We Don’t Have to Beat the Shit Out of Anyone

"We don't have to beat the shit out of anyone. We can love everyone."

– Brené Brown

We beat the shit of people because we are insecure with who we are and who we could become.

We beat the shit out of people because we fear others who look, think, speak, and express themselves differently than we do.

We beat the shit of people because we see the world as a zero-sum game, constantly in scarcity mode, worrying about what will be taken from us.

We beat the shit out of people because we have more money, bigger muscles, more education, a better job, more friends, a bigger house, more power, a fancier car, more influence, better connections, more social capital.

We beat the shit out of people because we are ignorant, unaware, uncaring, full of anger and malice and aggression.

We beat the shit out of people because we lack self-empathy, self-compassion, self-reflection, self-awareness, self-knowledge, and self-actualization.

We beat the shit out of people because it's easier than getting to know them, understanding them, listening to them, empathizing with them, validating their lived experiences, learning from them.

We beat the shit out of people because we think it's easier than loving them.

When we beat the shit out of people, we beat the shit out of ourselves too.

Stubbornly Clinging to the Belief That We Live in a Meritocracy

White people who believe we live in a meritocracy are unable and unwilling to understand or appreciate – let alone embrace or support – the urgency of racial justice.

White people who believe we live in a meritocracy don't and won't understand what "all the fuss is about."

White people who believe the principles of meritocracy extend to everyone, regardless of race, believe they are standing on an unshakeable meritocratic foundation that is inherently fair and equal.

White people who believe we live in a meritocracy unselfconsciously assert that "all lives matter" with defiance and arrogance.

White people who believe we live in a meritocracy believe that because they've worked hard, had misfortunes, been excluded – experienced any number of difficulties that all humans have experienced – that there is nothing racially motivated or racially unjust or racially inequitable about what Black people experience on a daily basis.

White people who are unwilling to entertain the idea that we don't actually live in a meritocracy will continually resist, oppose, and counter any and all efforts that would actually lead to a meritocracy.

White people who believe we live in a meritocracy rely on unmeritocratic racial privilege to stubbornly cling to the belief that we live in a meritocracy.

Conversations with Readers

How often do you read? How instrumental is reading in your personal development?

Have you noticed the types of conversations you have with people who read regularly are different than with people who don't?

Not saying they're better or worse. Or that every conversation between avid readers is only about books, or even references books. They're just different.

I've read sixty books so far this year. Always learning, absorbing, changing, thinking, evolving, understanding, connecting, growing.

Here are fifteen of my favorites, in no specific order. Enjoy.

1. How To Be an Antiracist – Ibram Kendi

2. Reggae Routes: The Story of Jamaican Music – Kevin O’Brien Chang and Wayne Chen

3. Becoming – Michelle Obama

4. Infinite City: A San Francisco Atlas – Rebecca Solnit

5. Banker to the Poor – Yunus Muhammad

6. Stamped From the Beginning – Ibram Kendi

7. The Death and Life of Malcolm X – Peter Goldman

8. Black Macho and The Myth of the Superwoman – Michelle Wallace

9. Inside Scientology: The Story of America’s Secret Religion – Janet Reitman

10. Flyboy in the Buttermilk – Greg Tate

11. Native Son – Richard Wright

12. Kasher in the Rye – Moshe Kasher

13. We Should All Be Feminists – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

14. Faggots – Larry Kramer

15. Shadows of Your Black Memory – Donato Ndongo

Wherever I Go, There I Am

Sometimes everything just comes out nice and easy. The words make phrases that make strong statements that move people to think that inspire people to do better that motivate people to drive change.

And other times, the thoughts get stuck in my head, mixed up with all the other stuff that's clogging my mind, like – 

Are my kids going to start middle school on campus or at home?

Is the conversation I'm facilitating tomorrow going to go well? And what about the one on Monday?

Will the content ideas I want to implement for the client be received well?

Am I going to get back in shape or just keep drinking beers and Moscow mules every night?

Am I doing enough to help my White kids really understand that Black lives matter?

Is my natural state of equanimity masking a deeper feeling of anxiety about the pandemic?

You know, things like that. . .

Things that occupy my mind, that keep me from falling asleep even though I'm dead tired and I've taken my sleeping pills and I've read for two hours and it's way past my bedtime and it's not too hot because the the fan is on and my family is healthy and I'm fortunate to have steady work and my kids are getting along and I have good friends.

