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.

don't give up, part 2: the movement is still non-violent

To watch or listen to Dr. Kellett read this essay, visit the Expand Your Us YouTube Channel here https://youtu.be/fi00yPvbcoA

In 1967, President Lyndon B. Johnson established a National Commission on Civil Disorders and asked them to investigate, explain, and help prevent the protests, police and National Guard reactions, violence and widespread arrests that occurred in the summer of 1965. The Commission was chaired by Governor Kerner, of Illinois, and he was charged with explaining why the US Government’s effort to recognize and ensure Civil Rights was neither trusted nor considered enough by the people in the streets.

We find ourselves in a similar moment. I think many Americans are wondering why protests are still happening. What do they want? What will satisfy them? People who were leaning in, listening and learning, participating in their first protest only a month ago are now wondering why they were sympathetic. It seems to have gone on too long, and while many are all in, others are turning away in skepticism.  It’s helpful to contextualize our moment with the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s; what do we know about how white Americans often respond to moments of Black protest?

 There is a long history of powerful folks saying they want to be allies in the fight against systemic injustice, and then almost immediately criticizing the way victims respond to injustice. We say we want to help, but then pretty quickly demonstrate that we only want to help if we can be In Charge and do it our way. We act like we know how to bring about change, letting our comfort level determine the pace (instead of the level of threat or desperation they experience). Rather than appreciating the fact that a wounded person might be the expert on how to stop the system that wounds them, we assume we know best, relying on cultural norms that give powerful white people unquestioned authority in brown spaces. Learning from the past, allies today need to ask themselves what role their need for comfort or control plays in their willingness to change our unjust status quo. Part of the work before us now is to learn that we don’t have all the answers, and we might need to quietly stand under, behind, or with a hurting person. If we believe that our society has problematic racialized thinking, and that we can play a role in reforming it, we can neither dictate their methods or strategies for reform, nor explain how to appropriately express their grief. 

Looking further into our past, we see how often new partners leave racial reform movements because they don’t like the intensity or they fear violence. Of course there are folks who say now and then, “King [read, non-violence] didn’t work, we need to follow Malcolm or Garvey;” however, then and now, intentional anarchy and violence is an incredibly rare position. Nevertheless, as we see this month in Portland and other cities, sometimes oppression leads to rage that results in violence (perpetrated or provoked by a variety of stakeholders). Violence and looting are destructive, and rarely lead to lasting or positive reform; in fact they more frequently serve as excuses for the status quo to remain.

America has a rich history of white folks exacerbating black violence in order to resist change. Then and now, when “hearts and minds” change and conversations begin, folks find a reason to bail, dismissing the whole movement as violent. Below the surface of this characterization is a worn out stereotype that people of color are violent, like animals. The reality is that white men with power have inflicted more violence on people in America than any other group. When white men rape women, commit fraud, start fires , vandalize or perpetrate mass shootings, we respond to them as individual incidents, making personal exceptions without condemning the whole race or gender. When millions of Black and white people peacefully protest, and a few hundred react violently, we feel justified to wash our hands of them because they are ‘always so violent.’

I expose these patterns to explain why folks feel dismissed or betrayed when white people say, “I’m with you, but feel weird about your looting/violence/shouting/causing a scene” (King’s letter from the Birmingham Jail is pretty helpful here, too). When we lead with concerns about rare looting or violence, we evoke a history in which underlying issues were erased or ignored. A brief period of violence is used to silence outrage about centuries of wrong and racialized hatred.

As allies, we have to advocate BOTH for non-violent resistance, and disrupt norms until structures actually change. We can’t say, “my entrance fee is for you to make me feel better about condemning the looting/violence...THEN I’ll stick around to hear about systemic racialized oppression.”

We can’t say, “I’m with you, but don’t be rude. Or impatient. Or violent. Slow down and it will change.” Instead of asking people of color to pay what I call an ‘entrance fee’ to keep you involved, put your energy, body, money, influence, prayers and votes behind clear policy changes that expose injustice, reduce harmful bias and expand opportunity.

There are many reasons to give up.

