One of These Kids Is Not Like the Others

You like coffee. I like tea.

You enjoy jazz. I enjoy reggae.

You prefer knitting. I prefer reading.

You say and do and think racist things. I say and do and think antiracist things.

Remember "One of These Kids Is Not Like the Others" from Sesame Street?

Four quadrants with a kid in each one. Three kids doing something similar – playing a sport, wearing a coat, eating a banana – and the fourth kid doing something totally different.

For three-year-olds, it was a good lesson to identify similarities, recognize differences, and group things.

All adults – Sesame Street veterans or not – should be able to do the same.

So why are so many adults unable to see that their racist views are not just a "preference" or a "different opinion" or an "alternative point of view" or "another side of the argument"?

Racism isn't a preference. Racism is racism. And either you say and do and think racist things. Or you say and do and think antiracist things.

It's a choice. Every single time.

The good news is that one of the most antiracist things you can say or do or think is admit when you've said or done or thought something racist.

And then stop saying or doing or thinking that thing.

I'm cool with us liking different beverages, enjoying different music, or having different hobbies.

I'm not cool with you being racist.

I’m Putting My Money on Buddha

Back in 2000 when my dad was sick and dying of AIDS, he got more "spiritual".

Which included reading books on Buddhism.

He started quoting things to me.

I was twenty-seven, only a tiny bud of what would become the flower of my spiritual (and emotional and political and cultural and intellectual and. . .) awakening.

One quote I remember:

"Learn to observe without judging or reacting."

Not sure if it was a direct Buddha quote, but I was immediately drawn to it – intellectually at least.

I wrote the quote on a whiteboard in the bell closet of the hotel where I worked as a bellman and valet.

As a joke, someone changed it to say:

"Learn to judge and react without observing."

Ha, ha!

It was all good fun. We laughed for a few minutes, and nothing more was said.

And after twenty years of mindfulness practice – of intentionally trying to observe without judging or reacting – I can't help but notice that so much of the strife and conflict and war and divisiveness and echo chambering and hatred and misunderstanding and othering and canceling and. . .

Comes from judging and reacting without observing.

It's hard to know who was really onto something – my dad and Buddha or the jokesters on the bell staff.

I'm putting my money on my dad and Buddha. Seems like a more worthwhile pursuit.

Learn Which Pick to Use

One reason you might not do so well in conversations about diversity, equity, inclusion, racism, social justice. . .is because you think you know more than you know.

And because you don't or won't understand and appreciate nuance.

Like the difference between a .73mm and 1.5mm guitar pick.

Guitar players know what I'm talking about.

Others might not. Isn't a pick a pick?

No.

Does .77mm really make a difference?

A world of difference.

Bluegrass guitar requires a sturdy pick to attack the bass runs and make the high strings ring.

Skanking a reggae rhythm, on the other hand, sounds best with a thin flexible pick that won't break the strings.

Could you play bluegrass with .73mm pick? Sure, but it would suck. Could you skank with a 1.5mm pick? Yes, but you might as well use a patio tile instead.

If you don't play guitar, you would never ever in a million years tell a guitar player which pick to use.

Why?

Because you don't know what the hell you're talking about.

So why would you talk out your ass about people's lived experiences and personal stories and historical contexts and authentic realities that you know nothing about?

Before you dominate a discussion, hear and believe what people are saying.

Before you join a band, know the genre and learn which pick to use.

Getting Through to Tens of Millions of White Folks

We'd been friends for decades. A White guy. We'd had our spats about race.

I tried to have conversations with him. He had no interest.

Finally I realized that his unwillingness to engage in conversations about race was as much a part of his racism as his racist assumptions and stereotyping of Black people.

Since he wouldn't converse with me, I wrote him an email saying we could no longer be friends if he was not willing to have the conversations.

Two months. Nothing.

Then he emailed me back. Part of his response, and the gist of his argument, was this:

"If you and I met the same ten Black people, I guarantee every one of them would want to be friends with me more than with you."

Like millions of White people, he seemed to be saying that if you were "nice" and "friendly" you couldn't be racist. And that his hypothetically superior number of friendships with hypothetical Black people somehow erased all the racist things he said and thought and did.

As if his openly shared racist views didn't contradict his supposed affinity and camaraderie with theoretical Black people.