And if I can't produce my best work, I can produce something.

Because wherever I go, there I am.

How to Be Racist

"We know how to be racist. We know how to pretend to be not racist. Now let's know how to be antiracist."

– Ibram Kendi

How to be racist:

Join a White Supremacist group.

Call the cops on a people of color for doing nothing wrong.

Refer to the coronavirus as the "Chinese virus" or "Kung Flu."

Kneel on a Black man's neck for eight minutes and forty-six seconds.

Shoot a Black man with a shotgun because he was running down the road.

Put the resume with the "Black sounding name" in the no pile.

Don't sell the house to the Latinx family in the upscale neighborhood.

Make jokes about people of color with your White friends.

Harass Black people on social media.

Say "all lives matter" anytime you hear, read, or see "Black Lives Matter".

How to pretend to be not racist:

Tell people you're not racist.

How to be antiracist:

Actively and consistently oppose all racist action, behavior, speech, and policy.

Actively and consistently oppose with your money, votes, influence, and social capital any politician, initiative, behavior, company, policy, or law that is racist.

Actively and consistently support with your money, vote, influence, and social capital any politician, initiative, behavior, company, policy, or law that is antiracist.

Don't say you're not racist.

Being More Consistently Antiracist

Last week I listened to a two-hour discussion on race with Resmaa Menakem and Robin DiAngelo.

A Black man and a White woman sharing stories, insights, lessons.

Dropping knowledge. Dropping mics. Dropping truth.

Being vulnerable. Being raw. Being real.

Connecting. Listening. Creating space. Respecting. Validating. Welcoming. Including. Empathizing.

I took five pages of notes. I could have written a book's length worth of responses and reflections and learnings. I could have listened for another two hours.

My mind absorbing, growing, expanding.

After two hours, they were just getting warmed up. I wanted to grab a drink at the bar and come back for the second set.

So many specific pearls of wisdom that all I can seem to do is talk in superlative generalities.

But here are two.

From Robin: "The forces of comfort are powerfully seductive and allow us to claim we're not racist."

From Resmaa: "'I'm not racist' has no meaning because there's no action required."

I'm not not racist. I'm either racist or I'm antiracist. I can admit when I'm racist because I can recognize when I'm racist.

And I can take action. And learn. And evolve. And stay committed. And do better.

And be more consistently antiracist.

A Black Man and a White Man Both Struggling to Be Fully Human

"This book is ultimately about the basic struggle we're all in, the struggle to be fully human and to see that others are fully human."

– Ibram Kendi, from "How To Be An Antiracist"

Racism persists because we fail to see each other as human.

We fail to see each other as human because we don't get to know each other.

We don't get to know each other because we think we have little in common with each other.

We think we have little in common with each other because we don't tell our stories.

We don't tell our stories because we don't appreciate the power they have to inspire and build connection across perceived differences.

In December 1970, Dr. Kendi's parents met at a concert in Urbana, Illinois at the University of Illinois.

In June 1970, my parents met in a small house in Urbana, Illinois, a few blocks from the University of Illinois.

Dr. Kendi doesn't know me. Doesn't know I exist. Doesn't know what I do.

He doesn't know we both exist because our parents met each other six months apart in the same Midwest college town.

Dr. Kendi told the story of how his parents met in his book. He humanized himself. He humanized his parents.

He connected with me. Someone he doesn't know and may never meet.

A Black man and a White man. Both struggling to be fully human.

I Value Antiracism, So I Practice Being Antiracist

If you value something, you will practice getting better at it.

If you say you value something, but you don't practice, you don't value it. It's just an ideal.

If you say you'd like to have or be or see or embody something but you don't work to make it happen, you don't value it. It's just an ideal.

It'd be ideal if I was a good cook. But I don't value it enough to practice cooking. So I eat mediocre food at home and I spend way too much money on takeout.

It'd be ideal if I was more handy. But I don't value it enough to practice trying to fix stuff at home. So that light fixture stays burned out and the hardwood floor stays unfinished.

Conversely, I do value being a good parent. I value modeling curiosity and integrity and empathy and respect – traits I want my kids to have too. I practice being a good parent every day.

I value being a good musician. I play guitar every day.

I value reading. I read at least an hour every day.

I value equanimity. I meditate for twenty minutes every day.

I value antiracism. I read and listen and engage and interact with people and content and communities every day that help me learn and grow and practice how to be antiracist.

