don't give up, part 3: get out of your own way

To watch or listen to Dr. Kellett read this essay, visit the Expand Your Us YouTube Channel here: https://youtu.be/gk0SH0kSKSc

In 1967, President Lyndon Johnson established a National Commission on Civil Disorders, asking the Governor of Illinois to lead the effort to explain why the US Government’s intention to recognize and ensure Civil Rights was neither trusted nor considered enough by the people in the streets.

When Governor Kerner submitted the commission’s report, “the President refused to acknowledge it,” according to Dr. Jill Lepore, in a June 22 article in The New Yorker. Like a lot of us, Johnson believed his intentions guaranteed the outcome he desired. When the Voting Rights Act and the Civil Rights Act did not restore the country to immediate peace, Johnson was baffled. At the very least, he expected passive appreciation for his attempt to transform the entire US Government, it’s habits, ways of being and approach to its citizenry. When the outcome of his efforts was not immediate, and when many protestors seemed ungrateful, Johnson decided that he had been brave, taken risks, and tried to help, and that was enough.

Despite forming a commission to help him understand why some Americans felt left out of their government, when Kerner shared valid and historically grounded reasons for the continued tension, Johnson was not interested in what protestors had to say. Presumably, he wanted them to take the win, say thank you, and let the country return to its status quo. Lepore explains that according to his chief speechwriter, Johnson was intensely bothered by the Kerner Report’s findings because, “It hurt his pride.” When his effort and intention was not praised and appreciated, he could not and would not care anymore.

The cultural norms of America make white folks welcome, but demand proof of good faith from Black and Brown people. This is the norm in nearly every place and institution in our country, and it takes a great deal of courage to name that bias and the challenge such power. President Johnson took courageous steps to expose our American racial hierarchy by legitimizing people like Dr. King. He then spent enormous capital to pass meaningfully reforming legislation to guarantee not just legal rights, but civil ones too. He worked so hard, and went so far out on a limb, that he felt betrayed when protests continued.

We can feel that way too. When a powerful white person awakens to racial injustice, it is very easy to burst on the scene and want to take over. Accustomed to efficient, tidy problem solving with clear results, we throw time and money and resources at the problem of racial injustice, certain we will fix it. When our energy and power and resources fail—as they often do—to radically correct systems and patterns of injustice, we experience fatigue, frustration, and exasperation. Like Johnson, our pride can get wounded.

“After all I did, nothing changed!”

“I gave so much, and you don’t even appreciate my effort?”

“I don’t know what else you expect from me. Everything I’ve done came at great expense, and I have nothing left to give.”

Knowing how hard transformative change around racialized thinking can be, our responses, like President Johnson’s response, make a certain amount of sense.

However, his wounded pride and frustration existed in tension with another, more compassionate response: Empathy that led to understanding and solidarity. When President Johnson took a step back and moved his gaze from his own effort, comfort, and insufficient solutions, focusing instead on the lived experience and daily realities of African Americans, he discovered new wells of compassion and understanding. He admitted that despite his best effort to move and improve the lives of Black people, they were “still nowhere. He knows it. That’s why [he is] out in the streets. Hell, I’d be there too.”

When Johnson focused solely on the nobility of his intention, he denied others the right to be dissatisfied with the outcome of his effort. On the other hand, when he allowed himself to observe the disappointing or even hurtful outcome of Civil Rights Legislation, his empathy drove him to forget about his wonderful intention for a moment, and instead find new, creative, energy and resolve to try to make America a more just and perfect union.

President Johnson’s divided responses hold lessons for us, no matter where we stand in relation to social justice and activism.

First, we must allow ourselves to have conflicting responses. We feel like the status quo is too powerful to change and we feel inspired to try. We feel heroic for getting involved and impotent for failing to reform stubborn systems. We feel like generous allies and we continue to benefit from white privilege. We feel pride at changes we’ve made and frustrated when our efforts aren’t recognized. These tensions exist. Recognize them, wrestle with them, but don’t give them the power to make you walk away.

Second, we cannot engage compassion or empathy, nor can we affect meaningful change, when our comfort is our biggest need. Transforming centuries of injustice, and helping generations of white people relax their exclusive grip on power and wealth is wildly uncomfortable. Rocking the boat makes people seasick. We must understand that right action might feel uncomfortable, new, extreme and even wrong if we are to take right action. Notice your discomfort, and decide to commit anyway.

Third, we must know there can be a wide gap between our intentions and the outcomes they produce. Johnson’s intention was to bring about equality and offer hope to every American. The early outcomes had mixed reviews. When our intentions don’t magically transform, guaranteeing perfect outcomes, it is easy to blame others or get defensive. You might show up to help an organization and end up making someone else uncomfortable. You might try to move into a community to help them and get your hand slapped. You might invest in an impoverished person and realize 6 months later that they are still unemployed. Keep your eye on the outcomes, rather than your beautiful intentions, and view these experiences as feedback that can change and improve your approach. Your intentions can be noble, but if we really want to bring change then we must allow outcomes to inform our actions and investments.

Be encouraged that a LOT is happening. Laws have passed, leaders have stepped down or up, concern has been shown, escalation has been exposed, statues have been moved, businesses have divested, mission statements have changed and new policies enforced aimed at equity and inclusion. Yet, I can feel the fatigue of the country, of my city, of friends and family. Johnson demonstrated our penchant for leaning in for a brief time, taking the concerns of vulnerable others seriously, responding with action, and then, importantly, shrugging our shoulders as if to say, “If you aren’t satisfied with all I’ve done, that’s on you. I’m tired of your need to disruptively ask us to change our habits. When you remind us that we treat you with suspicion, project criminality and laziness on to you, refuse to hire or rent to you, and try to keep you out of our spaces, it makes us feel guilty, then annoyed, and finally angry that you won’t just go back inside and trust the system.”

 We have to do better. This work is long and hard. Don’t give up. Look to history, and realize your own compassion and effectiveness might not be trustworthy long-term motivators. Take the time to hear a person’s story whose life is continually diminished because of the gap between who we hope to be and what our habits prove us to be. Hear her story as an invitation to keep acknowledging the tension, decentering your comfort, and paying more attention to outcomes than to your intentions. It will take all of us be a better America. Don’t give up now.