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As I write this reflection, the current U.S. context is hard. The devastating fires in L.A. feel in some ways like a physical manifestation of the current state of the country. It’s on fire. It’s chaotic and scary. And while many hard-working people work to address the immediate issues, others are using the circumstances for personal and political gain, to spew vitriol and attack the mechanisms of community connection and support. And just like the fires, the impact is not metaphorical. Real people are being harmed and those who are marginalized will feel that impact the most. 

It is hard. I feel the angst caused by our current political climate in my soul and it has been a struggle not to react from a place of fear, disgust and self-righteousness. Even though I know that a response fueled by disdain and hate are not aligned with my values, it’s hard. 

Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy.

Thomas Merton

And that is why, when I saw this Thomas Merton quote, I had to catch my breath. I immediately saved it and it has been in the back of my mind ever since. I want to approach this current context grounded in my values. 

Hate is too great a burden to bear. I have decided to love.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. From his 1967 “Where Do We Go From Here?” address.

In college, I was in a workshop and the facilitators talked about the notion of love in relation to what we called “multicultural education” back then. I remember dismissing the notion out of hand. “I don’t need to love someone to address racism.” I mean, I still get where I was coming from, and my understanding of love is different now. My definition now is both broader and deeper and does not only include an individual feeling one has for another. I understand now that love can also be a guiding force. 

Love is an action word.

slogan on one of my favorite t-shirts from Mahogany Mommies

Love is an action. More so, love is a choice in every action. And I want to choose actions that signifies that every person, by virtue of being human, is deserving of dignity. Or perhaps, also by virtue of being human, we are all equally undeserving as well. In our shared imperfection, love is choosing to honor our humanity. However, self-righteousness and frustration, hurt and fear too often lead me out of my values and how I want to show up in the world. 

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. from Strength to Love

I think as a society we view love as facile or trite or simple. On the contrary, love, like hope, is not naive. Love isn’t meek. Love doesn’t mean absence of anger. Love opens space for grief, heartbreak and betrayal. And I feel all of those things. 

I am angry at the distorted use of the term DEI as a bludgeon – a crafty tool wielded to destroy efforts to fight racism, sexism and transphobia and challenge systems of oppression. I am angry at the corporations that have chosen to follow suit, pretending that bias no longer exists because equity and inclusion have fallen out of fashion. I am angry at the clever sleight of hand, distracting from the placement of wildly unqualified white folks in the highest positions of power in the U.S. government.

I am angry that trans youth (and adults) are forced to leave their home states in the attempt to ensure their safety and access to care. I am angry that those seeking autonomy over their body must follow suit, having to flee to states where they can still seek reproductive healthcare. And I am angry that many people don’t have the resources and options to leave, making them vulnerable and at risk. I am angry that trans youth trying to live their childhoods through the joy of sports and play are being used as political pawns in a manufactured culture war. 

I am angry that undocumented people are scapegoated in a brazen tactic to foment xenophobia and racism as a way to hold and maintain power. I am angry that the basic humanity of people fleeing chaos and corruption – and trying to carve out a life for themselves – is being discarded in frenzied, ill conceived calls for mass deportation.

I am alarmed at the absorption of disinformation designed to sow fear and hatred – a process President Biden described as “truth is smothered by lies told for power and for profit.” (Farewell Address, January 15, 2025)

And I am heartbroken that on this day – the day set aside to honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s and the Civil Rights Movement’s legacy and to remind us all of the work still to be done to accomplish his dream – we have a man who is the opposite of all of those values and who is actively working to dismantle civil rights being sworn into office as President of the United States.

It’s hard. And yet, still, I am choosing love.

Can you hold someone accountable while holding on to their humanity?

me, question I ask at workshops for The Conflict Center

Dr. King speaks a lot about love, often drawn from his faith. I am grappling with the type of love he articulated, which he referred to as agape. Agape is a love that transcends and forgives. Dr. King described agape as “something of the understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. It is a love that seeks nothing in return.” I am working to understand agape and manifest love in the way Dr. King described. However, I do understand that love is not the opposite of accountability. It’s how we hold people accountable, instead of punishment or revenge. It is understanding that we are ALL part of the system and each of us makes choices everyday whether to uphold or dismantle that system.

Today we want to lift up the piece about not getting caught in the blame game. We’ve been socialized by oppression into that game – and blame is just a fancy name for shame, which is one of oppression’s (in all its forms) prime weapons for keeping us in check and in bondage.

Tanya Williams, November 6, 2024

And some days it feels so hard. The despair and loss is real. I feel like I’m in a time loop and I wonder if the years we’ve dedicated to anti-bias education, to equity, to social justice have made a difference. We have lost so much traction. I was talking to someone who was at Teaching Tolerance (now Learning for Justice) at the same time I was working with A World of Difference Institute and she said “Look at where we are now. I feel like we failed.”  

