The Universal and Unending Question

I spent most of yesterday trying to scale a small mountain of mail that had piled up in the month of December while I closed out my next-to-the-last semester I will ever teach full-time and organized the production and mailing of the first newsletter for the Louisiana Network for Criminal Justice Transformation. There were issues inside and outside the walls that had to be addressed during the month, of course, but overall, the mail still sat and then piled up, along with emails, especially after the newsletter went into Angola.

Some of the mail contained submissions for a theater production on solitary confinement we're going to put together to be performed on our campus in the spring. Essays, discussions, and poems were acknowledged and filed for later compilation and development of the project, but occasionally I would just have to read one. Which is how I came across the poem I'm publishing today. It reminds each of us -- no matter where we are, no matter what we have been through or what we may have to face in this coming new year -- that we continually evolve and have the option to consider who we are and who we want to be.

Down the Rabbit Hole

I've been walking on the wild side intellectually of late. I don't know if some circuit has exploded in my brain or if I spend too much time in my head. Maybe I've camped out in a small town too long, crying in the wilderness. Or maybe I've just heard one too many people ranting at folks to "pray about it" and the great Oz will fix everything...in "his" time. I know there are no atheists in fox holes, but Black folks -- from what I can tell -- have been "prayin' about it" for a good long time and I've about decided that either there is no Heaven, their prayers are not getting there, or "God" is a White Supremacist, as my mentor, Bill Jones wrote in Is God a White Racist? back in 1973.

Whatever has placed me on this philosophical tightrope, I'm sitting here this morning like Alice teetering on the brink of Wonderland and as much as I'm trying to resist it, the Cheshire Cat's grin is drawing me like a moth to the flame, despite my fear of the Mad Hatter's cackle and the Queen of Heart's shriek.

So from time to time, for now at least, I'm going to publish thoughts that may or may not seem to fit this blog. I'll tuck them under the banner of "Down the Rabbit Hole." And while they may not seem on the surface to be about the socially-constructed, political notion of "race," they will all have to do with power relations and when I think about power, it doesn't take long for me to introduce race into the conversation.

Maybe it's dangerous for me to entertain these thoughts more than I have been already. Maybe it's a bad idea to make them public, spinning them out into the internet. But, for good or ill, we all unfold like butterflies or vampires (or both) to take our place in history -- or herstory, if you like -- and life is complicated. Or simple. Depending on how you look at it.

Wanna join me?

On Being Schooled

Over the past year, despite the fact that I've been trying to fight my own internalized White Supremacist training for decades, the Universe has employed a whole stream of fearless and forthright Black women to try to get across to me my place in the anti-White Supremacist struggle. It has not been easy on any of us.

As a person born with a vagina, my trajectory beginning at birth has been strewn with the detritus of a life of much suffering. And I'm not talking about hurt feelings or lost loves. I'm talking about torture and rape, brutality and betrayal, the murder of my first born and attempts more than once to kill me, too. So I think fast. I'm tough. And I'm not given to flinching. It's few, indeed, who will take me on.

In many cases, this has been a good thing. At 72, I've had the opportunity and done the work to have faced down my familial demons. I'm not intimidated by wardens or cops. I don't roll over for "colleagues" with penises. I know what I value and what I don't. I'm not interested in power. And I'm not trying to be anybody's new best friend. Overall, I guess you could say, I like who I am and what I'm doing. But this doesn't mean I have nothing left to learn. In fact, the lessons I'm learning now are more difficult.

Waging Revolution One Act At A Time

Yesterday morning, after yoga class, I broke down in tears over breakfast because the world is so full of suffering and I can't fix it. There are no magic answers. I've been telling my students for years I got no pixie dust. I know it's not a sprint; it's a marathon. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But the world's so full of suffering and there seems to be so little I can do.

It's not that I've never done my part. In fact, I've always been altruistic. At six, I won a dollar in an art contest (at a time when you could buy a camera for a dollar) and I took my whole family out for ice cream. My father was stunned.

At eleven, I stomped out of Sunday School after telling off the girls in my class -- in front of our teacher -- for talking mean about a little girl because she was poor. At thirteen, I opted out of joining the church (a very radical stance in my world) about the same time I started dancing with Black guys at school (because the White guys didn't know how and I loved to dance). At sixteen, I did an all-interview term paper on racial discrimination in the city where I lived -- garnering me the class's "National Association for the Advancement of Cows and Pigs Award" at the end of the semester.

By the time I was in my late 20's, I had dropped out, blazed my way through San Francisco, and joined the National Prison Center in Iowa City, Iowa (the collective putting out the Prisoners Digest International and the headquarters of the Church of the New Song, a religion that formed in the federal joint in Atlanta and won all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court). Needless to say, this connection offered me many opportunities to put myself out there on front street. Such as the time I got Chief of Classification and Parole Witkowski at Leavenworth so worked up, he had a goon squad carry me to the edge of the concrete steps out front and threaten to throw me down them while he was screaming.

