I am racist. I am love.
The world has tilted dramatically yet again since I last wrote. Probably like yours, my inbox and media feeds have been saturated with words and images and opportunities to learn, listen, look inward, and grow.
There are endless ways to enter the conversation of now, and the overabundance of options has made me slow to write. I have not felt voiceless, but rather clogged with words. I know I’m a leader. I know I have a voice. How am I currently using it? How will I use it? A good friend probed me with these wise questions. I thank her and offer them in turn to you.
I feel the imperative of clearing my clogged throat and speaking to this time, even if the words are imperfect or incomplete. This is me practicing telling a few of my own truths, because I believe claiming our truth is claiming our power and silence is violence.
I hear many asking, “Why now? Why are white people finally paying attention to racism with such intensity now?” My theory is that collective witnessing made the difference. Our compassion/fury chord—the chord right in the center of our hearts—is struck through witnessing far more than through words, and collectively witnessing George Floyd’s death was a watershed moment. I made a conscious choice to watch the full 8 minutes and 46 seconds and not look away.
I’d like to dial back to earlier that same day, March 25, when Amy Cooper called the cops on bird watcher Christopher Cooper after he asked her to leash her dog. She claimed that an African American man was threatening her life. See the video for the full drama, but let’s skip to the prepared statement she made, that began with the sentence, “I am not a racist.”
So this seems like a good place to start and say plainly: I am racist, and coming to understand the truth of this statement was my first step to becoming anti-racist. Raised where I was and when I was makes me incapable of not being implicitly biased toward white supremacy, working subconsciously to maintain my privilege. All my life, I’ve lived and breathed within a set of systems and structures designed to keep down or tear down people of color, especially black people. It’s my work to continue to learn to see these systems and structures—present and past—because if I look away, I perpetuate them. I cannot change something I can’t see. (See Systemic Racism Explained in 4 minutes)
For example, I was one of the many white people to be raised with the notion that being “colorblind” was good. In fact, just five years ago, I found myself in a coaching situation with a man of color struggling with feeling pigeon-holed to lead diversity trainings because of his brown skin, yet I offered him the notion of thinking of himself like Yoda - for many fitting reasons, but one of them because Yoda is green and in some ways “color-less, race-less.” He was rightfully angry, sad, disappointed, and hurt, because I did not yet understand that being able to pretend that color doesn’t matter is an example of white privilege. People of color are always aware of the dynamics of race, and it is my responsibility to learn. That was a painful, shameful experience for me, and I’m grateful that it launched me into much deeper learning.
My purpose with this post is to add my voice to the chorus of people shouting, here is an opportunity for white people to open their eyes and hearts to truths laid bare that were previously too easy to ignore. With all my heart, I hope Amy Cooper can move past the shame and devastation of the Central Park incident and see her own situation as a chance to begin her own learning journey.
And speaking of learning, it thrills me that what is difficult to purchase these days are physical copies of the books White Fragility and How to Be an Anti-Racist. If, when the shelves were bare of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, you would have asked me to predict what might be the next must-have, I never would have guessed they could be books, and especially these. This gives me hope.
If you’ve followed me for awhile, you know I am a former librarian and a lover of resources, but in this moment, there are an overwhelming number of resource lists out there, so instead of offering another, I’d like to share the wise words of Ellen McGirt, mastermind behind Fortune’s raceAhead newsletter.
I suggest any under-informed potential ally begin with this simple strategy:
Choose one book, film, or podcast recommended by a friend you know well.
Finish it. (Emphasis mine)
Discuss the material with your friend, and get comfortable with the experience of talking about the issue.
Choose a second resource, this time recommended by a person who you may not know well (any list works well here) and which has been created by someone as different from you as you can possibly imagine. That’s your opportunity to encounter a truly new point of view.
Pay it forward by recommending that resource to your peer-group for later discussion.
Do it all again.
- Ellen McGirt, from her June 9 newsletter: Dear white people: Our nation turns its racist eyes on you.
Pre-Covid, I spent seven months engaged with an affinity group—white cis women who lead social change in the Denver Metro area—doing what Ellen suggests. We reflected, asked all kinds of questions, discussed, and committed to action, because one of the most important things we learned is that our learning must lead to better outcomes for people of color.
I vow to continue making mistakes, learning, taking action, and calling to mind Mark Nepo’s quote, “Each time we experience truth—each time we suffer or love—the range of our compassion widens.” I vow to continually open my heart, allowing myself to be hurt, to be vulnerable. And I vow to keep growing my capacity to remain present and feel my way through countless challenges. I vow to love, engage, and vote.