Oh, I felt that.

And I know that this level of pushback actually is an indication that DEI and social justice work has been successful in many ways. Folks don’t try this hard to denigrate and dismantle something if it didn’t have an impact. As a country, we’ve been in similar places over and over again – movement forward and then power pushes back. Fear and hatred have always been a wedge to keep people apart.

And so the choice is love.

I do not want to lose basic empathy for people impacted by disaster because they are the wrong kind of wealthy or live in a state that has been vilified in my social media feed. 

I do not want to fall into the trap of dichotomy – that people are either good or bad, deserving or not, smart or dumb.

I do not want to be fooled by the algorithms of cognitive dissonance.

I do not want to be lulled by the allure of self-righteousness.

I have one life and one chance to make it count for something. I’m free to choose that something. That something—the something that I’ve chosen—is my faith. My faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I can, whenever I can, for as long as I can with whatever I have, to try to make a difference.

President Jimmy Carter, as quoted by his niece Kim Fuller, February 19, 2023, prayer service

I am not religious and would not describe myself as a person of faith in the way that President Carter uses the word. However, I can relate to this steadfast belief in service. I strive to be this version of myself, especially now and especially in my grief, my anger and my fear.  

Love is clear.

Love is fueled by belief in humanity.  

Love is grief and resilience and resolve. 

Love is fighting against systems of oppression.

Love is the action I choose without stopping to inquire whether or not we are worthy. 

As I reflect on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day I’ve been thinking a lot about systems, and the public education system, in particular. Twelve years ago, our oldest was four and we were looking into public schools for the first time. A friend of mine knew someone whose children were students at our neighborhood school- Palmer Elementary- and the father agreed to talk with me about their experience there. As we were speaking, I mentioned that sending my daughter to a racially and economically diverse and inclusive school was important to me and that was one of the things that was most attractive to me about Palmer. He said, “Yea, I hear that a lot from white parents, that they care about diversity. And then after a few years they leave Palmer for other whiter, wealthier schools and by 4th or 5th grade it’s mostly kids of color who are left.” I remember feeling some umbrage about his comment. “Of course I’m sincere. He’s certainly cynical!”  

When we started at Palmer, I began to understand and his cynicism turned to clarity. Now with two children attending Palmer throughout their elementary years, we have experienced what that father had named: white parents’ stated commitment to racial diversity, and then their departure to other schools that offered something that was perceived to be “more” or “better” in some way. More special classes like Spanish or French. More after school programs. Better test scores. Better facilities with extras like climbing walls or activity kits. Better support like paraprofessionals in every classroom. And these schools that are deemed “more” or “better,” are also less racially and economically diverse. Ultimately there was an unstated calculus that the “better” outweighed a vague dedication to diversity. That diversity is “nice to have,” but not a critical criteria for their child’s education.

Over the years, I have heard many comments from white parents like “oh yes, racial diversity is very important, but….” At one meeting about school recruitment, a parent shared “I definitely support the school being diverse, but also I want a school where I connect with the other parents- we have things in common and can, you know, get together to drink wine.” This is perhaps one of the most honest and clear explanations of de facto segregation I have heard. What it means is this: I know I’m supposed to say that I support diversity. And I do, in theory. But I also want to be comfortable with people “like me” and where it’s not hard. 

Before we get too deep into this, I want to be clear. This is not a reflection about how horrible those white families are. This is not about judging others and feeling morally superior. This is not about how I am a better white person. 

The truth is that going to Palmer was easy for us. It’s our neighborhood school and the girls both navigate just fine in a traditional school environment that in many ways is designed for them. So it is easy to proclaim that we would never “choice” into a different school and we will always prioritize racial and economic diversity, when we haven’t really had circumstances that would test that proclamation. The truth is that, as I outline below, I am full of contradictions as our family navigates and benefits from the system.

And this is about a system. What we experienced at Palmer are the machinations of the system working as it is designed. This is about patterns. Patterns that exist and replicate across all school districts and all systems. This is about my own role in perpetuating the system. 

And white folks, this is about us, as a group. About how we contribute and support that system. Not about some white people. Not about other white people. Not about the racist white people. About us.

Here are some ways we help to perpetuate the system:

We believe that our choices are only personal and not political.  

Several years ago I had lunch with a woman who grew up in Denver and went to school during the 80s when Denver bussed students in order to create more integrated schools.  She recounted how her father took them out of public schools because “you don’t play politics with children.” It sounds good. It sounds simple. It is simply not true. Education is a system and the way it’s set up means that our choices are not just personal, they are bound in community. When her father said “my child isn’t going to get on a bus to integrate schools,” that was both a personal and a political choice.

In most districts, because of per pupil funding, school choice operates in a way that money and resources follow kids. Therefore, the decision to go to one school over another has an impact and causes harm to others. We may have important personal reasons for choosing a school, and that doesn’t change that there is a larger system that we are participating in and affected by that choice, whether we acknowledge it or not.