 Rocking the boat and challenging powerful status quos is hard work. Making normalized behaviors uncomfortable is very effective in affecting change, but let’s be honest: It is wildly uncomfortable! We live in an age of Cancelling. While it is reasonable to fear being cancelled, don’t let that fear lead you to give up in the righteous fight to increase equity and to stop racial injustice. Those who like the status quo as it is will tell you if you are sympathetic, or support the movement, you must absolutely support every single word ever uttered or action committed by any member of the movement. Not so. Reject that binary and welcome instead the nuance required for complicated, high stakes collaboration. With nearly every single affiliation in my life, there are some aspects that I adore, and others I could do without (or actively oppose). You can’t be married for as long as I have if you pretend that one concerning habit is a reason to bail. If you think our country largely rewards and punishes along racial lines, and if you think we have some toxic habits in our structures and institutions, then don’t give up on our moment to improve the way we treat each other—in neighborhoods, schools, jails, around water coolers, the halls of Congress and the Oval Office.

In August I’m back to posting every other week. First up, we’ll learn what we can from President Johnson’s Kerner Report on the Civil Rights Movement.

don't give up, part 1: be actively antiracist

As peaking summer temps drain us, COVID realities demand we again limit our behavior, school decisions loom and confusing messages about protests abound, it is easy to stick our heads in the sand, ignoring injustice and the painful realities others face. Feeling legitimately overwhelmed, it is easy to shrug our shoulders (either because we don’t know our own power, or because we listen to fear, or because we can’t support some of it so we decide to bail on all of it, or because apathy is so much easier), and turn away. I will offer more ideas on what we are accomplishing and why we have to stay at the work of paying attention to the words and actions of those around us later.

For today, I’d like to gently remind us that we are the people we’ve been waiting for. That your changed action is the spark that could revolutionize your community. That people are being treated differently because of their skin color on your watch, in your city. I will remind us that disagreeing with a pillar or fearing what you see in another city does not mean that your city/business/school/police department/neighborhood/house of worship/drugstore/university/city council/school board suddenly corrected the old habits that protected white supremacy and norms at the expense of brown bodies and their futures. Even if you detest what is going on in some other place, pay attention to what is going on around you.

Let’s keep our eye on the ball. Slow down, breathe, and pay attention to what is happening in your part of the world. Don’t take the easy exit ramp a bad actor across the country revealed; stay on your path, and do the right thing that you see before you right now. This requires you to

a) Pay attention. I know you’re tired. I know the instability and decisions facing your own family are enough to crush you. Lift your eyes and look around anyway. Find people more vulnerable than you who are facing similar challenges, and hear them. (Also, pay attention to local elections and how your school board will care of students whose families have limited resources).

b) Be creative. Creativity and beauty are fierce rejectors of hate and evil. Muster the courage to keep your family talking, showing up, noticing the injustice around you. Creatively think of small (or big) ways your family can speak up for and stand up with people who are hurting. Do the same at work, and in every other room you enter. Teach your kids how to do it too.

c) Be antiracist. Hit pause and hear the things you think or say. Notice and reject statements about “them.” Actively expand how you define “us.” If your us is small and similar, then give your kids and community a chance to thrive in the years to come by expanding that us.

If you noticed yourself leaning in to hard conversations a few months ago about how policing works, about what they are expected to do for and in our communities, about the realities of suspicion and abuse that black folks endure, then commit to staying at it. I’ll remind us how far we’ve come and how we might keep marching on in later weeks. For now, enjoy these suggestions to help spur you to antiracist thinking and acting. Allow them to help you pay attention, and then get creative as you decide how you will engage.

I know you’re tired. Don’t Give Up.

Suggestions to help you become actively antiracist:

(Curated from @ExpandYourUs Tweets in 2017-2019)

Recognizing racism, denouncing its ‘cultural symbols’, is important work, but it quickly becomes a distracting sideshow if we don’t also act as antiracists who dismantle the system of oppression built with racial hierarchies in mind. Be antiracist with yourself, not just a pointer outer of racism in others. To learn more about the work of antiracism, understanding what it asks of you and how it is different than not being racist, read the work of Ibram X. Kendi. In Stamped from the Beginning, he frames the actions and perspectives of historical Americans as either segregationist, assimilationist or antiracist. In How to be an Antiracist, through exploring his own story, he explains the difference in racist and antiracist thinking in every single American mind. All of us, members of every race, ethnicity and religion, have to work to recognize toxic racialized thinking, and then commit to thinking and acting in antiracist ways instead.

