different for others students in CACREP programs. I’m grateful my program has some faculty with social justice orientations that compensate for the dearth of it in the curriculum. One of them is responsible for bringing the Multicultural Issues in Counseling course into the twenty-first century by imbuing it with a focus on social justice.
So, while I understand that I and my fellow CITs have much to learn about counseling, treatment planning, note writing, etc., I wish that counseling elders would more readily acknowledge that they may be less practiced in questioning norms than those of us who’ve grown up in a world where doing so is increasingly an expectation. If they did, it would be easier to combine the best of what we each know, rather than falling into the age-old trap of indiscriminately rejecting the values of the previous generation.
Last night I watched the first episode of Stranger Things. There was this moment where this woman pretends to be a social services worker, answering a call from a man who has found himself taking care of a girl who he thinks has run away from a hospital, who he thinks has been abused, who has only said one word (“eleven”). He didn’t expect social services to show up so late, so he welcomes her in but tells her he didn’t tell the child someone was coming yet, so he walks a bit ahead of her, wanting to get to the child first so he can explain what’s about to happen, so the child will be less afraid. The woman takes advantage of this gesture, this moment where the man is focusing his attention on the child, as she takes out a silenced pistol and shoots him in the back.
And the scene just moves on. No sad music, no one mourning the loss of this big, compassionate man who took this girl in. And I didn’t really even notice how devastating this was while watching. I just moved on too, thinking, okay, whatever, that’s how this show is going to be. People are expendable, apparently. But today, reflecting on the scene, I’m sad. I’m sad that it felt fairly normal, that I wasn’t that surprised that a script would just eliminate the most compassionate character in the episode without any fanfare.
And it makes me wonder, are there shows out there that do the opposite? Are there shows that magnify compassion, that celebrate it, that put the spotlight on small acts of tenderness? Because that’s what I want to watch.
This was originally presented as a sermon at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Central Michigan on May 26th, 2019.
“In a 1993 interview, Toni Morrison said about racism in America: ‘White people have a very, very serious problem, and they should start thinking about what they can do about it.’ She added, ‘Take me out of it.’ Those words landed in me as a direct command.”
— Anastasia Higginbotham
We are gathered today on the traditional territory of the Anishnaabeg people, who stewarded this land for generations, until the treaties they signed with the U.S. government established a reservation, parceled into privately owned lots. When annuity payments were delayed and many tribal members fell into poverty, they sold their lots to lumber sharks in order to survive. Many of us now live on those lots.
Memorial Day acknowledgement
Before I begin, I want to acknowledge Memorial Day. I lean pacifist, so I have trouble with this. But I want to acknowledge that soldiers fight in wars they didn’t declare, and that many of them encounter severe obstacles upon returning to civilian life. Many are treated ambivalently at best, struggle with loneliness, and suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. 17 veterans take their own lives each day. If you know a veteran, please offer support, and please don’t be afraid to ask if they ever think about suicide. It’s only awkward if we make it awkward. You might save a life.
Intro – opening, listening, changing
Okay, I am a white man, and today I’m speaking to white people. Feel free to include yourself if you are white-passing, or even if some of your ancestors are white and you want to explore the white part of your identity. In honor of Memorial Day, I’ll give you the Bottom Line Up Front. Today I’ll be attempting to emphasize what I believe are three important responsibilities of white people, which are born of my own experience. They are opening, listening, and changing.
First, I invite us to open. I think this is the kind of opening that can feel like breaking, to quote the story for all ages we read moments ago (Not My Idea by Anastasia Higginbotham). I invite us to open up to the possibility that no matter how liberal and progressive our upbringing and current communities, we white people have all been socialized in a world that has repeatedly told us that we are better, smarter, more moral, and more deserving, and those messages have shaped our psyches in ways that can probably never be fully undone. This is called internalized dominance. We still harbor unconscious racist attitudes and occasionally engage in racist behaviors. I invite us to open to the realization that white supremacy culture exists, that we’re largely unaware of it, and that we’ve largely accepted it. This is where we’ll spend the bulk of our time today.