As if that had anything to do with anything.

We're no longer friends. Which was an easy decision.

What's not so easy is getting through to the tens of millions of other White folks who think similarly.

Fewer Mine Fields

"When you run with destruction in your heart, you find yourself in mine fields all the time."

– Gabby Rivera

About twenty years ago, I did something that fundamentally changed my life.

Whenever I was driving and someone did something that made me angry or cynical or aggressive or judgmental, I didn't look at them.

That's it. That's all I did.

Someone cut me off. Didn't look at them. Someone going twenty MPH getting on the freeway. Didn't look at them. Someone failed to signal. Didn't look at them.

Initially, I noticed I'd still get angry, but by not identifying the person, I stopped perpetuating a story about who they were, why they did what they did, and how I was somehow their intentional victim.

Very quickly, the severity and duration of my emotions decreased significantly until I rarely had negative emotions while driving at all.

Then I applied the same principle to other parts of my life. I stopped judging, begrudging, gossiping, scolding.

And I began to experience an infinite increase in mental and intellectual bandwidth that was previously unavailable to me.

I stopped taking things personally. I no longer gave my attention to emotions and ideas and people and situations that didn't deserve my attention.

And now I live in a world with far fewer mine fields.

Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

"Don't just do something, sit there."

– Sylvia Boorstein

Be careful of action bias in your social justice and antiracism work.

The bias that leads you to "do something" because you're supposed to "do something".

The bias that leads you to believe that because you did something – one thing, or maybe two things – that the work is over.

The bias that leads you to believe that someone can or should or will give you a concrete list of "do's" and "don'ts" that you can laminate and hang by your desk as a guide to continue doing something.

The bias that leads you to dismiss ongoing intentional and selective reading and listening and media consumption and self-educating and immersing and learning and evolving and self-assessing as "not doing anything" or "not doing enough".

The bias that leads you to conflate performative allyship that is visible and commentable and likable with the true, deep, consistent self-development work that isn't as visible and laudable and commendable.

The bias that leads to boxes being checked and status quos status quoing.

The bias that provides you with allyship cookies and pins.

The bias that mocks self-reflection and meditation and self-actualization and committing to who you truly want to be.

The bias that perpetuates inequity and injustice.

Uncomfortable Being Uncomfortable

"To not have the conversations because they make you uncomfortable is the definition of privilege. Your comfort is not at the center of this discussion. That is not how this works."

– Brené Brown

You're uncomfortable because you don't have the answers, because you can't solve the problem, because your mother said not to talk about "controversial topics."

You're uncomfortable because you have a narrow worldview, because you have a provincial mindset, because you have not taken the time to understand and appreciate the lived realities of others.

You're uncomfortable because you take things personally, because you aren't self-actualized, because you don't know how to absorb criticism.

You're uncomfortable because people who are different from you have different perspectives, because they share them with conviction, because you don't know how to respond.

You're uncomfortable because you center yourself, because empathy is an abstract concept, because you're not curious.

You're uncomfortable because you haven't learned to sit with uncertainty, because you can't hold space for new ideas, because you're attached to being right.

You're uncomfortable because you don't want to change, because you like being comfortable, because you're uncomfortable being uncomfortable.

Walking the Talk

I've been a fan of Brené Brown for several years. Her work on empathy, vulnerability, courage, and shame has influenced my work.

And, lately, I've been impressed with her DEI and social justice work.

As much as I'd admired her work, I always felt she could go deeper with a social justice and equity lens. But she rarely did.

Until now.

And, she's totally embraced it. She has fluency. She's not just talking out her ass or flaunting her celebrity or being a performative ally.

When she talks with her podcast guests about this stuff, she totally gets it. She understands her role as a White woman in this space.

She listens, she amplifies, she shows empathy and compassion. She validates the lived experiences of people who have been marginalized and oppressed.

And it all feels genuine, sincere, relevant. She walks her talk.

Hearing her only recently speak so fluently about the issues makes me wonder how many other everyday White people have not been stepping up.

People who may not have Brené's platform, but who have power and privilege to be allies, accomplices, co-conspirators.

People who stay silent and perpetuate the status quo. Who don't use their voice to affect change. Who don't challenge the dominant narrative. Who are okay with the norm.