We don’t talk about race and class. 

The myth of what we call “colorblind” continues to ensure that we don’t acknowledge the disparities in our schools. If we don’t talk about race, then we don’t have the language to name, for example, that predominantly white kids are in the honors classes. If we don’t talk about class, we don’t have the language to name, for example, that in DPS the 25% of schools that are primarily white and upper class access between $50K and $1.3M per year of private funding to subsidize their school. While the remaining 75% of schools do not have access to this level of funding because there aren’t structures or people in place to raise that level of funding.

We first have to be willing to name and acknowledge patterns at the group level and then we have to be willing to talk more about what that means in order to address the issues.  

We expect that diversity and inclusion means that nothing changes for our white kids.

That expectation leads us to say one thing but behave in a way which simply upholds the system and changes nothing for our kids. My oldest went to middle school and when she first got there, despite the fact that the school was over 70% kids of color, the “honors” classes were predominantly white. The new principal announced upcoming changes to address the practices that contributed to the inequities shown by the make-up of the honors classes and to ensure all students had access to advanced work. Before any changes had been made, many white parents were quite unhappy because something was being asked of their children to engage in equity. They believed they might have to give something up. If the system is changed so that all classes provide opportunities for advanced work, that means losing the honors class designation, feeding an assumption that their child would lose out. Despite the assertions of wanting diversity, actions spoke louder. If we like the idea of a diverse environment, but not the work to make that environment inclusive and equitable, then we don’t actually like the idea of a diverse environment.

We believe that our engagement in equity efforts is benevolence.

This may feel like a contradiction but If we are doing things for other people and don’t see how it benefits our own humanity, then they are bound to fail. If we don’t realize that racism is white folks’ problem –  like for real –  then the system will remain unchanged. When we operate from a place of only doing for others, then we aren’t truly committed. It is too easy to opt out or give up when we don’t see a stake for ourselves. 

We use school choice with a consumerism mentality.

School choice was ostensibly created to provide families in “poorly performing” schools the option to go to another school. The implementation of choice is a recognition of the failing system with a solution that leads to other consequences which contribute to the failing system. This cycle continues to benefit those with the greatest ability to truly choose – the resources and transportation to go to another school. Many families with those resources have used the choice system in the same way they might buy products as a consumer. With the ability to just switch, there is less incentive to stay and be invested in addressing any issues or improving schools.  

And in doing so, choice often belies what is at the crux of the issue. As my friend Jinnie has written, “As much as white parents talk about valuing diversity, they don’t value it over other things. When schools are deemed better or more resourced, we don’t include diversity as something better or as a resource.” 

We don’t consider who we give grace and who we do not. 

The patterns of who we give grace to is important to pay attention to, not just as individuals, but as a larger pattern. What we know is that teachers of color often get worse reviews than white teachers. Same for principals or administrators. This is a pattern. That is not to say people of color can’t be bad at their job. Of course they can. But we need to notice and analyze the patterns and ask ourselves: Is that really what is going on here? If someone else did this would I be more patient or understanding? What assumptions are being made? Who, as a group, is unhappy with this person and does that pattern suggest anything? If we believe in diversity but don’t interrogate who we support and how we support them, then we don’t act out of those beliefs. 

We refuse to see and own the contradictions.

There is no way to be engaged in this system without being part of the contradictions or contradicting our stated values. For example, I know that the funding system for public schools is inequitable and that the mere existence of school fundraisers to supplement district funding results in huge disparities between schools. And yet, there are needs for the school that won’t be met without funding. And even ensuring that all funds go to support resources that benefit all the students, the fundraiser still creates a situation where some students/families can participate and others can’t. And schools that can fundraise and schools that can’t fundraise. I know all this and I still fundraise for my kids’ schools. 

The same is true with academic performance. I know that school is set up in ways that benefit my kids and the way they learn. I know that they benefit from a system that is set up for kids who are white. And yet, I still find myself thinking in the trap of wanting my kids to “excel.”  

These are the contradictions. We have to be able to acknowledge the both/and and admit the contradictions in order to disrupt them.  

We avoid discomfort 

Like the woman who really just wanted to make mom friends she could drink wine with, we have to acknowledge that one of the biggest drivers of our choices can be comfort.  What are we used to? Who feels familiar and comfortable? When do we equate better with similar? What keeps us part of the group? While it’s not hard to understand that most people want comfort and familiarity, we also have to question what we lose and give up with that confort. Comfort is status quo. Status quo maintains the system.  

And we know that discomfort is required for change, growth and honesty – and most things that are meaningful. Discomfort is required to change the system.