Next, I invite us to listen. We can engage within and across racial differences, inviting other whites and people of color to give us honest feedback on how we’re showing up and how we’ve affected them. We can listen without offering justifications, and take what others say to heart. This is probably the most difficult step.
After that, I invite us to change. We can commit ourselves to continually doing our own work, being self-reflective, noticing how we show up and affect others. We can form relationships characterized by mutuality. And we can engage within and across differences to dismantle racist structures wherever they exist, starting with our own organizations and institutions. As white people, dismantling racism is our responsibility. I’ll say that again: dismantling racism is the responsibility of white people. Modern racism was invented by white people to benefit white people, and it has been doing so for at least four centuries.
As an example, just to get us thinking about where the rubber meets the road: we’re about to hire a new minister. If we are not reflective on how race effects our impressions of candidates, we will reproduce the racist dynamics that we’ve been socialized into. We’ll end up thinking the person that is more similar to us is the better “fit.” It’s our responsibility to ensure we engage in a fair hiring process, and that requires us to make conscious our unconscious biases. Let me emphasize: I don’t think shame is a useful tool in this work. We all have biases. We’re human. Please don’t shame yourself or someone else for them. Start with where you are.
What is Whiteness?
Okay, let’s talk about whiteness. At the start, I acknowledge that sometimes conversations about race can feel like walking on thin ice, or through a haunted house at Halloween. You never know when you’re going to make a wrong turn that’ll get you into trouble. When something is hard, you can go ahead and call it work. Conversations about race are part of the work of racial justice. I’m not here to convince you that it gets easier, but I hope to start to convince you that it’s worthwhile.
As Sarah Stewart wrote in the story that Andrea read for us, “‘whiteness’ is not an ethnic group, a cultural group, or a nationality.” So what is it? Whiteness, and race in general, are social constructs with real consequences. Paul Kivel calls whiteness “a powerful fiction enforced by power and violence. Whiteness is a constantly shifting boundary separating those who are entitled to certain benefits from those whose exploitation and vulnerability to violence is justified by their not being white.”1 Let’s compare Kivel’s definition with some examples. Bell, Funk, Joshi, and Valdivia, writing about the beginnings of the United States, write “racial categorization and hierarchy evolved hand in hand to define some groups as inherently superior (those who were white/light skinned) and other groups as inferior (those with darker skin). This idea meshed well with a colonial and revolutionary system that espoused principles of equality and rights but had to rationalize the enslavement of human beings.” 2 Yes, Kivel’s definition checks out here; slavery is the epitome of exploitation and vulnerability to violence.
Half a century later, Irish, Italians, and people immigrating from eastern European countries were not considered white. They were regularly discriminated against. You may have heard of signs hung on shop windows stating, “No Irish need apply.” Again, Kivel’s definition checks out. Eastern European immigrants experienced job discrimination. This was the case until, in the years following the Civil War, when freed slaves began migrating north, those newer European immigrants found common cause with other light-skinned people in their discrimination towards African Americans. They sacrificed their cultural heritage in order to be counted as white. 3
Finally, as we heard in Stewart’s story, as late as the 1920s, if you weren’t born in the U.S., you had to prove you were white in order to become a citizen and own property. Again, Kivel’s definition applies: only immigrants who could prove they were white could own property and start building wealth for themselves and future generations.
These are just a few of many examples of ways in which whiteness was defined in such a way as to provide benefits to some at the exclusion of others. For more examples, check out the list of resources included in your order of service, especially Uprooting Racism by Paul Kivel.
Our experiences of whiteness
It’s at this point that I want to give you all a chance to interact with today’s topic. First, a question for you: are you white? Paul Kivel writes, “If, when you move down the streets of major cities, other people assume, based on skin color, dress, physical appearance or total impression, that you are white, then in U.S. society that counts for being white.” But some of us who are read as white resist the label. Why is that?
