Rocks at Port-Goulphar, Belle-Île, by Claude Monet (1886)
This nation is facing its reckoning. It is long overdue, and it is painful.
White people are recognizing their apathy. As a group, we bear the shame of knowing we’ve turned a blind eye, hoarded opportunities, and benefitted from systems that have torn others down — used them up and killed them. Some are embarrassed or uncomfortable. Many are engaging in anti-racist activity on the internet — and hopefully, in real life — for the first time ever.
Trauma is inherited and passed down. It is carried in people’s genes. The Black community has lived with the grief they’re expressing for centuries longer than I’ve been alive. Over four hundred years of calculated, systemic oppression brought our country to this moment. Fires and broken glass stem from being pushed too far. How many Black lives must be taken, they ask, before you see and acknowledge our pain?
Many white people say they will listen and learn. But that won’t be enough.
As a white woman, I must put my own body and resources on the line beside Black Americans. I must actively create anti-racist environments. I must shape a life that embodies the energy and intention we’ve seen burst forth. From individual action comes collective transformation.
In times of unrest, we are often told to come together. What does that mean right now?
It’s hard to say, exactly, because this situation is alive and dynamic and requires us to engage with wholehearted, sustained attention. It will evolve over time. For white people, it means deconstructing innate, conditioned racism, understanding our privilege, and making the choice to use it, along with our dollars and voices, to hold others accountable. It means showing up for justice, over and over again, and willing our actions — not just our online profiles — to pierce our history, discomfort, and good intentions with meaningful change.
When so many are speaking out against racism — including every business, oh god, the businesses — I find myself tempted by skepticism. I want to see a new world take form and long for real engagement behind each little black square — all 28 million of them. It’s easy to fear that when the noise stops, no action will follow.
But instead, I am choosing hope. Hope is a brave and courageous act, as Travis said so eloquently in our conversation last week. When doubt arises, my husband and I are shifting our thinking from that place to welcome to the party, let’s go. Changing this country will require everyone’s participation, and we don’t have a moment to waste.
Together, we must demand accountability at all levels, reimagine policing, and redirect funds to community-centered solutions that serve the marginalized. We must take widespread steps towards the healing and reconciliation this country needs.
America began in violence. It was built by slaves on indigenous graves. Our past — its atrocities, our failure to ever make them right — cannot rest until we’ve responded. Will we answer the call? This moment demands thoughtfulness at all levels, from the highest seats of power to churches to family dinner tables. Imagine a White House that modeled steps towards healing, perhaps leaning on spiritual leaders to facilitate conversations about making amends that could be mirrored nationwide.
There are countless collections of anti-racism resources online, so I don’t feel compelled to create another one here. But find them. Look at the art. Listen to the stories. Read the books. Give money if you can.
If you are overwhelmed by this harsh world’s realities and the work left to do, I understand. It requires boldness in the face of opposition to divest from and change structures that were built to move some people forward and hold others back. It takes deep breaths and focus, especially for the sensitive among us. Caring for ourselves is political warfare; it allows continued and meaningful contribution over time.
So seek spiritual refuge. Maybe in poetry, meditation, or nature — or at a protest. Healing starts as an intellectual exercise but must extend to our emotional and cellular levels. Then it ripples out, out to the world around us.
You can protect your energy and choose where to wield it. You can even divorce yourself from the screen. Choose one book to read this year, for example, rather than five. Save two articles to read this month — maybe on reparations or prison abolition or looting — rather than ten. Find one local racial justice organization to support.
Every small step towards a new world moves the needle.
I want to leave you with “little prayer,” by Danez Smith.
May we repeat their words together.
May we yell in one voice: No more.
May we rise to the occasion.
Yes. Let this be the healing.
Between you and me—
There are resource lists floating around far better than any I could assemble, but I will say that over the past five years, Layla Saad and adrienne maree brown have both significantly influenced my thinking on race and whiteness, along with collaborative approaches to stronger communities. Also, learn why I capitalize Black. Explore anti-racist watching and listening, and check out this short, helpful explanation of systemic racism to share with friends and family. Honor those putting their bodies on the line with location-specific bail funds. Listen (in your podcast app, if you like!) to my conversation with Travis, who feels more in harm’s way in his white neighborhood than in a global pandemic.
Now, take a deep breath for yourself and for our country — and especially, for George Floyd. Thank you for reading.