Over the past few weeks in response to Black Lives Matter and this social justice movement in the aftermath of George Floyd, more than one white person has asked me, "What can I do?"
Hearing this question produced mixed feelings - gratitude, concern, bewilderment, hopefulness, and pressure. I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. I had thoughts like, "Boy, the list is long for what you can do." And, "Given your resources, what can you do?" And, "Why are you asking me to do the heavy lifting? If I knew how to solve this I would have a long time ago." And, if I respond with an answer like, "Donate to this cause, will you think you're done?" Yet, ever since I was first asked that question, I have felt responsible for providing a thoughtful and helpful response. This dilemma began some weeks ago when a friend of mine wrote a post on Facebook implying that all she could do was pray in response to the social unrest that ensued in reaction to the news of George Floyd's murder.
I immediately responded with gratitude for the prayer while imploring her and others to take action. I wanted people to know that this was not just another black person they didn't know that got shot by the cops. I wanted people to know that this could happen to someone they knew, that this is personal, and that we must do something to change the culture we live in. So, I posted the article I'd written in 2016 - "My Life Matters."
In response to my post, people started asking, "What can I do?" By this time, I was in multiple dialogues about what was happening, so rather than giving a single answer, I opened the floor and asked others to share what they were doing, and a growing list appeared. This felt both validating and inspiring. As days went by and people marched, the list of actions I saw got more specific, refined, and targeted. And as the weeks went by, I learned of more and more people taking action. I am grateful for both the prayers and what we are doing to advance social justice in this country.
In my day to day work as an executive coach, the number one topic that those I coach wanted to discuss in the aftermath of George Floyd was how to have conversations about race. Since childhood, I have been drawn to building bridges between those who are seemingly divided, so I was deeply moved and motivated to support them in "going there." So, we went there. They practiced having difficult conversations with me, so they could learn and feel more confident having it with others they worked with and cared about. We confronted their fears, discomfort, uncertainty, and past mistakes. While not every conversation was comfortable, every person I spoke with was courageous, vulnerable, and open to learning.
Eggshells are not minefields.
Never before in my experience was what was once taboo (talking about race in the workplace) being encouraged by an organization I worked at and then practiced so broadly. I watched as people got increasingly comfortable just saying the word "black" in reference to a person's race without hushed tones, or as if the eggshells they were walking on were minefields. I witnessed people acknowledge their blind spots and sheltered perspectives. No longer was my racial identification something to be avoided and when rarely brought up, said quietly and reluctantly so as not to offend. As a consequence, I felt seen and acknowledged.
The irony is that with George Floyd's lasts breaths, many of us are learning to breathe a little more freely when it comes to addressing the topic of race. We were shocked witnessing such a gross lack of empathy. With his death, we began to find our voices. We spoke. We rallied. We protested. The lack of empathy and disregard for life enacted by those police officers woke up more empathy in us.
Many who had previously remained virtually silent on the topic of race are now speaking up. Increased empathy and a desire for justice are why we're donating to causes. That's why we march. That's why we are more willing to learn and have the difficult conversations. That's why we seek to change policy and policing.
So, "What can you do?!" Here's what you can't do. You can't check a box and say you've done something and move on. You can't donate to a cause and move on. You can't just check-in on your black friends or colleagues, have a conversation, and move on. You can’t continue to come up with any other explanation other than race for someone else’s experience of oppression. You can't miss this opportunity to transform the experiences of black people. You can't miss this opportunity to correct the elements of our culture and institutions that marginalize and/or oppress any of our fellow citizens and human beings. You can't miss what I believe to be a deeper lesson and calling. You can't move on. Instead, we have to acknowledge, repair and move forward, together.
Here are some things we can do to move forward, together.
Stay curious.
Keep listening.
Keep learning.
Keep having difficult conversations. Â
Prioritize care for others over personal comfort.
Build your empathy muscle. Â
Empathize and receive perspectives that are different than your own. Â
Uncover where you may have been miseducated.
Learn about white fragility.
Learn about what is really meant by privilege in this context.
Learn to acknowledge what you hear and validate other’s experiences.
Learn what it means to be an ally and be an ally.
Learn about the history of slavery and oppression, and why those confederate monuments were erected in the first place.
Learn from a variety of sources.
Be willing to question, re-contextualize, and reconsider what you were originally taught.
Take action on both a micro and macro level.
Turn over every stone...
Yes, take action. Donate to a cause. Support key legislation. Vote. Speak up. But, as importantly, turn over every stone in yourself, in your home, in your work, and in your community. Look for where bias hides and shine the light of scrutiny on it. Look for where the majority status quo masks itself as inclusivity. Acknowledge any ignorance, guilt or shame, and invite care and compassion for yourself and others. Be willing to make mistakes and learn from them so together we may correct the mistakes of the past. When you witness a lack of empathy, bring your empathy to it by speaking up. Risk your own belonging to make more room for others different than you to diversify what it means to belong. And remember the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. who said, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
Make every space you occupy a space of justice.
So, rather than "What can you do?" I ask you, "What will you do?" There is plenty to be done and plenty more for us to become, together.