In early May 2020, I started using my professionally focused Instagram account to encourage action in the health and wellness community around distressing news stories about the killings of Black people. I had been using my professional account to focus on social justice issues for several years already, but as my understanding of holism and community care as a form of medicine was growing, I had begun incorporating anti-racism.
And then, on May 27, 2020, two days after George Floyd’s murder, I posted a black square with big white letters that said, “White Friends Please Help Me.” In the caption of that post, I made a plea to my white friends and colleagues, saying that if they were afraid to get it wrong, I was too, and we could fail and learn publicly together.
Today is Juneteenth, and as a white person, I want to honor the importance of this day by openly sharing things I’ve gotten wrong in my anti-racism journey.
I thought awareness was sufficient.
When I was six years old in 1985, a miniseries aired on ABC called, “North and South.” It starred Patrick Swayze and was about the civil war. My parents allowed me to watch it. In one of the episodes, there was a violent scene of an enslaved person being whipped ruthlessly. I started crying, having a very painful realization that humans had treated other humans this way. My meltdown went from heartbreak to screaming anger.
That moment defined my heart on social justice issues of all kinds from that point forward.
And my awareness of racism only grew as I moved into adulthood and out into a wider world with much more racial diversity than my rural Montana upbringing had exposed me to.
I remember reading somewhere that awareness of social justice issues, including racism, is like driving a car. Before we learn to drive, we ride around in cars, completely unaware of all the potential hazards and traffic safety procedures. But after we learn to drive, even when we aren’t behind the wheel, we can never be in a car again without some level of awareness.
My awareness of racism was like that, I couldn’t ignore it, but it wasn’t enough to just acknowledge it. Just like awareness of a stoplight or another car swerving into your lane is insufficient. We must actually stop at the stoplight or practice some level of defensive driving for swerving cars in order to drive safely. Awareness alone isn’t anti-racist.
I didn’t take steps toward reconciliation early enough.
No matter how true your heart for how long, living in a racist society leaves us morally compromised.
For example, even though I knew racism existed and that it was wrong, our society tells white people they can “save” Black people from it. Instead of teaching us, “Racism is harming everyone. You need to partner with Black people to help save us.”
It wasn’t really possible to move forward from that place without reconciliation efforts because, frankly, I didn’t seem like a reliable partner.
I recognized this white saviorism blind spot after living in West Africa, but it was an anti-racism challenge I participated in in 2020 that helped me take reconciliation steps. One of our assignments was taking responsibility and publicly addressing our own blind spots, which was very uncomfortable.
I wish I had put my own comfort aside earlier because my willingness and desire to reconcile demonstrated to my Black friends that I was a reliable partner in the anti-racism movement, which in turn made it easier for me to consistently speak out and take action.
I didn’t have any white anti-racism heroes.
This mistake is made by design by many white allies. A society built on racism wouldn’t be able to function if it taught its “superior race” that members of their own race had rejected the status quo and fought tirelessly alongside the “inferior race.” Our education in the US is white-washed in many ways, but the more I have worked to educate myself about examples of white allyship worth following, the more I realize that they have been intentionally erased or downplayed.
There are many towering examples of Black activists that inspire me, but it was important for me to understand what white allies thought, said, did and what made them different. And here’s why . . . solidarity with our Black friends is not safe.
One thing our history is really clear about is that white people who stand with Black people will be subjected to white supremacist violence too. There’s always a pattern of particularly aggressive backlash after periods of strong solidarity. For example, remember when Kyle Rittenhouse traveled across state lines with an assault-rifle and killed two white protesters and injured a third who were protesting the police shooting of a Black man in Kenosha, Wisconsin? Remember how he was acquitted?
Having white anti-racism heroes helped remind me that white safety isn’t the goal, safety for all of us is. And that we can’t get there without moral courage.
Among my white anti-racism heroes are:
Viola Liuzzo, a mother of four who helped coordinate the Selma to Montgomery marches and was murdered by a Klansman and then had her reputation destroyed by the FBI.
Joan Mulholland, who participated in the Freedom Rides, was arrested multiple times, eventually served time in a Mississippi penitentiary, was disowned by her family, and forced to undergo mental illness evaluations because the police felt that was the only reason a white woman would stand with the Black community.
John Brown, whom I was taught about more as a recklessness man than as a stunningly brave abolitionist.
Fred Rogers, who was much more than a guy in a sweater, took astonishing risks to his career and reputation on public television to stand with the Black community.
(Notice that I linked to the Zinn Education Project for the profiles of the first three people on my list. It’s an excellent resource for learning what we are not taught in school.)
I underestimated the “white moderate” problem.
Hopefully, all my Neighbors here understand the reference to MLK’s words in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Basically, he expressed his deep disappointment that so many white folks wanted to avoid the discomfort and disruption of an open struggle over equal rights for Black people.
I admit that, despite having read MLK’s words long ago, I thought there were some overt racists in the US, but all the other white people would be fully on-board in the summer of 2020. I thought white people would get in it, and we’d stay in it with our Black friends from there on out. I’m embarrassed now by how naïve that was.
