Reflecting On the Old You

Sharing stories of your evolution of consciousness is a much more authentic and compelling way to show your support and commitment to a more equitable and inclusive world than merely stating that you support and are committed to a more just and equitable world.

The latter might seem more powerful, more concise, more relevant, more committed. But without any personal backstory or context, these statements alone often come across as trite platitudes or insincere boilerplates that we've heard from a thousand other people.

We want to know how you've changed. How you've arrived at your present stance and world view.

We want to know what you used to think and do (or not think and not do), and what and why and how you learned to evolve your thinking.

Then, when we hear your current position, it's more believable.

When you're vulnerable with your past thinking, your mistakes, your embarrassing history, we are more likely to connect with you on a deeper level. We're more likely to trust that your current position is honest.

It's not always easy to explore and reflect upon the old you who wasn't aware of everything that the new you believes so strongly.

And, when you invest the effort to more accurately and humbly articulate your journey, you will make a greater impact.

Antiracism Is a Way of Being

While you commit to elevating your racial fluency by reading books and listening to podcasts and watching films and validating the lived experiences of Black people, you also have to commit to developing your personal antiracist narrative.

How do you expect to continually show up for others when you don't continually show up as your authentic self?

If you're newly committed to racial justice, but not committed to the work of exploring and defining and embracing and embodying your personal values and beliefs and principles about racism, how will you sustain the antiracist effort on behalf of others beyond the present urgent moment?

Showing up for racial injustice isn't a charitable cause. It's not philanthropy. It's not transactional, a checklist, a one-off event.

It's a way of being. A way that you have to own and live and believe in.

And that takes commitment. Commitment to individuals and communities directly affected by racial injustices.

And commitment to yourself.

So yes, donate. Yes, march. Yes, write Black Lives Matter in sidewalk chalk. Yes, continue to learn.

But don't think it begins and ends there.

It begins with you exploring and articulating your personal story of why you care about all of this.

And it ends when we no longer have to talk about any of it.

White Supremacy is War

"Until the philosophy
Which hold one race superior and another
Inferior
Is finally
And permanently
Discredited
And abandoned
Everywhere is war"

– Bob Marley

White supremacy is Columbus.

White supremacy is all White boards.

White supremacy is colonialism.

White supremacy is four Black CEOs.

White supremacy is 3/5 of a person.

White supremacy is underpaying Black women.

White supremacy is saying Lincoln freed the slaves.

White supremacy is talking over your Black colleague in a meeting.

White supremacy is Jim Crow.

White supremacy is hiring for culture fit.

White supremacy is the KKK.

White supremacy is touching a Black woman's hair.

White supremacy is red lining.

White supremacy is not inviting your Black colleague to lunch.

White supremacy is predatory lending.

White supremacy is only reading books by White people.

White supremacy is kneeling on a Black man's neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds.

White supremacy is losing interest in Black Lives Matter.

White supremacy is Karen and Amy and Lisa and. . .

White supremacy is being offended by the term White supremacy.

White supremacy is White rage, White privilege, White fragility, White solidarity, White guilt, White tears.

White supremacy is

The philosophy

Which hold one race superior and another

Inferior.

It’s About Fucking Time

Transgender women of color said, "Fuck this police harassment shit!" and rioted at Compton's Cafeteria in the Tenderloin.

Then my dad got expelled from Emory University for hitting on his roommate.

Then he attempted suicide.

Then transgender women of color and gay men torched the Stonewall Inn.

Then my parents married.

Then I was born.

Then the APA depathologized homosexuality.

Then my parents divorced because my dad was gay.

Then Dan White killed Harvey Milk.

Then AIDS.

Then Reagan was elected.

Then my dad moved to San Francisco.

Then Reagan finally said something in public about AIDS.

Then my dad became HIV+.

Then he told me he was gay.

Then I cried.

Then his partner died of AIDS.

Then The Band Played On.

Then I told my friend I had a gay dad.

Then she said, "big fucking deal!"

Then they didn't ask and didn't tell in the military.

Then Matthew Sheppard got beaten and tied to a fence post.

Then my dad died of AIDS.

Then gay marriage was legal in San Francisco.

Then it wasn't.

Then Prop 8 passed.

Then it was reversed.

Then a transgender kid was in my class.

Then gay marriage was legal.

Then two Black transgender women were murdered.

Now it's illegal to discriminate against an LGBTQ person.

It's about fucking time!