A Communique From A New Afrikan

On occasion, I like to post or re-post things written by others, particularly People of Color who have something I think my readers would want to read or benefit from reading. The following communique was developed out of a conversation I had with a brother inside the walls.
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Greetings, New Afrikan womyn, men, and all people’s POWER!!!!

 

~~ from Mujahid Kambon ~~

Last week, a brutha and elder gave me a copy of Negroes with Guns by Robert F Williams to read. It's a short book without complicated words or obtuse ideas, yet it affected me deeply. I had never heard of Bro. Williams before nor his struggle in Monroe, NC, in the 1950s and early 1960s. But after leaving the Marines in 1945, he felt compelled to serve his people in their struggle for justice and human rights.

Let Me Make One Thing Perfectly Clear

When I first dropped out in 1970, hit San Francisco for a hot minute, and then proceeded on to join a collective in Iowa City, Iowa, committed to the prison abolition movement, I could not possibly have imagined that 45 years later, I would want to re-publish something I wrote in 1972. Yet here I am, more than a little disappointed that the call for unity, solidarity, and action I issued in the Prisoners' Digest International four and a half decades ago would still be pertinent -- and even sorely needed.

This is why I am still doing what I am doing, teaching what I am teaching, and writing what I am writing. Still trying to make our situation perfectly clear.

Why Am I Not Surprised? 2.0

Yesterday, I wrote on Facebook about what it feels like to be me when I'm isolated. Which is a lot. Being a White person who thinks like me and talks about it the way I do puts me consistently on the outside all the time. This is what I wrote:

"After 45 years of fighting White Supremacy in every way I can imagine, I am getting more discouraged by the day over where we are in this country (and the world). I know that a few White people are not enough. I rant though my courses. I can hardly face my blog on race because I want to scream at the top of my lungs. People think I'm a nut case because I never let up for a minute. But what good does it do? I get some love, but most folks think I'm crazy or too over the top or pushing too hard or trying to be something I'm not or a "traitor to my race" or...other things too wrong-headed to print. I don't know what to do and I see what the White power structure is doing and it's a SYSTEM not a bunch of individuals, so it's like trying to collect smoke in a sack. 

"I've been depressed ever since Ferguson because I see that those with the power to define in this country have created a situation where Black people have to risk and lay down their lives for what already belongs to them and I am so angry, so hurt, and so helpless in the face of it all that I'm borderline suicidal off and on, but I can't quit because I'm needed. 

My only son was murdered two weeks before his 23rd birthday so I know what it is to lose a child, but every time a Black child is killed or incarcerated or beaten up or disrespected, everything Africans have suffered since the first slave ship left port for the Western Hemisphere rolls over me like an ocean wave of grief. All I know to do is to work, to fight, to stand, to write, to speak truth, and not stop -- till I die."

But this morning, I want to clarify something. This struggle is not about being a conscious White person who feels alone. It's about what the White Supremacist system does to People of Color in the world and most particularly for us, here in the U.S.

Emory Douglas and the Art of the Black Panthers

Emory Douglas: The Art of The Black Panthers from Dress Code on Vimeo.

I've written more than a few words about the Black Panther Party since I first visited Albert Woodfox six years ago and I've met some pretty interesting people in the process. Brothers and sisters from another mother, some people would say. And it just keeps unfolding.

Having dinner with Angela Davis last fall when she was brought to speak on the campus where I teach, I was made to realize that it was only a couple of months after she was incarcerated back in the day that I found my way to a prison abolition collective that kicked ass nationally for a couple of years and affected the rest of my life. And I didn't even know who Angela Davis was at the time.

Last week, when I was honored to appear on the George Jackson University Radio show, it gave me an opportunity to do some reflecting on the past, present, and future of my beliefs and commitments. It's a process that continues. But suffice it to say (once more) that if you pay any attention at all, consciousness will getcha. And while not everybody is as open to Universal Truth as I can't seem to help but be, I was asked to speak just the week before to a totally different group on the topic of "Steadfast and Dedicated." I couldn't run if I wanted to.

While I figure all this out, though, and try to make a dent in the six different piles of work in my office at home, I want to let you know that the times,,,they are a-changing.

Stay turned.

A Conversation Between bell hooks and Melissa Harris-Perry

Old Guard meets New Guard. Crone embraces Vanguard. Intelligence and Spirit blends with Intelligence and Spirit. And we get to witness the result. Enjoy.