I have not written anything earth shattering or that hasn’t been better explained in other places. I know this. I write to reiterate. I write to remind myself that Dr. King, and the Civil Rights movement he symbolized, were fighting systems, as illustrated in King’s quote which opens this reflection. I write to remind myself about how I contribute to and passively accept unjust systems. I need to continue to learn from Dr. King. And I need to continue to learn from so many current day leaders that continue to fight those systems and hold our country to its aspirations. 

I write to remind myself that it’s about the systems and the ways we personally contribute to them. I write to remind myself to push through discomfort and to continue to hold myself and others to our stated values. I write to invite you to join me in discomfort and disruption – contradictions and all. 

When I first started writing these reflections, one motivation was my frustration with how I saw Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day being observed (or rather, not observed) and trying to find a way to bring more gravity to the day in my own life. Now, twenty years later, I am still writing each year to ground myself in the values of the Civil Rights Movement with the resolve to continue to contribute to the ongoing work today. And I am less concerned about how individuals mark Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and more concerned with how we honor the legacy of the Civil Rights Movement every day.

I sometimes use a training activity to introduce the concept of implicit bias using bumper stickers. I show rotating images of different kinds of bumper stickers – from political to religious to silly.  I ask people to pay attention to their reactions as the bumper stickers scroll – any feelings, thoughts, images that come to mind. We debrief the activity by talking about the associations and assumptions we make, which usually generates good discussion. 

One of the bumper stickers I often include is an image of Dr. King with his hands up, being arrested. Next to the image are the words “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot. Black Lives Matter.” I’ve done this activity with folks in different parts of Colorado and the rest of the country. And often there is one person in the group that will mention that particular bumper sticker as one that stood out to them because they were offended by the use of Dr. King’s image with Black Lives Matter. Often the refrain is something along the lines of “that’s not what King stood for.” My experience has been that the person saying this is always white. While earnest in their reaction, I’ve been struck by the pattern. And the danger in what their reaction belies.

It is a danger we see every year at this time as people mark Dr. King’s birthday with quotes and platitudes devoid of the original context and molded to fit each individual’s worldview. The idea that King’s legacy is not inextricably linked to the current day fight to dismantle systemic racism feels outrageous, and yet, there it is. As we get further away from King’s life, we must protect against the ways his legacy is being perversely used to maintain the status quo. 

Dr. King is not a mirror where we can see whatever version of him we want reflected back. His legacy is not a cloak we can put on as comfort against the painful realities of our current struggle. We cannot look away from that pain and struggle.

We cannot forget that when Dr. King was alive, and at the time of his murder, he was not universally loved. During Dr. King’s time, a majority of people in the United States had a negative opinion of him and did not believe he was helping the Civil Rights cause. And after his death, a third of people in the U.S. even said he brought his assassination on himself. And, of course, The Civil Rights Movement was a protest movement, not universally supported or understood. 

Contrast that with the prolific use of his quotes and imagery and references to him today, not just on this holiday, but throughout the year, most regularly as a political tool and weapon. As time moves on, King’s legacy is often presented as if he spoke, shared a dream and everyone collectively said “Oh yeah, definitely, let’s do that.”  

Some of this is cynical political machinations; for others it is a sincerely held, misinformed understanding of King and the Civil Rights Movement (often informed by the cynical political machinations). And it matters, especially in our current reality.

We are living in a time where the false flag of Critical Race Theory is being used to stop the teaching of our nation’s history and promote not only an adulterated version of Dr. King but of the country’s history of systemic racism. We are living during a time when voting rights are being attacked and dismantled, threatening our democracy. We are living in a pandemic that continues to lay bare the systemic inequities of racism and classism. We are living in a society where the majority of our youth attend segregated schools and opportunity is predicted by zip code. All of these are part of the mechanisms to maintain the status quo of systemic racism. 

I hope that this Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, we will root ourselves in Dr. King’s legacy of disrupting the status quo and reject the current distorted use of his life’s work. 

In 2003 I wrote, “MLK Jr. was a pretty prolific writer and orator during his short life and he has much to say that is relevant to the world we face today: issues not just of racism but equity, socio-economics and war. Unfortunately, years after King’s assassination, concerns of civil liberties and freedom, racism and prejudice, fear and strife are very relevant in our lives.” Well, it’s now been fifty-three years since his assassination and the sentiment remains true. I hope that we’ll go back to the source- not just quotes and memes- but King’s speeches, sermons and writings. 

In them, we will find not a mirror but a clear picture of a movement for equity and civil rights that continues its fight today.

One final note:

Speaking of the fight today, Dr. King’s family has called on us to take action on voting rights, urging people to “call on Congress to enact changes to elections law nationwide, rather than honoring Dr. King with celebrations on the federal holiday that marks his birthday.” Contact your United States Senators and encourage them to support The Freedom to Vote: John R. Lewis Act when it comes up for a vote. You can learn more about how to advocate for this important right:

https://www.stopjimcrow2.com/

https://action.aclu.org/send-message/congress-protect-our-voting-right

https://p2a.co/PBvkmWI

The other day, I was talking to my friend Esther about the strange feeling of living through history. I know that technically everything becomes history and yet our current time is one that we know will be written about in history books. And I know that I personally am having a hard time processing all that it means amidst the mundane aspects of life – homework and dishes and grocery shopping – that still require attention.   