Dig a Little Deeper

Are you a White person staying out of race conversations because you think you have no relevant experiences to share?

Interesting choice.

What about that school friend you played with in first grade but never invited him to your house because he was Black?

And that friend of your mom's who said she liked her neighborhood because no Black people lived there?

And that high school basketball game when your best friend got beat up by a Black kid for wearing the wrong colored jacket?

And did you forget your freshman year in college when you told a room full of Asian American women you thought Filipino women were hot?

Oh, and that time on the 19 Polk bus when you were surprised to have an intellectual conversation with a Black man?

And when you were out of town for a wedding and the bartender learned where you were from and said, "Aren't you the wrong color to be from Oakland?"

Wait, those aren't your stories about race. Those are my stories about race.

Just the ones off the top of my head.

The ones I've explored and reflected upon and learned from and told in more detail elsewhere.

The stories I use to enter conversations. To show vulnerability and self-awareness and humility.

You have stories about race too. You just need to dig a little deeper to find them.

Bringing Me Back to Humanity

I do the work I do to elevate humanity – my own and others'.

I engage in dialogue so I can experience the humanness of other people.

So I can have the privilege of hearing their stories, their troubles, their joys, their losses, their successes, their anger, their happiness, their despair, their hope.

So I can hear their journey. And so I can share mine.

So we can connect. And build a relationship. A friendship. A partnership. A trust. A collaboration. A support network. A coalition of collective good.

I center empathy and kindness and compassion and curiosity and equanimity. I stay present with another person's truth. I listen. I validate their lived experiences. I amplify their voice.

I use my power and privilege and influence to make positive change.

Intentionally.

I don't always get it right. Don't always sustain the effort. Sometimes I slip up. Get it wrong. Am inauthentic. Make an error of emphasis. Succumb to incivility. Forget what guides me. Devolve.

But I always get back on track. I always find some person or some message or some experience that brings me back to humanity.

That brings me back to focus. That brings me back to forward momentum and progress.

That brings me back to the vast dynamism of the human condition.

That brings me back to love.

Push Through the Discomfort

You're a White person newly waking up to 400 years of racial injustice.

This is good. We need you. Continue on your journey. Don't get stuck on the "I don't know what to do about racism" track.

You do know what to do about racism.

What you don’t know how to be is consistently visibly antiracist.

You don't know how to be associated with antiracism in a demonstrable public way.

You feel nervous making the transformation. Stepping into the unknown. Taking a risk.

Sure, you're concerned about saying the wrong thing, offending Black people, White guilt.

But you're more worried about how your relationships will change with your White friends.

Jeopardizing the social capital you've accrued with White people who have never known you to be antiracist.

The people who don't see you as "that kind of person". Who will be surprised by the new you. Who may tease, mock, and belittle you. Who will ask you why you're so serious all the sudden.

Whose friendships you may strain. Or even lose.

You don't know how to navigate this. How to absorb the criticism. How to embody the new antiracist you.

Because you don't yet have the fluency and confidence, you feel awkward, anxious, uncomfortable.

And you have to push through the discomfort.

If you don't, nothing changes.

Unapologetically White

Some White people have a hard time understanding why a Black person would declare that they are unapologetically Black.

While I would never speak for any individual Black person, or Black people as a group, I suspect it stems from having to navigate an unapologetically White world that ceaselessly marginalizes, others, oppresses, denies, murders, fetishizes, appropriates blackness.

Unapologetically White legislators who pass and uphold anti-Black laws and policies.

Unapologetically White politicians who make anti-Black speeches and incite anti-Black activities.

Unapologetically White boards who deadbolt their anti-Black old boys' network doors.

Unapologetically White executives who sit at anti-Black tables and make anti-Black decisions.

Unapologetically White cops who kneel on the neck of Black people until they die.

Unapologetically White vigilantes who murder Black joggers.

Unapologetically White dog walkers who weaponize their anti-Black privilege.

And the list goes on. . .

Of course, this unapologetic whiteness and unapologetic anti-blackness is rarely said out loud.

It's implied, condoned, expected – baked into the fabric of our existence.

It doesn't need to be spoken. It just is.

And is and is and is and is. . .

Until White people decide it is no longer.

Sitting Around the Campfire

"Hey, boys, would you ever do a Black chick?" My best friend's dad.

We were sixteen, on a guys' trip at the river.

Sitting around the campfire, talking philosophy and sports and, apparently, sex.