That wouldn't be you, would it?

I’m Just Not Ready

"I'm not ready to be anti racist. I'm just not there yet."

– Too many White people

The details:

I'm just not ready to give up my privilege.

I'm just not ready to amplify marginalized voices.

I'm just not ready to have conversations that make me feel uncomfortable.

I'm just not ready to read books, listen to podcasts, and watch films centering the experiences of people of color.

I'm just not ready to be self-reflective.

I'm just not ready to challenge the status quo.

I'm just not ready to disrupt the White solidarity I've built up my whole life.

I'm just not ready to stop perpetuating White supremacy.

I'm just not ready to validate the lived experiences of people who are different from me.

I'm just not ready to listen to the stories of people not like me.

I'm just not ready to be humble, empathetic, and compassionate.

I'm just not ready to give up my power.

I'm just not ready to affect change with my social capital, positional authority, and political influence.

I'm just not ready to live in an equitable world.

I'm just not ready to develop my cultural competence.

I'm just not ready to see people of color as fully human.

I'm just not ready to learn and grow and change.

I'm just not ready to do better.

Check back later though, and maybe I'll be ready.

Fade to White

A few reasons why people don't talk about race at work:

I'm uncomfortable.
I don't know what to say.
I'm White so I have nothing to contribute.
I was hired to [insert job function] not talk about race.
Why is it always about race?
Black people always play the race card.
Talking about race is divisive.
Whenever I talk about race, I say the wrong thing.
My manager told us not to talk about race.
My manager has no racial fluency.
My manager is Black and always wants to talk about race.
Politics and work shouldn't mix.
Talking about race is distracting.
What about class and gender?
Our company is a meritocracy.
Slavery happened a long time ago.
My family never owned slaves.
We had a Black president so there's no more racism.
I don't see why race it's relevant.
I don't see color.
There's really only one race – the human race.
Race is a social construct, so it doesn't really exist.
I just want the best person to do the job; I don't care if they're Black, White, purple, or green.
It's easier to talk more generally about "D&I" stuff.
We had an hour long unconscious bias training already.
I feel guilty because I'm White.

And the film ends with our hero the status quo hoisted onto the shoulders of adoring fans and carried off into the sunset.

The screen fades to Bla – uh, I mean, White. . .

When You Say These Things You Look Silly and Racist

Hey White folks, I have a message for you.

We are not victims. We are not oppressed. We are not marginalized. We are not targets of systemic racism.

I invite you to stop saying your blatant racism is a call for equality. You're embarrassing yourself.

You look silly – and racist – when you say silly and racist things.

For example. . .

When you say a supermarket ad featuring an all-Black family is racist.

When you say your manager is "over-rotating" because three of the last five people she hired were Black.

When you say Black people would not get murdered if they complied with police.

When you say all lives matter.

When you say diversity is okay as long as we don't lower the bar.

When you say we live in a meritocracy while ignoring the abysmal number of Black folks in leadership positions.

When you say these things you look silly and racist.

And these are just a few examples that come to mind off the top of my head. I could list hundreds more.

Black people having greater access to professional opportunities, gaining more visibility in media, or talking about the racism they've experienced is not racism.

It's called equity. Even if you feel threatened.

What is racism: Defending the status quo of Whiteness, and dismissing people who talk about race as racists.

The Interconnectedness of Mindfulness and Social Justice

We would all do well to pay closer attention to the interconnectedness of mindfulness and social justice.

Mindfulness allows us to be awake to the present moment that's happening now and now and now.

Mindfulness keeps us in a state of equanimity, which allows us to respond not react to social injustices that are happening and continue to happen all around us.

Mindfulness helps us remember that we are not our emotions, that passion is not the same as purpose, that detachment from our views is good because it allows us to believe what we believe with clarity and commitment.

Mindfulness shows us we are more impactful and effective when we move past the bomb throwing stage of the revolution.

Mindfulness puts us in a position to influence and persuade with conviction and believability, helps our credibility and validity.

Mindfulness helps us declutter our thoughts, prioritize what needs to be prioritized, and speak and write with precision and relevancy and power.

Mindfulness connects us to ourselves and others, builds bridges across differences, deepens trust, keeps us from going astray and devolving into argumentation, reminds us that debate is not the same as dialogue.