SpectraSpeaks: "Straight Allies, White Anti-Racists, Male Feminists (and Other Labels That Mean Nothing to Me)"

I'm taking a risk here. I very much want to follow up yesterday's re-post of Shenita Ann McLean's essay on "Politics of Black Superwoman Otherness" with this piece by Spectra of SpectraSpeaks.com. But I haven't yet been able to reach her. So I'm going to do it anyway. If Spectra comes forward and is unhappy, I will apologize and replace this with a link to the original post on her blog. In fact, I think what Spectra has to say here is so important on several levels (and with a nod to intersectionality) related to several forms of oppression, that I'm going to link to this post on her blog as part of "Some Basics" on the right.

The term "ally" is not new, of course. As a general concept, it's been around since the formation of the English language, I guess. But since the 1960's and 1970's (ahhhh, I remember them fondly and well), the word has developed into such an amorphous concept that almost anyone with vaguely good intentions can wear it like a t-shirt bought off a rack at Goodwill. They don't have to have any real consciousness. They don't have to actually do anything to make change. They don't have to take any serious risks. And when challenged, they can get all huffy and wounded and claim that as an excuse to continue being disengaged from the process for social change that begins with and absolutely requires personal change.

Consequently, I give you Spectra, with delight. She's about to explain it to you.

Blitz the Ambassador: Something to Believe

I'm getting ready to post -- finally, I might add -- my review of a documentary on hip-hop, race and identity. So, to prime the pump, as it were, I'm posting right now a video I just came across by an artist YouTube tipped me to. (Sometimes, there's something to be said for the way they target us with what we seem to want, huh?)

Anyway, let me introduce (if you're as clueless as I was) a most interesting young Ghanian man who raps as Blitz the Ambassador. And if you're as impressed as I was, then you might want to read this.

Enjoy.

Jay Smooth on the Racial Crossroads

While I could care less about Asher Roth and his twitter toe-stubbing, I think Jay Smooth has some very crucial things to say in this video about where we are in the process of becoming ever so slightly less racist in this culture. Listen carefully, because Jay comes at you fast. And thanks to Angry Black-White Girl for the heads up on this one.

On Freeing Ourselves

In my last post, I mentioned that I sometimes ask myself, "How am I a slave? What oppressions have I internalized that keep me in bondage today?" Later that day, I read and made a brief appreciative comment on a remarkably insightful post by TheFreeSlave. He, of course, being a deep-thinking kind of guy, asked me in response to my simple thanks a question about how we can advocate individual personhood without sounding as if we support some version of what is popularly called "colorblindness." My response to his response (sorry about that, Faithful Readers, you know how it is) follows, modified slightly to make it read more sensibly. I strongly recommend that you read TheFreeSlave post first in the interest of having any idea whatsoever what I am talking about. I think you'll be glad you did. In fact, I have permanently ensconced a link to the post in question on my blog roll to the right under "On Freeing Yourself." Then, proceed with caution:

To me, TheFreeSlave's post moves the consideration from the arena of "politics" (having to do with the use and distribution of power) to the arena of "spirituality." Don't misread me here. I don't mean warm-and-fuzzy-esoteric-new-age-mumbo-jumbo type stuff. I mean down-deep-in-the-gut-where-the-rubber-meets-the-road-and-the-individual-psyche/biological-being-meets-history type stuff. In the end, what I call my spiritual being gives birth, I think, to my political perspective (which is how I see the personal and political as connected). Being one's whole, unmitigated, unapologetic Self (again, for me) does not, then, wash all the "color" out of the visible image, but rather actually heightens the color (continuing the metaphor). It shines the light of acceptance of all beauty on each individual image.

A rose garden can be lovely, but the kind of garden I like best is an explosion of all different kinds of flowers: different colors, shapes, heights, sizes, scents, etc. Each flower is beautiful because of the characteristics of the specific group it represents. No flower in such a garden is the only one of its type, though every flower is different in it particularistic manifestations of its group characteristics. Such flowers don't jockey for position, don't hold knock-down, drag-out battles to establish hierarchy, don't engage in sneaky, underhanded and manipulative attacks (either publicly or privately) out of ego or greed or ignorance. They just bloom and shine and pass the bees and butterflies one to the other.

Admittedly, though there is such a thing as weeds, humans are grossly more complicated than flowers. But I think that's part of what TheFreeSlave gets at so well in his post. We complicate the shit. We make it ugly. "Fighting the good fight" (if you will) often creates people and groups not wildly different from each other in important and frequently negative ways. And, of course, capitalism has left virtually all of us all but ruined as keepers of the flame of life.

Do African-Americans need to band together to survive and bring about change? I think so. Do women and men need to educate themselves about the patriarchy and take organized action against it (again to survive and bring about change)? I think so. Do immigrants and poor people and prisoners (and others) need to see themselves as similarly situated and act accordingly? I think so. But that does not negate the Truth inherent within TheFreeSlave's post.