Ideas to be actively antiracist

1: Don't say "failing school" (or overlook other coded language like this). Ask instead, "why is our community failing these kids? What can I do?"

2: Own & embody this fact: Interrupting or identifying racist undertones is not bad manners. It's a basic good.

3: Replace judgment with curiosity. Hearing one's different experience poses no threat to your existence. Never ask someone to “prove it” when they share their pain.

4: Recognize that life is incredibly limited if you disregard the experience of others. Pursue diversity by valuing diverse perspectives.

5: Speak about others-strangers & friends-the way you would want your kids to hear people speak about you.

6: Don't look for a reason to be right about your suspicions of others. Look for reasons to be wrong.

7: Transform your desire to "do something" into a desire to know & learn from someone different from you first.

8: If you are new to seeing the reality of systemic racism, own it & then sit at the feet of those at work.

9: Explore your own story in CONTEXT with others, recognizing the hardships & privilege you find there.

10: When you hear stories about America you didn't learn in school or at home, educate yourself before denying them.

11: Utter aloud (to yourself) the stereotypes & prejudices you instinctively believe. Do strangers deserve them? (PS: they sound as bad as they are when you hear them out loud)

12: Witness someone's story without editing it. Resist the temptation to erase her experience.

13: If we don't explicitly reject evil, we walk in step with it, stand in the way of it, and eventually sit down entrenched in it. #rejectracism @mikaedmundson

14: In [a house of worship] look for evidence of actively addressing racial divides & injustice. If not, ask ?s @dukekwondc

15: Don't refuse to others what was freely offered to you. Recognize the access you've been given, & share it.

16: Examine words you use & avoid. Are you unwilling to utter some ideas because you've been told they’re "political"?

17: Fully embody citizenship by informing yourself about your city. Visit night court, learn crime and education stats, ask ?s about why things are the way they are.

18: Trust the shared experience of a person of color more than you trust your perception of their experience.

19: Talk openly (with yourself) about the deficits that come when you share trust & break bread only with people like you.

20: Resist the temptation to make all exposures of racism about you. To be an ally, decenter your self & story in order to see the bigger picture.

21: Know you have a role to play in pursuing equity & justice, & can ask for help in figuring out what it is.

22: Consider the impact of policies on communities of color before boisterously supporting them. Expand your us.

23: Use whatever platform you have to expose injustice through speaking up, asking a question, or passing your mic to an "other." For those of us reluctant to weigh in on advocating for marginalized others, for what are we waiting? For what are we saving our "capital"?

24: If you want to pursue justice, you must sit at the feet of people who identify with marginalized people. Increase your proximity to the powerless until you know them.

25: Hold your tongue before you ask a person to prove their experience of injustice, ostracism or hurt. Listen.

26: Acknowledge & change your instinct to label the box someone fits in. This instinct makes empathy impossible.

27: Figure out how to leverage your power (not just to make money, but) to advocate for those forgotten by others.

28: If someone feels the need to challenge the status quo & protest perceived injustice, LISTEN (don’t just dismiss or tell them to calm down).

29: Find a way to confront bigoted comments/jokes/assumptions in a way that allows the relationship to survive. Blowing up relationships will not reconcile us.

30: It may seem counter-intuitive, but those seeking to examine white evangelical culture and behaviors should actually ask black and brown folks. Our status as "other" (in their eyes) and minorities means we've had to learn their patterns for our own safety and flourishing. @JemarTisby

31: Be willing to admit your mistakes while walking with people whose mistakes define them.

32: Be more about where you stand--not who you distance yourself from.

33: Share your grief/sadness/revelation openly with people you have never “gone there” with you before. Acknowledge all is not well. They might be thankful.

34: Telling ourselves the truth about who we have been, who we are now & who we are committed to caring about is a courageous act of resistance.

35: Rather than taking stances only against people or ideas, what are you for? Who does it help? Who does it hurt?

36: Dream about how you can leverage your assets to take care of folks in your community (rather than thinking of them as tools for your own security).

37: If you want to take care of kids across the country/world, consider investigating your local school or housing situations. Invest in the kids within your proximity who suffer from food insecurity or who are overlooked and undervalued.

38: Be specific in your praise and resistance. “They” are not a thing.

39: It is crucial to know that it is NOT contributing to partisanship to resist systems and norms that are unjust.

40: Recognize difference. It isn’t racist to do so.