A completely normal question. Actually, not entirely accurate. A completely edgy question. It was the edginess that was normal.

A dad talking to his son and his best friend about grown up things. Things he was trusting us to be able to handle. Things beyond our maturity level.

Two virginal teenage boys who hadn't done anyone, let alone a Black chick.

We didn't know any Black chicks. Why would we? All our friends were White, all our parents' friends were White, all our neighbors were White, all our teachers were White, almost all our classmates and teammates were White.

Our entire world was White. Our entire world view was White.

Which is why it never occurred to him or to us that this question was fast tracking a racist, sexist, misogynistic, fetishist, patriarchal perspective into the next generation.

We didn't know – or care – about any of that shit. We were just excited to engage in a playful interracial sexual fantasy offered up by an adult we respected and admired and loved.

Never once thinking that this hypothetical Black chick could be a real live human being just like us.

I Do My Best

"It's harder to listen to the truth as it's told
Than it is just to lay down and bawl."

– A.J. Roach

I do my best to not let my discomfort prevent me from hearing someone else's truth.

I do my best to not let my lack of understanding invalidate someone else's lived experience.

I do my best to not speak with authority on topics I don't fully grasp.

I do not my best to not assume that what is normal for me is also normal for others.

I do my best to control my emotions so that I can stay present and hear other people's stories.

I do my best to sit with uncertainty when it would be easier to run as far away as possible.

I do my best to use my privilege and power to uplift others.

I do my best to acknowledge my social capital.

I do my best to lead with empathy and compassion.

I do my best to absorb criticism when someone disagrees with me.

I do my best to engage in civil dialogue when people want to attack and trash talk.

I do my best to stay curious and open to possibility when it would be easier to rug sweep.

I do my best to remain true to my values and principles when it would be easier to go rogue.

I do my best to stay detached from my opinions when it would be easier to be driven by my ego.

I do my best to stay authentic.

And sometimes I even succeed.

A Beginner’s Mind or an Expert’s?

"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few."

– Shunryu Suzuki

The beginner's mind thinks, "I don't know what it's like to be Black, but it's probably a lot different than what it's like to be White."

The expert's mind thinks, "There's racism. It sucks. Get over it, and let's move on."

The beginner's mind thinks, "I'm not sure exactly what to do or say, but I'm going to listen and learn and take actions to fight racism, even if they're small."

The expert's mind thinks, "Hey Jim, did we get that unconscious bias training thingy scheduled? Let's do it soon so we can go back to business as usual."

The beginner's mind thinks, "I can see how Black people don't trust the cops, even though I feel safe around them."

The expert's mind thinks, "Cops have a difficult job. Only a handful of them are racist, but there's nothing wrong with the system in general."

The beginner's mind leads with empathy, compassion, and understanding.

The expert's mind leads with certainty, stoicism, and apathy.

The beginner's mind is full of love, connection, and appreciation.

The expert's mind is full of fear, impatience, and arrogance.

The beginner's mind is open.

The expert's mind is closed.

So, do you have a beginner's mind or an expert's?

Historical Events Are Current Events

"That happened a long time ago. Why are we still talking about it?"

"We can't change history. Let's move on."

"Things are better now. Stop complaining."

As if the murders of Emmett Till and Medgar Evers and Malcolm X and Martin Luther King and Fred Hampton and Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley and Denise McNair and Addie Mae Collins and. . .

As if their deaths and why they were killed has no relevance today.

As if they were just sad and unjust historical events – people we've recognized, honored, and eulogized, who are no longer present in our imagination.

As if the so-called current events are somehow disconnected from the so-called historical events.

As if there's a clear delineation between a current event and a historical event. 

When does that happen? The minute after? The next day? The next month, year, decade?

They're all current events. It's all happening now. What's happening now happened now and now and now for centuries.

We only say it happened then to absolve ourselves from exploring its significance on what's happening today.

When do the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery become historical events?

When we get tired of talking about them?

I feel change coming.

Change that is leading to better future current events.

Continually Becoming Who We Are Meant to Become

We can ignore our origin stories. Dismiss them. Sweep them under the rug. Downplay them.

Or we can embrace them. Sit with their messiness. Explore them to appreciate who we are continually becoming.

"You better not ever bring a nig*er into this house again!"

Grandpa said to Mom when she brought a Black boyfriend home for dinner.

A year later, age 17, she left the house for good.