I’m going to give you a couple questions to discuss with a neighbor or, if you prefer, to journal about on your own. I’m not going to ask you to report out to the larger group. There are some papers and pens up front. You can start talking as soon as ring the bell. Here’s the prompt: What parts of your identity does it feel like you lose when you say “I’m white?” If you don’t identify as white, you can respond to this: What parts of your identity are hidden until someone gets to know you? I’ll call us back together in two minutes. Since you only have a couple minutes, watch the time to ensure you both have a chance to speak. (Ring bell)
Another way of looking at whiteness is through the lens of the culture that has been created by it. Tema Okun has written a marvelous piece on characteristics of white supremacy culture and their antidotes, including an introduction to how culture operates, that I highly suggest you check out4. It’s listed at the bottom of your list of resources. This will provide the prompt for our next discussion question. Okun’s characteristics of white supremacy culture are “Perfectionism, a sense of urgency, defensiveness, valuing quantity over quality, worship of the written word, belief in only one right way, paternalism, either/or thinking, power hoarding, fear of open conflict, individualism, belief that I’m the only one (who can do this ‘right’), the belief that progress is bigger and more, a belief in objectivity, and claiming a right to comfort.” Take a minute to take in the list (it should be on the screen), then turn to a neighbor or your paper and make some quick observations on which of these characteristics are especially ingrained in your own ways of thinking and behaving. I’ll call us back together in three minutes. (Ring bell)
Why talk about whiteness?
The costs of racism to white people
I hope that last discussion question helped us get a handle on why it matters to talk about whiteness. One good reason is to start to grasp the costs of racism to us as white people. That conversation can help white people find self-interest in anti-racist work, which is important for maintaining authenticity and endurance in the work. I remember the first time I saw Okun’s list, I saw myself all over it. I’ve suffered from perfectionism, a sense of urgency, a fear of open conflict, a belief in only one right way, and a belief in objectivity most of my life. I also picked up worship of the written word, paternalism, dualistic thinking, power hoarding, and a belief that progress is bigger and more from most of the institutions I’ve been a part of, and especially from Christian churches. These characteristics do not lead to healthy institutions or healthy people.
I’ve felt this cost personally. I carried these white cultural characteristics into my anti-racism work, with detrimental consequences for myself and my family. When I first became active in anti-racist efforts, I felt that, as a white person, I didn’t deserve to take any breaks or pace myself. Sense of urgency and quantity over quality, right? I also felt I had to be perfect. I couldn’t accidentally recreate any racist dynamics, or I’d be doing more harm than good, right? In addition to perfectionism, that’s manifesting a belief in only one right way and a fear of conflict. Long story short, I put far too much pressure on myself and burned myself and my family out multiple times.
Our Unitarian Universalist principles also help us understand why it’s important to interrogate whiteness. Our first principle calls us to recognize the inherent worth and dignity of every person. Of course, we as white people need to recognize that people of color have just as much worth and dignity as us. However, we also need to recognize our own worth and dignity, which becomes more difficult the more we learn about the history of white people using their control of systems to advantage themselves at the expense of people of color. Perhaps this is part of what James Baldwin was getting at when he said, “White people in this country will have quite enough to do in learning how to accept and love themselves and each other, and when they have achieved this — which will not be tomorrow and will not be today and may very well be never — the Negro problem will no longer exist, for it will no longer be needed.”
Our second principle pushes us to work for justice, equity, and compassion in human relations. Equity requires us to give each person what they need, rather than giving everyone the same exact thing. It’s hard to make a case for equity in race relations without understanding the history of racism and whiteness.
Our sixth principle encourages us towards the goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all. I don’t think such a Beloved Community is possible without people who are comfortable talking about, respecting, and celebrating our differences. Until we can acknowledge our whiteness and the historical legacy that comes with it, we cannot truly be in community with people of color. In my experience, simply signaling the people of color you know that you are willing to talk about how race affects their life and your relationship will lead you to a level of depth in your relationship that would have been impossible without that invitation.
Even the seventh principle is at play here, because one of the historical legacies of racism is the exploitation of natural resources for the enrichment of wealthy white folks, from the cotton plantations of two centuries ago to the Dakota Access Pipeline today. I believe respect for the interdependent web of all existence calls us to work for a world in which all people with connections to the land and its resources have a say in what happens with it.