I value antiracism, so I practice being an antiracist.

If I didn't, it'd just be an ideal.

When I’m On My Game, I’m Never Wrong

I'm probably wrong about this, but I'm not really interested in being right that often.

Sure, I have my opinions. And things I care about. And I see things that should be different. And I work to change things.

But I'm not necessarily interested in being right.

At least I don't think so. But I could be wrong.

I feel like I'm mostly unattached to my words and my thoughts and my actions being right.

I don't really feel the need to be credited with the right answer or the right solution or the right perspective.

I like to engage in dialogue, throw out ideas to start conversations, have discussions on any number of topics, but I really don't get into arguments with people that much.

Unless of course I know I'm right and I feel a strong need to defend my rightness.

And that's when things fall apart. Chinua Achebe was right.

When I get hooked into centering my rightness over my curiosity, my entire dynamic shifts. And not for the better.

I close off. I lose interest. I shut myself and others down.

I put all my energy into being right. Which leaves no energy to listen, to hear, to understand, to learn, to grow, to love, to relate.

When I'm on my game, I'm never wrong. Because I'm not trying to be right.

And that's a good place to be. I'm pretty sure I'm right about that.

All Those Times

All those times I was never misgendered.

All those times no one said anything when I walked down the street holding hands with my opposite-sex significant other.

All those times I wasn't followed in a store because of the color of my skin.

All those times when I wasn't afraid for my life when the cops pulled me over.

All those times when I was with people who looked like me in a classroom, at a job, on a team, at an event, in the community, in the neighborhood.

All those times when I got angry and no one accused me of being the angry White guy.

All those times I was assumed to have competence in a domain that I had no experience in.

All those times when the people in the movies and on the TV and in the executive suite and in politics looked like me.

All those times when I easily took the stairs to the second floor when the elevator was out of service.

All those times I offended people and had no idea that I had offended people.

All those times I read books by and about people who looked like me, and lived similar lives to me, and who I could relate to.

All those times I didn't get the extra security check at the airport.

All those times my friends got me the job without an interview.

All those times I got the good table at the restaurant.

All those times. . .

Can You Be a Self-actualized Racist?

Some say I overuse the word "self-actualization."

Someone tells a story that ends with a question about why the person in the story said or did or thought something that perhaps they shouldn't have said or done or thought.

Storyteller: Why do you think they did that?

Me: Maybe they're not self-actualized.

Cue eye rolls, groans, and "Will you stop saying that?"

I probably do overuse it.

But maybe not.

As I watch and listen to and read about people who are clinging to racist views – some more subtly, some more aggressively – I wonder why they are so threatened by racial equity and justice.

I'm not naive of course. I know that fear and ignorance and politics and hatred and upbringing and media and White supremacy and indifference and apathy and shame and confusion and misguidedness and misrepresentation and laws and power and privilege and intolerance and bigotry and narrow-mindedness and provincialism and. . .are all contributing factors.

And, I keep coming back to self-actualization.

Can you be a self-actualized racist? Can "I'm a racist" really be your highest personal manifestation?

Seems unlikely. Seems like self-reflection and curiosity and compassion are all missing.

I don't know. Maybe I'm not fully self-actualized either.

I guess I'll keep working on it.

Calling People Into Conversations About White Supremacy

"There are ways we can call people into conversations about White supremacy with compassion for the fact that we all are in this together. We’ve all been trained away from this conversation."

– Rhonda Magee

It's tempting to scream and yell and use foul language and be sarcastic and disparage and hurdle insults and publicly shame and threaten harm and intimidate and harass and mock people who persist with their blatant White supremacist views.

And, I suspect that the percentage of people who cling tightly to White supremacist views that has been persuaded to change their views using any of those techniques hovers somewhere between 0% and 0.000001%.

I have no data for that; just an educated guess.

I have tried some of those techniques before. My success rate is 0/infinity.

I've never once won an argument with someone who was trying to win an argument. On any subject, let alone White supremacy.

I'm not interested in winning arguments.

I'm not interested in talking with people who are not interested in talking.

I'm not interested in educating people who are not interested in being educated.

I'm interested in helping people who want to end racism advance on their journey to help end racism.

I'm interested in calling people in. Not calling people out.

Deeply Curious On Purpose

I've noticed a lot of White people lately becoming more curious about racial injustice.