"Resigning" as a White person (something I did some time ago, I guess, when I started using the term European-American and then started referring to other European-Americans as "people who look like me") does not mean I stopped honoring the beauty and experience of people in general and people of color as definitive groups, in particular. But it means that I see all Life (and not just all human life) as sacred. In order to do that, I must be fully Conscious. Conscious of others' struggles (because of the socially-constructed political notions of "race" and "gender." And Conscious of any ways in which I have participated on any side of those struggles -- in order to be healthy mySelf. This is obviously a lifetime process of Becoming. But it's the bottom line for me at the end of the day.

I am not antagonistic toward and don't have any argument with those who feel that they must be in a different space at this point in time. In fact, I often support them uncategorically. There's a reason that, in the only photograph we have of Martin and Malcolm together, they're grinning like delighted children. We don't have to be clones to be effective or to be allies.

And I am incredibly Conscious that enemies stalk the Earth, that there are many humans who do not support Life and the other perspectives that rational, loving people naturally support. I do not make them enemies. They make themselves enemies. They may destroy Life on Earth, if they are allowed to do so. I am going to do what I can to stop that process and nurture Life instead. And my full Self represents a number of groups and experiences of which I am an amalgam. But I am also an individual and stand individually responsible for everything that emanates from my center.

It's not easy to make sense of all this, but it is reality, to my mind, and therefore, a crucial aspect of the dialogue that will carry us into a sustainable future, if there is to be one.

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The image featured above appears on posters, prints, t-shirts, bookmarks and stickers produced by the Syracuse Cultural Workers.

The Changeseeker's Manifesto

If we are very fortunate as a human being, at some point in time, we reach a level of conscious awareness of reality. I do not use this word lightly, nor perceive it as a relative matter. Just because two beings are locked in mortal battle over a disagreement in perception does not mean that their realities are, in fact, different. One may see the matter as "red" and the other as "green," but the matter is either "red," "green," or whatever color it is, regardless of how either of them perceives it and no matter which of them wins the battle. I would argue that, however skewed the current paradigm on a given topic, reality is reality. Or as the Navaho put it, what is, is.

I believe that life is more important than money and that because of this, anything that prioritizes the production of capital over the protection, honoring, and sustenance of life on this planet is not only inappropriate and ill-advised, but insane. If we continue as a human race to sacrifice Life on the altar of Money, we will ultimately commit what Johan Galtung has called "mass, deliberate, collective suicide." Therefore, I seek ways to make this clear and to live my life on a daily basis rejecting as often and in as many ways as possible those principles and practices that maintain within me the continued addiction to consumerism, while placing those who "have" in a position of more value than those who "have not." And I do, thenceforth and forever, ally myself with those who work to live, rather than seek to destroy.

I believe that men and women are not gendered at birth, but that the patriarchal power structure that has been in control for thousands of years socializes us to perceive our Selves as specifically and particularly divided in characteristically stereotypical ways in spite of the fact that there is a clearly visible and widely-ranged continuum of sexuality that manifests itself in ways both bold and delicate. The idea that men are superior to women in any way, which is then used to justify male dominance and subjugation of women, is so couched in error and violence as to be maniacal. Therefore, I seek ways to make this clear and to live my life on a daily basis rejecting this definition of myself and others. And I do, thenceforth and forever, ally myself with all people who seek to present themselves as fully valid in their own personhood.

I believe that the socially-constructed, political notion of "race" was developed in the sixteenth century for the express purpose of the exploitation of people of color by those who inhabited the continent of Europe at that time and that this exploitation continues still--brutally, unapologetically, and with the realization of great wealth. As a person bearing the physical characteristics attributed to Europeans and European-Americans, I accept the responsibility of becoming ever more cognizant of this reality, ever more sensitive to its effects, and ever more committed to changing it. I do not perceive myself as worthy of particular benefits such as are bestowed upon me, often without acknowledgement or even awareness. And I find the pervasive nature of these benefits and the rationalizing forces used to suggest that they are reasonable both egregious and ignominious. The damage that has been done to and continues to be perpetrated against people of color is so unconscionable as to be unforgiveable. Therefore, I seek to make this clear and to live my life on a daily basis most humbly rejecting this system of White Supremacy and privilege in all its forms and manifestations. And I do, thenceforth and forever, ally myself with those who struggle against this system, regardless of what they look like or who they are.

I believe that all life is sacred and that not to honor it--in all its forms--is to disrespect and dishonor not only one's Self, as well as all that came before us and will come after us, but also the very Creative Source from which we spring. I believe that there are solutions to all human dilemmas presented at this moment around the world, once it can be established that life is sacred; that it is more important than money; that men and women and children are not roles to be played, but persons to be loved and respected; and that all humans--regardless of their appearance, their cultures, their differing levels of ability, and their socio-economic status--are equally beautiful, equally vital, equally necessary, and equally deserving of all the earth has to offer. And I believe that our survival is being threatened by those belief systems that do not recognize and codify these realities. I work to change the paradigms that are responsible for those threats. And I celebrate daily those who work with me toward the day when we can know that we are all--finally--free.
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The Mara Berendt Friedman poster featured above is available from the Syracuse Cultural Workers collective.