Because ending racism is our responsibility
The final reason I’ll give today for talking about whiteness is that, as white people, ending racism is our responsibility. When talking with Krista Tippett for an episode of On Being, writer Eula Bliss said, ”The state of white life is that we’re living in a house we believe we own but that we’ve never paid off.” European settlers built our country on the genocide of the indigenous population, the theft of their land, and the enslavement of Africans. White people are still benefiting from that theft of life, land, and labor. We white folks have to figure out practical ways to share what we have, and maybe even experience Beloved Community as a result.
But white folks can’t get serious about reparations if they’re still getting defensive when someone merely points out the fact that they have white privilege. Having conversations about whiteness is one way we can each help the white folks in our lives gain some stamina so we can move beyond Racism 101 and start looking for real solutions.
Listen & Change
Okay, I want to end with some lessons I’ve learned about listening and changing.
First, whites need to show up and be vulnerable. When we, as white people, show up in anti-racist work thinking we’re good allies and we know what to do, no one is better for it. We’re not in a position to grow. On the other hand, if we show up vulnerable, as the messy, imperfect human beings that we are, we are ripe for change. And that vulnerability helps us connect with other white people and call them in to the work along with us.
Second, it’s liberating to gather with other white people and admit to racist attitudes and behaviors. I wrote a blog post about this a couple years ago, after watching the video that Dawn showed us in which Jay Smooth compared unlearning internalized racism to dental hygiene. What I found in a circle of supportive, anti-racist white folks, was that there were many ways I participate in racism that I hadn’t even understood as such. We can’t do this work alone.
Third, elitism and purity are unhelpful. You will find self-righteous activists who will delight in pointing out all the ways your work is problematic, especially if you spend some time on social justice twitter. Please don’t be one of these people. It’s important to stay open, to listen to criticism, to be accountable to others, and especially to people of color. And if someone invites your critical feedback, by all means, be honest, with love. But something Evangeline Weiss said at a training I was a part of has stuck with me: there are as many ways to do anti-racism work as there are people doing it. We need everyone in the game. So, if you receive unsolicited criticism of your anti-racist efforts from another white person, just ask that person to help you make it better. You’ll find out how much they really care.
Finally, be gentle with yourself. Pace yourself. Don’t let guilt prevent you from doing the work. Don’t try to solve every problem at once. We can’t dismantle centuries of racism overnight. Love yourself, as Baldwin invited us to. This is long-haul work, work that I believe is critical for the survival of the human race. Let’s open, listen, and change.
Shalom and salaam, blessed be, and amen.
“White people in this country will have quite enough to do in learning how to accept and love themselves and each other, and when they have achieved this — which will not be tomorrow and will not be today and may very well be never — the Negro problem will no longer exist, for it will no longer be needed.”
― James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time
“Racism was not your idea. You don’t need to defend it.”
— Anastasia Higginbotham
- Paul Kivel. Uprooting Racism, 3rd ed. 2011, p. 17. ↩
- Lee Ann Bell, Michael S. Funk, Khyati Y. Joshi, and Marjori Valdivia. “Racism and White Privilege,” in Teaching for Diversity and Social Justice, 3rd ed. 2016, p. 141. ↩
- Andrés Tapia. The Inclusion Paradox, 3rd ed. 2016, pp. 162-163. ↩
- http://www.dismantlingracism.org/white-supremacy-culture.html ↩
As children, we start off at the center of our own universe, where we interpret everything that happens from an egocentric vantage point. If our parents or grandparents keep telling us we’re the cutest, most delicious thing in the world, we don’t question their judgment—we must be exactly that. And deep down, no matter what else we learn about ourselves, we will carry that sense with us: that we are basically adorable. As a result, if we later hook up with somebody who treats us badly, we will be outraged. It won’t feel right: It’s not familiar; it’s not like home. But if we are abused or ignored in childhood, or grow up in a family where sexuality is treated with disgust, our inner map contains a different message. Our sense of our self is marked by contempt and humiliation, and we are more likely to think “he (or she) has my number” and fail to protest if we are mistreated (The Body Keeps the Score, p. 127).