We are all carrying this heaviness of simply living in the midst of all that has transpired just in the last year: a President impeached (twice), a global pandemic, the renewed reckoning of our country’s racial injustice and terror after the murder of George Floyd and far too many more, and now we are faced with the fragility of democracy with an attempted insurrection and heightened fear as we ready for the inauguration. I confess I do not know how to make sense of it all. 

And so I’ve been trying to anchor myself in the things that feel more tangible; in places where I feel some sense of control. I reread my reflections since 2016 and found themes around how I’ve tried to make meaning of our current time and engage in action in the past four years.  And then, about a week ago, a friend on Facebook, Nimita, shared this:

And it helped crystallize for me one of those tangible anchors and choices I can make right now. I can choose to actively engage with other white folks to address our racism, rather than stay comfortable in my “bubble.” So this year’s post is for us white people, specifically. I am focusing on guiding reminders to keep me focused on dismantling racism in myself, in others and in our institutions. 

Passive pronouncements are just that… passive

We know (and were reminded this week) that social media is a powerful tool. It also fools us into thinking we’re “doing” more than we are. Passive pronouncements of our values, like “If you support racism, we’re not friends,” are still passive. And there is nothing more passive than telling someone “unfriend me.” That’s not even doing the work of actively hitting the unfriend button. And it certainly doesn’t do anything tangible to address racism. But it may delude us into thinking we’ve “taken a stand.” The same is true offline when we simply stop talking or engaging with others. Or when we join in calling out other white people and taking comfort in the fact that “we’d never do anything like that” or “we are appalled by that behavior.”  

Motivation matters

Especially in the last four years, I have seen and heard, as well as thought to myself, countless versions of “I told them the facts. I told them they’re racist and they didn’t change. I’m done.”  When my motivation is to change someone else, I almost always end up dissatisfied with the results. I have set myself up, because -simply put- I don’t have control over others.  

What I can do is offer an alternative, another perspective. If my motivation is to engage, my energy is different: I ask questions and seek to understand (not agree, but understand). I can recognize and engage with the cognitive dissonance and the resistance in others, when I remember that I’ve experienced them myself. 

Seeing myself 

White people, we are really good at playing the “I’m a good white person” game and trying to distance ourselves from other white people. But we must not be fooled; this is just another version of “rugged individualism” that maintains white supremacy. Separating myself from other white people serves my ego, not the cause.

When I find myself in that space, I will try to see myself in the other person and ask myself: How am I like them? When have I felt that way? In many ways, dismantling racism is an attempt to dismantle our own foundation. The desire to protect oneself, to take a defensive posture is understandable. I didn’t get to any place in  my journey on my own; I should not expect others to do so either. 

Reframe accountability 

As a society we don’t seem to know how to hold people accountable outside of a purely punitive context, without opportunity for repair or change. I think that’s why so many of our reactions are some version of “you’ve done bad, I banish you.” I am trying to reframe accountability and find ways to hold people accountable while holding on to their humanity as well as my own. That means being clear about the impact of their words or actions without denigrating them as people. It means requiring taking responsibility for their impact while leaving opportunity to repair. It means remembering that “we are all more than the worst thing we’ve done.” (Bryan Stevenson). 

Expect failure

If my fortitude is predicated on success, I will not persist. 

In addition to reframing accountability, I must also look at what it means to hold myself accountable –  to continue to make moral choices regardless of the immediate outcome, to persist through risk and failure. Sixty years after the Civil Rights Movement, I think Dr. King’s legacy is often condensed into his successes. And yet the reality is that there was never any certainty that the movement would be successful. For me, Dr. King’s legacy is in the continued effort, despite failures, despite risk.  

When I was in graduate school, my mentor and advisor, Mari Strombon Johnson once told me – referring to equity and inclusion training- “one person has to hear something 32 times before it will stick.”  Which means that there has to be 32 “messengers” willing to deliver the message to that one person. Thirty-two wasn’t a scientific number, but rather a reminder that we had to be in it for the long haul. Her point was that if you’re the 32nd messenger, the payoff is immediate, with the recipient responding with some version of “I get it” and it is easy to feel successful. More often than not, we will be messengers #1 – 31, delivering the message, getting resistance, offering a different way and trusting someone else will continue after us. There is no “payoff,” only hope that it will come. This also helps to keep me from slipping into the dreaded posture of “white savior” and a misplaced and dangerous belief that I alone must (and can) take it all on. 

Intentional engagement

For many of us, social media algorithms create echo chambers that manipulate us into thinking that everyone is already with us. Add in the bubble creator of a different kind- COVID- and we may be even more isolated. In these cases, rather than think “well thank goodness I don’t have those friends,” we may need to be more intentional and take additional effort to engage.