For White Folks: How To Be An Ally (Part 3)

Some years ago--quite a few, I think--I faced the fact that I like to talk. Rather a lot, actually. The issue was raised the first time soon after I started first grade (as in "Is a joy to have in class, but likes to talk to her neighbors"). It popped up again more painfully in the form of my own personal hazing as an incoming freshman during the hot minute I was in nurse's training when I was instructed to stand in the hospital cafeteria for a half-hour talking to a statue.

Anyway, through the years, my talking got me something of a reputation, but since I was good at it and often clever or funny or impassioned, I was tolerated and even encouraged, by and large. Particularly since I could really use the skill in front of the press or at a demonstration or when speaking before a mass audience or whatever.

Then my daughter came along and as she aged, she would shut the door between me as a talker and her as a listener sometimes. "Inner monologue, Mom," she would cue me in a flat voice on occasion when I was talking to myself while under the mistaken impression that I was speaking to her.

"You're doing it again, Mom," she would mention casually over dinner at a restaurant, "You're holding a conversation for which I'm not necessary--posing questions and then answering them yourself." (And yes, she really does talk that way. She did, after all, grow up with me and her also highly verbal older brother. We often sounded like a Neil Simon script, much to the amazement of outsiders.)

And over time, my training under her tutelage helped me to hone, I think (I hope?), my tendency to monopolize conversation too ruthlessly. I learned to rest a finger or two on my lips to remind myself not to blurt out my thoughts while someone else is speaking. And I started listening so intently that sometimes a speaker in front of a smallish group will wind up speaking almost entirely to me alone.

In any case, "voice"--verbal or written (and at one time, sung)--is crucial to me. It is breath. It is imperative. I can spend ridiculous amounts of time alone, and even in silence. But I must, absolutely must, be able to express myself somehow.

So maybe that's why I understood almost immediately when I was exposed some years ago to the idea that, as a person who looks like I do, it is my responsibility to serve sometimes as a bridge between African-Americans and my counterparts in the European-American community. For one thing, White people will sometimes listen to me when they won't listen to people of color. And if I can express even something of the exact nature of institutionalized oppression in the name of racism, then the listeners may find themselves more willing--and able--to listen to a person of color speak for themselves at some point.

In fact, I have been told through the years by a number of my African-American students that I caused them to see the realities of "the system" much more clearly than they had ever imagined them--even as people of color. And I am, frankly, thrilled by this, when it occurs. I imagine that it empowers them, even if it does come from me.

But decades ago, I was taught that part of serving as a bridge is to introduce my fellow-speakers of color. To share the stage, if you will. To prepare the minds of listeners and then, when I have their attention, to give up the lectern to one who might otherwise not have access to it. That this is part of my job as one who has a clue. As one who wants to make a difference. As an ally. And the process of doing this, of course, sometimes means that I have to shut up (saying this to myself, of course, in the nicest possible way).

Sometimes, however, I hear stories from African-Americans who are struggling with the ramifications of not being allowed to find--or use--their voice under circumstances over which I can exert no control. And it saddens me greatly. Feeling the way I do about self-expression, I can't even imagine what it must be like to live in skin attached to lips that are forever expected to be sealed. Or worse, are always expected to make White folks feel good or safe or superior.

What a nightmare it must be, as an African-American, to have your White boss say jovially with an eager look, "You didn't take that the wrong way, did ya? You know we don't see color around here!" Or to have somebody lean toward you warmly at a church function and say, "Now, if all the Blacks were like you, we wouldn't have the problems we have in this country, you know what I mean?" Or to have the mother of your new friend (who just happens to be White) reach over at a bar-b-que and ask curiously, "Would you mind if I touched your hair? It looks so soft..." All the time knowing that your response must be measured and controlled and a lie.

And from what I can gather, these situations are made worse by the fact that you can't always see them coming. And while being constantly vigilant can give you ulcers, if you let your guard down, you're sure to get spiked eventually. And if you respond too quickly--because your guard was down--the repercussions can be severe. A lost job. A lost friend. A lost opportunity. Exclusion. The look.

Now, I don't mean "the look" that White people use when an African-American comes unexpectedly through the door to apply for a particular job or shows up at a party where everyone else is White or walks into the restaurant with a White date and his or her White child. I'm talking about "the look," however imperceptible, that says, "Hold up there--you just crossed the line." The color line. Into the space that's reserved for grown folks. The space of respect. As demonstrated by African-American deference to White people. And that's a dangerous look. It can be just a warning. But it can also mean that you--or your spirit--is about to get lynched.