They are reading books and listening to podcasts and making donations and following Black voices on social media.

This curiosity is good. Continue to be curious.

And, your curiosity must go beyond the superficial kind to the deep, sustained kind.

Superficial curiosity has limited impact. Requires minimal investment. Is fleeting. Reeks of privilege.

Superficial curiosity sees incidents of racial injustice as if they were an interesting new Netflix series or a new technology.

Superficial curiosity thinks things are neat.

You watch a few episodes, buy a new gadget, and then your attention and interest expires.

Deep curiosity about racial injustice requires more intentionality. It requires examining your own motivations, your own experiences, your own evolution of consciousness.

It requires being interested in other people and events and histories and communities and relationships. . . on purpose.

On purpose!

Continuing to learn. On purpose. Continuing to grow. On purpose. Continuing to do better. On purpose

Committing to being part of the solution. On purpose.

Because if you're not deeply, intentionally, sustainably curious on purpose, then what's the point?

We Like You, Rhonda, But You’re Just Not a Kappa

A lot of White folks think racism only comes in the "burning cross" variety.

Obvious. Hateful. Murderous. Aggressive.

Easy to identify, condemn, and unite against.

But, actually, most racism comes in the "sorority" variety.

Not always easy to identify, condemn, or unite against.

Chris Rock defines sorority racism like this:

"We like you, Rhonda. But you're just not a Kappa."

Kind. Polite. Courteous. Friendly. Smiley.

And racist.

We like you Rhonda, but you're just not leadership material.

We like you Rhonda, but you're just not a culture fit.

We like you Rhonda, but we think Jim should make the presentation.

We like you Rhonda, but our lunch table is full.

We like you Rhonda, but you didn't get the promotion.

Sorority racists equate being nice with not being racist.

Sorority racism is difficult for people who don't have racial fluency to recognize it as racism.

Sorority racism is easy to participate in. And just as easy to explain away.

Sorority racism is gender nonspecific.

Sorority racism preserves White supremacy.

Sorority racism thrives in professional, political, and social contexts because people don't realize – or don't care – that they are perpetuating sorority racism.

I think we should file a class action lawsuit against the Greek authorities.

Those Aren’t Stories About Race

More White people are realizing that saying things like "I don't see color" is not only false but harmful.

These statements stem from racial privilege. Racial privilege that allows White people to never see themselves as having a race.

Which means they don't need to be part of the race conversation.

Race is about other people – Black people, Brown people, Asian people. Anybody other than White people.

They have a race. We are just normal. If they would stop talking about race, we could move on with our lives.

With that lens you can see why White people would say they aren't racist. Why they don't think systemic racism exists. Why they don't think they have any stories about race.

Because most of their stories about race are actually non-stories. All the times they didn't see how their whiteness gave them advantage.

The times they weren't followed in a store. The times they weren't denied housing. The times they weren't harassed by the cops. The times they weren't seen as a threat.

The times they got hired and got the promotion and got the loan and got the good service and got the nice house.

Those aren't stories about race. They're just things that happened. Everyday things. Unremarkable. Normal.

But now some White folks are waking up. Let's hope the rest wake up too.

Sustaining an Antiracism Effort

It's difficult for White people to sustain an antiracism effort because it's exhausting.

But nowhere near as exhausting as Black people living with racism every moment of every day.

Our threshold as White people needs to be higher. We can't let our privilege kick in and peace out of the conversation whenever we get tired.

Because it's too hard. Because it's too challenging. Because we get pushback from our peers/colleagues/boss/friends/family.

Because we're not sure what to do. Because one person says we should do this, and another person says we should do the exact opposite.

Because we're confused. Because we're overwhelmed. Because we're uncertain how to proceed.

This is all part of the work. We will be criticized, questioned, attacked, dismissed.

Our authenticity will be doubted. Our commitment will be suspect. We will be accused of not doing enough, doing too much, doing it wrong, practicing the superficial art of performative allyship.

This happens to all of us. In fact, it happened to me today. Twice.

I'd be lying if it doesn't make me pause, rethink, reconsider.

Make me ask: Am I doing the right thing? Should I be doing this work?

I do get tired. I do need breaks. I do need to refuel.

I listen. I reflect. I learn. And I carry on.

And so should you.

Attached to Whiteness

A lot of White folks are attached to their whiteness.

Sometimes unconsciously. Other times knowingly.