I also have taken note and understand the critique by some BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) that white people are wasting our time with proverbial “racist uncles” and should focus instead on systemic change. I think it’s a both/and: we can engage with individuals one-on-one and choose to focus on systemic changes where we can have influence. We can address systems through our places of work, schools, religious institutions and organizations where we volunteer. There is no limit to the places where we can ask hard questions, challenge and hold leaders accountable, take risks, and address racial inequities. In many cases, a big part of that work is engaging with other white people. We do not need to compartmentalize, nor should we. However, we can and should be intentional about where we can have the most impact. None of us can do it all. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do something. 

I’m not naive. I am not suggesting that it is as simple as talking to someone. There are real challenges and a strong hold of disinformation, stridency and division. AND I also know that if as white people we turn away and simply wash our hands of other white people, while patting ourselves on the back in our circle of other “anti-racists,” we are most certainly not engaging in anti-racism. 

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day is one day. For me, it is a moment for reflection and recommitment. This year it is a day to pause and consider the places where I falter. And remind and recommit myself to the ongoing work that remains, every single day.  I hope you will join me.

The first time I remember learning about the Civil Rights Movement and the people involved, I was in middle school. I had to do a book report on a biography and I chose Coretta Scott King.  I was what many would have described as a voracious reader and remember middle school as a time of realization for me about a number of societal issues- historical and modern day. I began developing my personal values and social justice convictions through those stories and books.  

However, it was when I entered college at Texas A&M University in the early 1990s, that I first learned about Civil Rights leader, John Lewis. I was particularly taken because he was a teenager when he got involved in the Civil Rights Movement. And when he participated in the Freedom Rides and lead the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, he was the same age as I was in college.

I was enthralled with his bravery and drawn to his commitment, while embarrassed by my relative lack of “doing” at the same age. He ignited in me a dual sense of inspiration and inadequacy, that I still carry today. He was not just a historical figure; at that time, he was still involved in the fight as a Congressperson more than thirty years later. It was even more compelling to me that he had not put his marching shoes away and continued to get into what he called “good trouble.” He continued to march and fight for what he believed. 

I wasn’t someone who put Tiger Beat pictures on my walls or obsessed about the latest teen heartthrob. John Lewis was the closest thing for me of a “celebrity crush.” More accurately, I described him as my hero. And I still do today.

Fast forward to the early 2000s and I was working in education at the ADL. I found out that John Lewis would be speaking at the ADL’s National Leadership Meeting in Washington, DC – an event that education staff did not typically attend. I got permission to hear him speak at an ADL event, if I paid my own way, so I did. And after his speech, I snuck out and ran down the hallway of the hotel to shake his hand and get a picture with him. It was my “fangirl” moment and one of the best memories of my life.

However, I think it is important to reflect a bit more. This shouldn’t be understood just a story of my brush with my favorite “celebrity.” When I first learned about John Lewis, I had the feeling of connection and awe – the realization of what someone so young can accomplish and I think it was natural for me to try to see myself in him. Beyond that, I was taken by the other young people who were at the heart of the Civil Rights Movement. I tried to imagine myself in that space and time. Would I have had the courage that they did? What would I have done in the face of hatred, vitriol and injustice?  

Many people look at historical events and imagine themselves as among the heroes. They assume that they would have been on the “right side” of history. The reality is that there were far fewer people engaged in the Civil Rights Movement, or any other resistance movement, than those who either opposed it actively or were complacent.

And that is what I had to come to terms with. I was drawn to my hero because I wanted to see myself in him. I felt motivated by his story because I felt an affinity with his youth. I wanted so much to connect with the cause and relate to the people being oppressed; to relate to my hero. Yet, there was something that I had to reconcile.  

My race. My race as group membership. My race as a key element of my experience in the world.   

The reality is that my people – white people – are the oppressors in that history. I know that there were white folks who fought alongside black people during the Civil Rights Movement, but to only see myself in them and not in all the people who fought to maintain the status quo through laws, resistance, violence and complacency is dishonest and disingenuous. If I truly wanted to emulate the values of my hero, I first had to acknowledge who I am. 

And that has been my journey. To reconcile the ways that I benefit and reinforce white privilege and white supremacy, despite my beliefs and values is ongoing and hard. 

And it is mandatory, if I want to honor John Lewis and his legacy of good trouble. 

So, the reality is that I don’t know what I would have done in the Civil Rights Movement. It is much easier to cast myself as a character in the past – through a lens of history that makes everything and everyone more neatly defined – than to understand myself as a character in the present- where the view is much murkier. 