So, African-Americans learn early to avoid "the look." They second guess themselves. They be quiet unless spoken to. They learn to smile a tight little smile and nod or grunt or "Hmmm" to avoid actually having to tell a bold-faced lie to a White person who really believes that they are well-meaning, but will get their feelings hurt in a New York minute and react--either now or at some unexpected future moment--in a way intended to "put you in your place" whether they admit it, or even know it, or not.

One young African-American I know (I'll call him "A."), who's been running things by me for years now, dropped by with his baby son last week and, while I was wallowing on the floor with the youngster, told me about winding up in the trick bag (yet again) at his new job this time, which he had loved until last week. Basically, as the story went, a new White social worker had been hired and had made it clear within days that she will not go into "certain" neighborhoods (despite the fact that she's from New York City and, duh, is a social worker), that she considers her African-American co-workers "them" (as opposed to she and the boss who are White), and that, while she reserves the right to make thinly-veiled racist comments in the office to specific individuals, she will run to the boss in tears if she is confronted on it. The other workers of color just shut down in the face of the situation, but A. had called her on her behaviors, only to have her "rescued" by the boss who literally threatened A.'s job all of a sudden, since A. is now a "high-maintenance employee."

A. is disappointed and frustrated. He wants to love his job. He wants to do it well. He's a highly competent, highly educated, deeply caring man who would be a wonderful asset to any social work team. But now--instead of being able to focus on his work like the professional he is--if he wants to continue to pay his rent, he's going to have to buck and shuffle. He has to accept the gibes of a White woman and say nothing in return or suffer for it. And that's what I mean by loss of voice.

A day or two after I spoke with A., I got an email from another African-American--a woman, this time--who I'll call "B." B. wrote me because she had been attacked for her comments on a blog (not her own) and she was tired of always having to defend herself for calling it the way she sees it as a person of color. She's expected to be intellectual, reasonable, and understanding in her statements to White people whose gentle sensibilities are wounded by her attempts to protect herself--from their attacks. Excuse me? At the end of her email, having expressed her frustration, she even went so far as to ask me not to tell anyone that she expressed to me how painful it is for her to be stuck in this space of having to be a literary punching bag. She, too, is being prevented from using her voice.

Later that same week, an African-American student came to me to discuss entering a prestigious essay competition. The young man ("C.") is not one of my students, but he's bright and mature enough to know what's going on with him. Plus, he wrote me an email one time that was electric with his passionate commitment to social change. Nevertheless, it became quickly apparent that he had lost his voice somewhere along the line.

I spent two hours with C. the first night and two more the night after that, cajoling, encouraging, reminding, challenging. And finally he admitted that the only reason he was using the essay in question (on Latino immigration) was that he didn't want to appear to be "just another Black man whining about race."

"Who better to express the African-American reality?" I countered. "Who better to plead the case for racial fairness?"

The next day, a Saturday, I got another email from C.

"Thanks for opening my mind..." he began. "From adolescence to this moment, I have been so uptight...Today, I am letting go! Yes, for a change, I will allow myself to enjoy an EXPERIENCE...As you've encouraged, 'My stars shall all come out to show their sparkling glimmer.' I am aware that trials and criticism shall follow, but that's all part of the process, right? This is so awesome, and the train is moving and, finally, I'm a passenger on board. Your words have not fallen on deaf ears..."

I wept great sobs in joy for this young man. And for the incredible honor of being allowed to help him find his voice. And for the millions of other people of color--old and young, male and female, rich and poor--whose voices may never be heard or even used.

But let's face it, I have a peculiar place in society in which to operate. And a particular skill, perhaps, in operating there. How can others help people of color to find their voices?

Well, for one thing, you can listen--really listen. It's hard to find a voice you've never been allowed to use. And it's hard to hear with ears that have never practiced listening. But we can help each other, if we bring honest hearts to the task.

Then, you can validate the truth you hear by accepting its legitimacy, no matter now difficult it is to face, no matter how sad it is to look at, no matter how formidable the wall it seems to illumine, no matter how deep the chasm it seems to produce. You can say, "Yes. I hear you. Yes. It must be painful. Yes. It is immoral. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."

And finally, you can sit beside the wounded.

I saw a quote years ago by a woman back in the sixties, a SNCC-member, I think, who said something about, "What it all comes down to in the end is one person saying 'I will sit next to you.'" A commitment so simple it can be made by anyone. Without training. Without education. Without planning. Without agenda. "I will sit next to you." When the tempers blaze and the tears come. "I will sit next to you." In the rain. In the sun. In the darkness of night. "I will sit next to you." We can share a sandwich. We can pass the dipper down the row. We can breathe the air of a planet that has waited five hundred years for these words: "I will sit next to you."