With my dad. Who was gay, but couldn't and didn't tell anyone.

Mom turned 18, got married.

19, had me.

21, divorced.

Toddler parent, no education, no job, few prospects. Straight ex-spouse of a gay man.

Hippy anti-establishment philosophy of youth segueing into the xenophobic default conservatism of motherhood.

She raised me. Worked two jobs. Paid the rent. Put food in my stomach. Bought me soccer cleats.

He bailed. Free to be who he was. Moved to San Francisco. Became. And died of AIDS.

Not before he taught me about life. Equality. Inclusion. Anti-racism. Truth. Connection. Humanity.

A contrast to the safe, culturally devoid squalor of the suburbs.

I navigated these two worlds – not always gracefully. I became and became and became. Shedding as I acquired. Acquiring as I shed.

I am still becoming. And so are you. And so are we all.

Continually becoming who we are meant to become.

That Thing He Said

Two years ago I ended a 35 year relationship with my best friend from childhood because he's racist.

Some of the lowlights:

2007: "Dave Chappelle is the one who's racist by talking about race and using the N word so much."

2010: "I finally met a Black dude who didn't have a chip on his shoulder."

2015: "Do you live in Oakland just so you can talk about Black people all the time?"

And the deal clincher:

2018: "Are you not willing to entertain the idea that Black people are intellectually inferior to White people?"

Are you fucking kidding me?

The ignorance, the smugness, the casual White supremacy. The unwillingness to even discuss his racism.

I told him I was done. He was surprised. Why couldn't I just have said "that thing he said" wasn't cool?

As if "that thing he said" was just a one-off comment.

As if "that thing he said" was just a minor irritation.

As if "that thing he said" could be brushed off.

As if it would go like this: He would apologize, I'd accept, we'd hug, and we'd go eat tacos.

It doesn't work like that.

He could not and would not understand that racism is more than slavery and the KKK and MLK being assassinated.

He is a "good person". He is "nice". I have the race issue.

Meanwhile, in 2020 in Georgia and Kentucky and Minnesota and. . .

Another White Guy On the Journey With You

Dear White friends,

It's great that you're asking, "What can I do?" in the anti-racism fight. Your enthusiasm and commitment are needed.

I don't have a list of do's and don'ts. Those lists are out there, and you should use them. And, change doesn't happen with lists.

For White people, anti-racism work requires evolving your consciousness, fundamentally changing your world view, and navigating the world through an entirely new lens.

It's a life-long long journey.

To drive impact and affect change, you have to be continually elevating your self-awareness.

For me, that elevation is grounded in four pillars. I invite you to adopt them as well:

1. Cultural Fluency.

Read. Learn. Listen. Engage. Immerse. See. Hear. Respect. Believe. Validate. Include.

2. Storytelling.

Be vulnerable, transparent, courageous. Develop a clear point of view. Own your narrative. Inspire others.

3. Mindfulness.

Slow down. Stay present. Meditate. Equanimity. Non-judgment. Sit with uncertainty. Observe your emotions and thoughts.

4. Emotional Intelligence (EQ).

Empathy. Compassion. Relationships. Trust. Connection. Absorb criticism and doubt. Don't center yourself.

Thank you for doing the work. Your intentionality, purpose, and conviction is needed.

In solidarity,

Another White Guy On the Journey With You

That’s How Racism Continues

Paula was a friend of my mom's. They played soccer together.

Sometimes after practice, Paula came with us to grab a bite at Taco Bell, or maybe get an ice cream or frozen yogurt.

She seemed nice enough to my twelve-year-old mind. Tanned White lady. Maybe thirty-five. Deep voice. Laughed a lot.

Sometimes she included me in the conversation, but usually the adults talked while my brother and I did our own thing.

One night, we gave Paula a ride home. We lived in a suburb ten miles east of San Diego. Paula lived even deeper in a smaller town – not quite rural but almost.

On our way back home, my mom said out of nowhere that Paula liked living there because she woke up every morning and didn't have to worry about seeing any Black people.

She said it casually, without malice or contemplation or any further point to make or discussion to have. No one else said anything – in the car that night or ever again. Bon Jovi probably played on the radio.

As a kid, I never thought about it again, but clearly I remember.

Now, I see that everyone in that car was responsible for perpetuating racism.

Paula, the obvious antagonist. My mom, the guilty accomplice. And us kids, ignorantly dragging the legacy into the next generation.

That's how racism continues.