Mass incarceration of black and brown bodies. Police brutality. Detention camps and children in cages at the border. Racism and xenophobia as foundations to our current immigration policies. Looming prospect of war with Iran. Islamophobia as a foreign policy. Presidential impeachment. Anti-semitic attacks and hate crimes. The loss of protections for LGBTQ+ youth and the rolling back of progress we thought was institutionalized. The ongoing natural disasters in Puerto Rico magnified by the racist policies undergirding US treatment of its citizens. The murder rate of trans women, especially Black trans women. 

These and other injustices are all happening now. And that dual sense of inspiration and inadequacy are still with me today. Every day, I don’t know that I am doing enough. And I often allow myself to get stuck in feelings of helplessness. I am not at all sure that the lens of history will view me favorably. That’s the honest truth. And it is also true that I feel compelled to continue to try. 

I remain inspired by John Lewis’ life and legacy. I said that John Lewis is a hero. He is. But hero as a noun feels too passive a description. For John Lewis is really defined by doing, by getting into “good trouble.” John Lewis isn’t just a hero, he heroes (active, present tense). He has heroed every day for over 60 years. 

And he is a model for how each of us can choose actions to “hero” everyday, too. I endeavor to engage in actions each day that align with my highest ideals and cause “good trouble” – rooted in my identities. with my flaws. with conviction. 

I don’t always get it right. I fail a lot.

And with that mixture of inspiration and inadequacy, I promise to try again tomorrow.

 

 

Exhausted. Angry. Depressed. Resigned. Frustrated. Cynical.

I have felt all of these over the last year. I know you have too.

In the face of the explicit and constant hate, it can feel overwhelming and demoralizing.  The harm and deaths at the hands of hate are devastating. A lot of the rhetoric and energy over the past few months has focused on combatting hate. It is important and compelling.

And yet, as we approach Martin Luther King Jr. Day, the message most clear in my heart is this: the absence of hate does not equal the absence of racism. Or sexism. Or discrimination against trans people. Or the end of oppression for any marginalized group.

My concern is that a single focus on hate lulls us into ignoring the persistence of the system. If we truly ended hate, of course it would be positive. All of us would rejoice in a world that would surely see less vitriol and less violence. We would see the end of the singular extreme acts which many people have come to understand as racism. But we would not see the end of racism. Because hate and hate incidents are not the same as systemic oppression.

Hate did not create systemic racism. Hate did not create persistent educational inequity. Hate did not create the school to prison pipeline. Hate did not create the gender gap. Despite the horrible rhetoric we hear coming from the President, hate does not inform the country’s immigration policy which persistently marginalizes and injures people of color[i].  Hate does not maintain inequities in health care or real estate.

Ending hate is too low a bar.

And I fear that our attention on “hate” serves as a distraction.  It deludes us into believing that we are fighting the “good fight” without addressing the “good people” who maintain the system.  And white folks, the singular focus on hate serves us.

The idea that hate is the ultimate motivator of racism is cultivated to maintain the status quo.  By framing it this way, most white people feel exempt from any personal responsibility for racist behavior (“I don’t hate people of color”) while simultaneously feeling righteous in condemning individual examples of hate (“That rhetoric was abhorrent! I would never use that language”).

It’s a cycle that replicates itself and distracts from the racism operating every day. In other words, the stubborn insistence in the belief that racism is an individual act fueled by hate serves to maintain and feed systemic racism in our society.

If you’re starting to feel defensive or angry, please stay with me. I want to remind you of an important point I have written about in previous years that bears repeating: You do not need to be a person of ill will to perpetuate racism. The dichotomy of racist (bad person) and non-racist (good person) does not truly exist. You can be a good person and engage in racist behavior.

Robin DiAngelo writes “The most effective adaptation of racism over time is the idea that racism is conscious bias held by mean people. This ‘good/bad binary,’ positing a world of evil racists and compassionate non-racists, is itself a racist construct, eliding systemic injustice and imbuing racism with such shattering moral meaning that white people, especially progressives, cannot bear to face their collusion in it.[ii]” So, if we stayed locked in the belief that acknowledging our racist thoughts or behavior makes us bad people, we will be perpetually stuck.

And we will not see any meaningful change in our society. We will not see King’s dream fulfilled. We will not see the arc of the universe bend towards justice. We will not see the fruition of any of the other sentiments expressed around MLK Day each year, sentiments that become mere platitudes absent true reflection and action.

And what is that action?  The compelling antidote to hate we’re told is love. I don’t dismiss the power of love. But I do believe that we must interrogate what we mean by “love.” What is love? Is it simply an idea? A sentiment? What kind of love?

King himself distinguishes between types of love: “eros” – romantic love, “philia” – love for personal friends and “agape”- understanding, creative, redemptive good will toward all people[iii]. I gravitate towards Cornel West’s belief that “justice is what love looks like in public.” These manifestations of love – Agape. Justice. – assume action. They are verbs, not nouns.

And that action includes turning inward. This love challenges our perceptions of self and engages in the hard work of recognizing our part in perpetuating racism.