Mindfulness makes it clear that we will not affect change in the world until we understand ourselves.

Put the Princess Down

Two monks – one senior and one junior – are walking down a path when they come to the bank of a river.

A princess arrived from the opposite direction at the bank of the river at the same time.

Without any greeting or introduction, she rudely demanded that the two monks carry her across the river without letting her get wet.

So the two monks put her on their shoulders and wade across the river, their robes getting soaked while keeping the princess dry.

On the other side, they drop the princess off gently and she heads off in the opposite direction without even a word or look of gratitude.

The two monks carry on their journey in silence.

An hour down the path, the junior monk finally stops and says to the senior monk:

"I'm so angry that the princess was so rude and entitled. She didn't thank us or appreciate our help at all. Are you not upset to be treated this way?"

With calmness and wisdom, the senior monk turns to the junior monk and says, "I put that princess down an hour ago. Why are you still carrying her?"

Bosses Who Don’t Suck

We've all had 'em – bosses who totally suck.

Who aren't human. Who don't connect with you. Who you don't trust. Who make life miserable.

And, we've all had bosses who kick ass.

Who are human. Who have high EQ. Who help you develop and thrive. Who are authentic. Who make work fun. Who inspire you.

I have had some of both. No time for the sucky ones.

But the good ones – thank you!

Thanks, Rich, for teaching me the tricks of the bartending trade when I was twenty-one. And for letting me drink Newcastle while we worked.

Thanks, Justin, for showing me how to be a bellman/valet at a swanky hotel. And for putting a hunsky or two in my pocket every night.

Thanks, Anne, for giving me my start in teaching. And for understanding that I could be a snarky irreverent bastard and be a good teacher.

Thanks, Karen, for pushing me to see teaching through a social justice lens. Most of what I do today I trace back to what I learned from our collaboration.

Thanks, Barry, for showing me how to be an editor. And for supporting me through the dark days of a startup going nowhere. RIP.

Thanks, Susan, for seeing the impact I bring to the D&I space. And for being a boss who values thought partnership as much as me.

Here's to bosses who don't suck!

How Are You Helping Change the Narrative?

Forty-two years ago Dan White murdered Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected US official, at City Hall in San Francisco.

I was five years old. It was another ten years before I knew my dad was gay, and another ten years before I knew who Harvey Milk and Dan White were.

Once I learned about the murder, it became a main driver for the work I do.

Throughout history, there have been people like Dan White who are threatened by people like Harvey Milk.

And today is no different.

The person who is so used to their privilege and prestige and dominance that they feel threatened by the mere suggestion that someone who is different could not only exist but exist equally and enjoy the same respect and autonomy and agency.

The person who is so used to 100% that 98% feels oppressive.

The person who is ruled by fear, intimidated by difference, and who will defend the status quo at all costs.

Up to and including murder.

Dan White murdering Harvey Milk is a high profile example of how fear of the other manifests in the real world.

And there are countless less high profile, less severe, less well known – but equally disturbing, equally discriminatory, equally prejudiced – examples that happen to everyday people every day.

The question is: How are you helping to change that narrative?

I thought I Was So Clever

Just because you're good at one thing, doesn't mean you're good at another thing.

In college I was good at drinking beer. I drank beer eight or nine days a week.

I even drank beer at work. Granted, I was a bartender so it kind of made sense.

One slow Monday night, instead of drinking coffee mugs of Newcastle on tap, I switched it up and drank coffee mugs of jug burgundy wine.

My manager asked what I was drinking.

Coffee, I lied.

No you're not, you're drinking red wine.

I feigned offense. And thought, How the hell does she know that?

Red wine? I never drink red wine.

Well, you're drinking red wine now because your teeth are gray.

Damn!

I had no idea that drinking red wine turned your teeth gray. I figured drinking red wine was basically the same as drinking brown beer.

I thought I was so clever with my coffee mug full of dark liquid that passed for coffee.

No one would know I was doing anything wrong. No one would think I didn't know what I was doing. No one would see through my facade of competence.

But actually people totally knew I was doing something wrong. They absolutely thought I didn't know what I was doing. They clearly saw my incompetence.

People can see things about us that we can't see about ourselves.

So it's probably better to be humble and honest.