In 1963, Anne Moody, the author of Coming of Age in Mississippi, probably one of the single most important books ever written by a U.S. citizen, having already spent years of her youth risking and losing everything but her life, walked into a Woolworth's in Jackson, Mississippi, and sat quietly down at the segregated lunch counter with two friends, one European-American and one Native American. It was the beginning of the end of racial segregation in America.

As angry White men pushed, struck, poured catsup, mustard and sugar over the heads of, and spit on Anne and her two allies, John Salter and Joan Trumpauer, they sat--together--and unleashed a power that could not be denied. They sat, silent, and were heard around the world. Eventually, we, too, may find our collective voice. But it will only be when everyone gets to speak.

For White Folks: How To Be An Ally (Part 2)

Part 1 of this series (Ohmygosh! Is it going to be a series?) was intended to cultivate the ground, as it were. To turn the brain-earth so that the air and the light could warm and brighten it. To let the mind breathe and prepare for the next set of ideas. Part 1b clarified some questions about how I see the issue of European-American self-identity. And the reason I'm linking to these here is that, despite the fact that you could easily scroll down and find them, I would strongly suggest that you read them before you read the rest of this, if you haven't already done so. What I write now will build on my earlier statements in ways that won't make as much sense without having read them first.

Also, before I proceed, I'd like to make a couple of points about the word "ally," which derives from the Latin for alligare meaning "to bind to." First of all, Ally Work has a quote on their masthead I've seen attributed elsewhere to a First Nation woman: "If you have come to help me, please go home. But if you have come because your liberation is somehow bound with mine, then we may work together." So, for me, being an ally is not about saving somebody else. It's about saving myself (I closed with this point in Part 1, but it was not always caught). I see my liberation as indelibly bound with that of every other human on the face of this planet. All the oppressed and even, God/dess help us, the oppressors (who, let's face it, are in the stranglehold of their own insanity, even if they do ride around on chartered jets). Nobody's free (as we used to say back in the sixties) until we're all free. This is not a platitude to me. This is a reality. And I want to be free. Not that I think I'm necessarily gonna get there in my lifetime. And I realize it's not a sprint, it's a marathon. But I'm going for it. With others. By myself. Whatever. Like the Steve McQueen character in "Papillon."

The second point I'd like to make about the word "ally" is that it isn't a one-way street. There is no such thing as a one-sided coin and there are some states-of-being that require more than an individual. You can't be "married" (in the truest sense of the word) by yourself, for example. You can't be a one-person "team." And allies are individuals or groups or nations bound together through mutual interests--such as survival. The two (or more) parties don't have to be equally powered to be allies. But there has to be mutual respect predicated on the basis of mutual need on some level. Crocodiles don't eat the birds that live on what they pick out of the crocodile's teeth. There's a reason for that. Maybe they're smarter than most humans.

In any case, European-Americans who imagine that they are or present themselves as "allies," seeing themselves as "helpers" need to go back to Part 1 and Part 1b to review. People of color don't need "help." They need "allies." Just as all other humans--including Europeans and European-Americans--do. People of color know things I don't know. They have experienced things I have not experienced and developed a culture that is very particularly their own. They have benefitted from a long and rich history that has not similarly imbued me with their perspectives. They have ties to each other that could teach me how to better form alliances. They have the spiritual depth and wisdom of people who have suffered and thrive anyway. I need them. So I approach with great respect for what they bring to the table. I ask to be taught and I honor that teaching. I stand corrected when appropriate and do not see myself as reduced by the correction. I need allies and I need to be an ally. Not just for people of color, but for all the manifestations of life on Earth. And crashing a people of color think tank wearing a "Free Africa!" t-shirt will not increase the likelihood of that happening. With me so far?

Under the right circumstances, people of color have always welcomed allies who look like me, when those allies operate in the manner in which I have been discussing. I just purchased a poster of W.E.B. DuBois for my new office bearing a quote from his work as a sociologist (genuflect): "There can be no perfect democracy curtailed by color, race, or poverty. But with all, we accomplish all, even peace." His statement was not an academic one. In fact, he tried to recognize the contributions of John Brown by placing a tablet on the grounds of historically Black Storer College in Harper's Ferry, Virginia, in 1932. Brown, a European-American executed in 1859 for leading a band of 21 men, including several of his own sons to occupy the arsenal in Harper's Ferry in the attempt to kick off a "war of emancipation," was deemed "too militant" by the Storer College officials.

Just before the NAACP Convention this year, however, Julian Bond and NAACP President Bruce Gordon followed their predecessor's example and dedicated in Harper's Ferry a new tablet, having the same design and layout of the original and including the same language: "With him, fought seven slaves and sons of slaves. Over his crucified corpse marched 200,000 Black soldiers and 4,000,000 freedmen singing 'John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave, but his soul goes marching on!" DuBois, Bond, and Gordon joined those earlier African-Americans in acknowledging Brown as an ally.