The kind of love worthy of fulfilling the promise of MLK’s dream is love which seeks to be much more than an antidote to hate, but instead, a force against oppression.

 

Endnotes:

[i] https://scholarship.law.berkeley.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1264&context=blrlj

[ii] https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-sociologist-examines-the-white-fragility-that-prevents-white-americans-from-confronting-racism?fbclid=IwAR2kM9lTSnNhCkNIFzPxWksaJeKdUaZucQtRkKLjxi9PyTSju4aOnaovjBY

[iii] “A Christmas Sermon on Peace,” Martin Luther King, Jr, 1967

I’ll be honest; I don’t know what to write.  It’s Sunday morning and I’m still drafting a reflection.  Usually I’ve been writing down notes for the past week and have it written by Friday.  This year, I feel stuck and sad and unsure and overwhelmed.

I am sad for many reasons. Most on my mind is the death of a wonderful person, Daryl Miller, who passed this week. Damn cancer.  I had the pleasure of getting to know and work with him through WPC and The Matrix Center at UCCS.  He was an amazing, sweet, kind person and he was also such a compassionate, thoughtful and committed “drum major” for justice (to quote King).  Truly. I don’t describe him that way lightly. This is not just a personal loss which brings waves of emotions, chief among them grief and regret; his was a loss to the world which feels even more devastating in our current times.

We need more Daryls.

Part of me just wants to end with that.

Because it’s true. And because I am unsure what to write that is useful and adds value. I am increasingly weary of platitudes and earnest, but ultimately useless, laments.

I am having trouble striking the right tone- each year I work hard to be contemplative and encouraging without coming off as self-righteous or too strident.  Partly this is strategic- people are more likely to read and be open to the content that way-  however, if I’m honest it’s also because part of me wants to be liked and I think that if I come off too strong, I’ll turn people off.  (This comes from a ton of gender messaging about how women/femme folks are supposed to behave. Plenty to analyze there, but I’ll save that for another time.)

At any rate, part of my trouble writing is that this year I don’t feel particularly conciliatory.  So rather than write from a place of suggestions and self-reflection, I’m just going to pretend like you asked and tell you what I really think.

This past year we had plenty of stark examples of how discrimination and oppression operate as systems in our country.  From the battle over who should be valorized and set as our heroes in bronze or stone (and what history we choose to tell) to the high-profile demise of powerful men engaged in sexual harassment and assault to the daily explicit examples of racism, we are surrounded.

While these are hard to ignore, they make it easier to ignore our own complicity. Make it easier to feel smug in our horror at what is happening and to ignore our own behavior.

By way of example, after allegations began to make headlines and it became clear that these were not isolated instances, and all could not be blamed on Harvey Weinstein, most men I know shook their heads and decried the behavior.  And that was it. That is not enough.

Men, you’ve ignored a sexist comment, you’ve laughed at a crude joke about women even when it made you feel uncomfortable, you were surprised when you encountered a woman in charge, you’ve ignored when a mediocre man was given a promotion and have acted out of an internalized belief that men are superior.

I know this because as I white person I have done the same around race.  Now it’s been a long time since I’ve let a racist joke go by, true, but that’s a pretty low bar folks.  Plus, the explicit is often actually easier to address and feel self-righteous about.  It’s all the other ways that I participate in the system that is the more insidious problem. Racism doesn’t happen because of individual racists.  Racism happens because of a system made up of individuals who are complicit.  As a white person, if I don’t understand my role in racism and don’t tangibly embrace racism as MY problem then it doesn’t matter how much head shaking and outrage-professing I engage in.

That goes for you too- in all the ways that you ignore discrimination and oppression because they don’t target your identity.

If all that happens is statues come down and we don’t talk about what they truly mean in terms of not just our history but our present, then nothing has changed beyond the symbolic.

If all that happens is men lose their jobs and we shake our heads, then the system doesn’t change.

If all that happens is that we read a list of names of people murdered, targeted because of bias towards their trans identity, but don’t seek to change the systemic reasons why transgender people are more vulnerable to violence, then nothing has changed.

If all that happens is we share disgust with the racist policies enacted and maintained by our government and do not demand change through all venues available as a democracy, then the status quo is maintained.

If all that happens is that we share some Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes out of context and don’t actually seek to dismantle racism in its current form, then it was just a holiday.

It’s time to RESOLVE.  Resolve to DO something. Resolve to TAKE actions.  Some of you already have.  It doesn’t hurt to do it again.

So, resolve. Today, every damn day, resolve.

White folks, resolve to make racism your issue.

Men and male-identified, resolve to makes sexism your issue.

Middle class and upper middle class, resolve to make classism your issue.

Cisgender folks, resolve to make transphobia your issue.

Straight folks, resolve to make heterosexism your issue.

Able-bodied, resolve to make disability rights your issue.

On and on.

RESOLVE.