Unless we actively work to reverse it.

An Error of Emphasis

One of the best bosses I ever had passed away recently, losing his year-long battle with pancreatic cancer.

He hired me in my first editorial job after twelve years of teaching. He showed me the ropes of content management, startups, business 101, working with an engineering team, and so much more.

Every day at lunch we'd talk politics, books, art, writing, travel, pop culture. Endless discussions with endless drops of knowledge on endless topics.

He also was a clever wordsmith. A phrase he taught me that I still use today:

"Error of emphasis"

It's when someone takes the focus away from the main point of an issue, and deflects to a minor or irrelevant point.

Like when people want to focus on how a White woman had her dog taken away instead of how she weaponized her racism against a Black man.

Like when people want to talk about Black people looting Target instead of Black people being murdered by police officers.

These are errors of emphasis.

Sometimes they're made unknowingly, carelessly, accidentally.

And sometimes they're made intentionally and maliciously to avoid emphasizing what needs to be emphasized.

Don't let your discomfort, lack of fluency, and fear lead you astray. Stay in the conversation.

Don't make an error of emphasis.

Your errors could be costly.

Where’s the Public Vulnerability?

"Racism is bad."

"This has got to stop."

"I/we/Company X stands in solidarity with the Black community."

“Black lives matter."

"We're all in this together."

Etc.

Maybe these messages are sincere. Maybe they're heartfelt. Maybe they're a catalyst for change. Maybe they weren't written by comms or PR people.

But maybe they're a bunch of bullshit. Disingenuous platitudes. Boilerplate templates. Well-crafted PR spin. Reactionary jargon.

The thing is, we just don't know. We don't know for several reasons: leadership team homogeneity, no previous statements, damning employee testimonials, to name a few.

The main thing I've noticed though?

I haven't read one message from a senior leader that has included a personal story. Nothing about their evolution of consciousness. No revelation of an internal existential crisis. No public vulnerability.

We haven't gotten the tiniest glimpse into the personal lives and thinking of these highly successful, powerful, and influential leaders sitting at the top of the corporate food chain.

We don't know any more about them now than we did two weeks ago. Nothing about their personal lives. No peek into their family or their childhood. No anecdotal evidence of who they really are.

So should we trust them? Probably not quite yet.

Who Has the Power and What Are They Doing With It?

If you fail to see that D&I work is social justice work, then your D&I work will fail.

I used to be a sixth grade social justice teacher. The one throughline that guided every assignment, project, lesson, discussion?

"Who has the power and what are they doing with it?"

Are people in power using their power over others to control, oppress, abuse, dehumanize them?

Or are people in power sharing their power with others to uplift, amplify, support, empower them?

Every single relationship in the history of humanity has a power dynamic. One person always has more power in any given context.

It's a choice how they use their power. Every. Single. Time.

From ancient history to two minutes ago, power is either being abused and weaponized or recognized as a force for equity and social justice.

Power is either used to create socially just laws, policies, norms, realities for everyone. . .

Or, it is used to continually perpetuate social injustice by suppressing the rights, agency, and opportunities of specific groups of people from already marginalized groups.

Until people in power are willing and able to consistently and intentionally use their power for good, nothing will change.

And we will continue to live in a socially unjust world.

What are you doing with your power?

A Huge Part of the Change That’s Coming

You start small. And then you grow. You find your voice. And you share it to change the world.

My son was born six weeks early. Four and a half pounds. His sister arrived a minute later. Three and a quarter pounds. I've eaten burritos bigger than that.

They stayed in the NICU for four weeks. Learning to breathe, swallow, poop, suck.

They came home. We swaddled them in one blanket on the top tray of the Pack n Play. Fifteen pound limit. They had seven pounds to spare. Combined.

They learned to sit up, nap, smile, laugh, crawl, walk, talk, throw their food, throw their toys, love each other, not sh*t in their underwear, read, spell, divide fractions, write, think, be respectful, express themselves.

They recently graduated fifth grade. A drive by ceremony in the BART parking lot.

Sweet, all things considered. But definitely surreal.

As they grow, we instill in them a sense of justice, self-awareness, love, empathy, belonging, appreciation of others' lived realities.

So when they enter the grown up world of office politics and power dynamics and institutionalized White supremacy and systematized racism they are prepared to change that world.

Yes, they may have started out small. But they're big now.

And if I have anything to do with it, they're gonna be a huge part of the change that's coming.