I especially thought that it would be easy to sustain solidarity in the social media space. Like it or not, these spaces function like modern-day town squares, and I thought that everyone would regularly participate with the barrier to entry so low (continuous protest in the street isn’t realistic for everyone).
I learned that everyone had a different role to play in a social change ecosystem (scroll to page 4), and that not all people are suited to speaking out disruptively and shaking up the status quo, but I wasn’t prepared for the implicit and explicit discouragement from white moderates.
One white friend emailed me to say my behavior was extreme, and she had to block me.
Several white male colleagues told me I was “too aggressive,” either directly or passively, for example, tagging me on news articles about rising tensions and asking if I was happy about my role.
Even more of my white male friends and colleagues just stopped talking to me, one of them explaining that I had just “gone too far.”
Many white friends encouraged me to keep going publicly and privately, but many others implicitly discouraged me by no longer interacting with me unless I posted a cute picture or a funny story, or a cake recipe.
It was also measurable with a drop in followers (I ultimately lost 3,000 on Instagram) and an impact on my health coaching business, with demands for refunds from angry group members on several occasions. Always after I shared strongly worded anti-racist posts or linked the larger political conflicts to the underlying white supremacist situation.
I’ve since learned from Black educators that allyship moves into co-conspiracy when we are willing to put our time, money, careers, reputations, and maybe even physical safety on the line. I am trying to emulate my white anti-racist heroes in that level of co-conspiracy, but I’m also still stunned by how much I underestimated the white moderate problem, often lonely and not infrequently wrestling with self-doubt.
I actually experienced threats of violence and had every abusive name thrown my way too, but that was from overt racists. Now I understand that the social pressure from white moderates not to disrupt the status quo is the more persistent force.
I didn’t realize call-ins were an investment.
There are many other mistakes I’ve made (for example, not understanding the difference between justice and accountability), but I want to end today’s note with this one.
Several years ago, I took a Foundations of Social Justice course, and in a lecture one night, our professor said to us, “Call-ins are an investment.” It completely changed how I viewed the anti-racism journey.
At that point, I had messed up a few times, and I had been called in by Black friends. Call-ins are not comfortable, but honestly, in white communities, our unwillingness to experience discomfort has led to over 400 years of human rights abuses, denial of civil rights, and literal death for the Black community.
Being called in is an investment in you. It is another person saying, “If you can receive what I’m saying about your actions and self-correct, it will strengthen our community.”
Call-ins are community care. So, white Neighbors, this note today was me trying to practice what I preached three years ago about failing and learning publicly, but if any of it made you uncomfortable, I hope you’ll receive it as a call-in, an investment in our community.
My hope is that someday our discomfort will have been the smallest possible, to the point of unremarkable, investment into the overwhelming joy of getting us all free of racism.
One Small Thing is our call to a manageable community care step. In the spirit of the “slow, small, simple” approach that I am advocating for as we build this internet neighborhood, with each Monday note, I’ll share a simple action you can take to help (including sometimes helping yourself).
One Small Thing (for 6/19/23): Black Neighbors, wishing you a joyful Juneteenth. White Neighbors, after doing some research, I saw one suggestion from a Black educator that we could recognize the day by donating to support local Juneteenth community events. Take five minutes to learn about events near you and consider giving $5.
Let’s chat! What has your anti-racism journey been like? Were there any learning moments that really stand out for you or resources that were especially valuable?
So well said Angie! Thank you for sharing your perspective.
Thank you for your honesty, Angie. And Happy Juneteenth to all of our Black neighbors!
I believe I'm very new to my anti-racism journey. I do think the fear of doing something wrong is very real for a lot of white people and personally has caused me to freeze out of fear of messing up. I understand and agree that we have very fragile egos. And there is a lot of information about what ally-ship should look like (and some of it is conflicting). I've followed a few anti-racism experts/scholars and focused on their advice, rather then constantly chasing advice from every corner. I've been working hard to unlearn what I learned in school and (quite frankly) from my overtly racist father and brother. I do feel called to DO more and the social change ecosystem PDF you posted was really helpful to understand that there a multitude of ways to impact social change.
I also agree that it's important to have white anti-racism heroes. We all have a journey with different influences and stressors and being able to find someone who has walked that path provides comfort.
You are one of my anti-racism white heroes, Angie. I remember when you started posting social justice posts on social media and I do remember your call to your white friends. Those posts made me deeply uncomfortable.... not because I thought they were wrong or you had gone too far. But they were a call to action I wasn't expecting.
Another resource I really from a white anti-racist ally is Your Parenting Mojo by Jen Lumanlan. She isn't all that active on social media, but has a fantastic research based podcast and has addressed the anti-racism parenting angle from a research perspective multiple times. She is also pretty radical in her belief that the best thing we can do as a parents to teach children about anti-racism is to stop using our power to manipulate our relationship with our kids. Because kids learn from a very young age that whoever holds the power gets to act with impunity, it is easier for racist tendencies to leak in as they try to get ahead/stay afloat. She is a great follow and has a long podcast archive on a variety of topics.
Thanks again Angie! I'll be making a donation to our local Juneteenth organization (thanks for the reminder- I donated last year and forgot about it this year. I'm going to flag our Google Calendar to make a Juneteenth donation every year) and spending more time with that PDF and figuring out how I can take more action.