Sometimes secretly, privately, only with certain people. Other times publicly, blatantly, arrogantly.

Don Miguel Ruiz Jr. wrote a book called The Five Levels of Attachment.

1. Authentic
2. Preference
3. Identity
4. Internalization
5. Fanaticism

Like our attachments to our political opinions, religious beliefs, sports teams, careers, social circles – everything! – White people's attachment to their whiteness falls somewhere on this continuum.

From level five: whatever it takes to defend and promote whiteness, including killing.

To level one: not attached to whiteness at all.

I think most White people are in the identity or internalization levels.

Where whiteness is very important. Individual and collective whiteness must be defended. White solidarity is necessary because whiteness is under attack.

Perspectives, narratives, movements that decenter whiteness are dismissed, marginalized, assaulted.

We see it all the time. White fragility. White people unable to engage in conversations. Unwilling to educate themselves. Averse to evolving their consciousness.

White folks must do the work to detach from their whiteness and get to level one.

That's when we'll see progress.

Beginning to Know What We Have Not Known

"Surely it is the most blameworthy ignorance to believe that one knows what one does not know."

– Socrates

One of the most worthwhile pursuits in my life has been being okay with not knowing.

Being okay with not having the answer. Being okay with ceding power to someone with superior knowledge. Being okay with letting another person drive a conversation.

Being okay saying, "I'm not sure." Being okay admitting I don't have expertise on a certain topic. Being okay being the apprentice.

Learning how to start a conversation by listening. Learning how to seek to fully understand. Learning how to absorb meaning and context and nuance.

Learning to keep my ego in check. Learning to amplify the voices of others. Learning to exist with equanimity and civility.

When I reflect on the areas of my life where I do have knowledge, there was always a time when I was ignorant in those exact same areas.

Over time, through radical curiosity and profound empathy, I gained enough understanding in those areas to speak with more confidence and competence.

I hope that as we continue the conversation about race and racism, folks who have not previously been part of the conversation, join with compassion, humility, and genuine eagerness to learn.

So we can all begin to know what we have not known.

No Like. Garbage.

My twins were twenty months old. Dinner at the pop up folding table in the kitchen. Food everywhere – on faces, fingers, bibs, the table, the floor, me.

Everywhere but on the plate or in the stomach.

I offered my daughter something new. She put it in her mouth. Screwed up her face in disgust. Reached into her mouth. Pulled out the food. Threw it on the floor in a rage. Looked me in the eye. Said:

"No like. Garbage!"

The conviction. The confidence. The courage to challenge authority.

I think she was on to something.

Boilerplate corporate statements in support of Black Lives Matter?

No like. Garbage.

All-White executive teams?

No like. Garbage.

White people saying "all lives matter"?

No like. Garbage.

All White boards?

No like. Garbage.

White people calling the cops on people of color in Central Park and Pacific Heights?

No like. Garbage.

White privilege?

No like. Garbage.

White cops killing innocent Black people?

No like. Garbage.

White silence?

No like. Garbage.

White fragility?

No like. Garbage.

White tears?

No like. Garbage.

White supremacy?

No like. Garbage.

White people in positions of power using their power to affect change?

Like. Not garbage.

White people throwing their food in a rage at White people who don't seem to get it?

Like. Not garbage.

Just Two White Boys Doing Some Shopping

We were fourteen and decided to steal stickers from surf clothing at Bullock's in the mall.

Two White boys roaming the Rip Curl and Gotcha button downs and board shorts and sweatshirts.

No one following us. No one watching. An initial friendly hello from the sales person. Otherwise no interaction.

Just two White boys browsing clothes we couldn't afford and had no intention of buying.

And tugging stickers off belt loops and button holes and stuffing them in our pockets.

To put on our school folders and CD players and bike frames. To show our friends we were cool.

It was too easy. Ten minutes. A few dozen stickers in our pockets. The most skilled and clever petty thieves around.

Until we walked outside and a man asked us to return the stickers we stole.

Until he took us to a room and showed videos of us committing our crimes.

Until he called our parents.

Until we got a one year ban from the store.

Which all sucked. And was embarrassing. A lesson in integrity.

But we never felt harassed. No one on the floor suspected us. No one followed us. No one threatened us or saw us a threat.

We were treated with respect. Two relatively innocent White boys who made a mistake. An error of judgment. A poor decision.

A slap on the wrist for punishment.

Then we carried on with our lives.