Be Impeccable with Your Word

"He had just returned from Kentucky, on what he expected to be a heartwarming farewell journey home. In one breath he told his family he was gay and dying [of AIDS]. He braced for their tears. Instead, his father punched him on the nose and disowned him on the spot."

–David France, from How to Survive a Plague: The Story of How Activists and Scientists Tamed AIDS

You often don't know what someone is going through.

Your assumptions and ignorance and dismissiveness and indifference and meanness and hatred and righteousness and superiority and mockery and privilege – they all have impact in ways you may never know.

And on people you may never know.

And on communities you may never know exist. With conditions and realities and lived experiences that you may never know exist.

The repercussions of your actions and words and thoughts and behaviors and habits can and do affect other people in very real ways.

In the book The Four Agreements, the first agreement is:

Be impeccable with your word.

Say what you mean. Avoid speaking negatively about others. Avoid gossip. Use your words in a positive direction with truth and love.

If you're already doing this, continue. If you're not, begin right now. Be impeccable with your word.

People are reading and listening and watching.

That Human Thing We All Have

"I don't like to write. I like to have written."

– Gloria Steinem

That feeling of wanting to express myself, of having something to say, of a deep desire to connect with people with my words and thoughts and ideas. . .

. . .but not knowing how to do it. Or, more accurately, afraid that I'm not going to do it as well, or as creatively, or inspirationally, or as concisely, as I'd like.

That human thing that we all have where we want to be seen and heard and validated for being good and kind and interesting and intelligent and. . .

How do I put that into words? How do I capture my thoughts, my ideas, my immenseness?

How do I write what I want to write in a 1300 character post? Or a 750 word blog? Or a short story, or an entire book?

I don't know. I don't have the answer. I haven't figured it out.

Well, that's not true.

Every single time I stare at a blank "Create a post" box, a blank notebook page, a blank document, a little bit of fear creeps in.

The fear of uncertainty, of imperfection, of having to edit, of negative feedback, of my ideas being stale or irrelevant or dismissed or countered.

It's all there. Every time.

And yet I keep writing. Keep sharing. Keep contributing. Keep connecting. Keep inspiring.

Because that's what I do. I push through the fear. And write.

The Battle Between the Souls of America

"We the people of the United States do not have a single national soul, but rather two souls, warring with each other. The battle for the soul of America is actually the battle between the souls of America."

– Ibram Kendi

One of the main reasons racism persists is because so many people think racism no longer exists.

And of course it's the people who are most racist – overtly or covertly – who perpetuate the myth that racism no longer exists.

Who say things "are better than they used to be" and that we have made irrefutable racial progress and that there is no need to talk so often and so seriously about racism. . .

. . .while ignoring the fact that every political, social, economic, and cultural advancement toward racial progress is always – always! – followed by an aggressive, intentional, angry, resentful response to slow that racial progress.

Slavery ended. The Black Laws and the KKK and Jim Crow and lynching and the burning of Black Wall Street replaced them.

Civil Rights gained momentum. Dogs and firehoses and assassinations and disenfranchisement and redlining and mass incarceration and arcane drug laws and "law and order" slowed that momentum.

A Black man became president. We know what happened next. . .

We do indeed have two souls in this country. Which one is yours?

Too Insecure to Be Human

Have you noticed how many senior so-called leaders use command and control tactics to mask an underlying insecurity?

Because it's easier to tell people what to do, berate them if they don't do it like you want, and then question their skills, commitment, loyalty, motivation, ability. . .

. . .then it is to show a little vulnerability and be a real person.

That inability and unwillingness of senior so-called leaders to let others see their humanity creates a culture where no one lets anyone else see their humanity either.

So we're left with a stodgy, bureaucratic, hierarchical, fearful, "professional" environment no one gives two shits about.

A workplace culture devoid of humanity.

But filled with small talk and niceties and interpersonal facades and superficial relationships that we conflate with humanity.

And devoid of true connection and trust and compassion and genuinely caring about people we work with.

But because so many senior so-called leaders don't and can't and won't see this, they don't and can't and won't understand why people do mediocre work.

They persist with the tired, uninspiring, superficial, ineffective command and control approach – never once considering that they are the problem.

Repeat. Ad infinitum.

All because they're too insecure to be human.