Now, obviously, I am hardly calling on "White" folks to die for "the cause" in the interests of being deemed "allies." I am beginning with Brown to remind us that he and his family and many others in the history of the United States were, in fact, boldly and unapologetically allies with their brothers and sisters of color--and accepted by many as such. An earlier post of mine on William Lloyd Garrison describes another of them. But there were enough European-Americans who less spectacularly allied themselves with people of color for a range of reasons (business, love, or logic) that laws were enacted to punish those errant "White" folks and deter others from casually following in their footsteps.

Still, whether it was a bi-racial couple marrying and moving West, European-Americans collecting money to buy Africans and African-Americans for the express purpose of setting them free, or entire families of European-Americans committing themselves for decades to harboring fugitives as part of the Underground Railroad (an activity that could be worthy of death), people who looked--and thought--like me have always existed. Socialization teaching that skin tone and heritage determines worth didn't take for everyone. So the idea that "well, that's just the way it was back then" is no more true than that racism is a thing of the past now. It has always been a choice for people who look like me to develop whatever attitude they please toward the socially-constructed, political notion of "race." And it still is, regardless of how pervasive institutionalized oppression in the name of racism remains.

Having said all that, let me tell some stories about what being an ally has sometimes looked like in my own life.

Back when I was in middle school in northern Illinois in the late 1950's and early 1960's, we used to plug in the juke box and dance in the cafeteria after lunch. Now, I wasn't supposed to dance at all, being that dancing was an activity of the devil and all, but I just couldn't help myself. I love to dance. Always have. So when one of the African-American students went to Baltimore and brought back "The Continental," a very smooth dance similar to "The Electric Slide" today, characterized by a small group all facing the same direction and executing the same moves in lock-step precision, I was instantly hooked. As quickly as I could master it, I was on the floor with the "Black" kids (and one other tiny "White" girl wearing harlequin glasses), honestly oblivious for some reason to the fact that others might not understand.

It didn't take long before Dupree, one of the African-American boys--short and high yella--asked me to hand-dance or jitterbug or whatever we were calling it at the time to "Stagger Lee" or "Alley Oop" and I said yes without hesitation. Clearly, he had great nerve and he could really dance, unlike the "White" boys who tended to let the girls dance with each other. So I enjoyed it, in spite of the fact that we did not speak to each other while dancing and did not fraternize at any other time inside or outside of school.

Still, my best friend (a Colonel's daughter who had pink shag carpeting in her bedroom) soon mentioned with obvious discomfort that "people are talking about you because you dance with negroes during lunch." I didn't even answer her because I had not considered this, did not understand why they were talking about me, and didn't intend to quit dancing with whomever I wanted regardless. Heck! I wasn't supposed to be dancing in the first place. I might as well have a good partner. Besides, it's not like we were going steady or something. Anyway, my point is that an ally actively participates in the creation of a world wherein they and their allies co-exist as equals without apology. If the other students saw me as "above" Dupree, he apparently did not, even in 1959. Nor did I. We were partners. Allies. Modeling for everyone in sight a new world of social acceptance. Ready or not.

In the interest of trying to keep this focused and not write some kind of magnum opus, I'm going to jump ahead now to an incident a couple of decades later, when I walked up to a photo processing counter in a discount store to pick up the pictures I had brought in for developing. A tall African-American man was standing at the counter already, waiting for a salesperson to appear. The minute I approached, a "White" woman came out of nowhere and directed her attention immediately to me. "May I help you?" she asked brightly.

"Well," I replied, nodding in the man's direction, "he was here first."

"Oh, I'm sure it would only take me a minute to take care of you," she countered, still smiling, never taking her eyes off me.

"You don't understand," I said pointedly, "HE...was here first..."

At which point she finally turned to him as if noticing him for the first time and, without missing a hitch or changing her tone, she simply went on, "Oh! Well, in that case, may I help you?"

The man's eyes caught mine for only a second. Eyeball to eyeball, we stood, complete strangers, never to see other or have anything else to do with each other ever again, to my knowledge. But recognizing and acknowledging each other. I didn't do what I did to make a point or to be "kind" or because I was trying to be "politically correct" (this was long before the PC movement). I did it the same way I would have done it for anyone else who was there first, because it was the right thing to do. There was no "gratitude" in his eyes. There was no "patronizing" in mine. We were allies, that's all. Allies rise to the occasion at hand--as needful--and require nothing but the knowledge that they are acting appropriately as a healthy and responsible human and a member of the greater human race.

Sometime years later, I was going over my mail in the departmental office of whichever school was employing me at the time, when I overheard the "White" department secretary telling another "White" woman an anecdote about being in traffic behind a car that was being driven in a way she was apparently attributing to some stereotypical characteristic of its driver's subculture. I wasn't paying very close attention, but clearly caught the "you know how they do" and the rolling of the eyes. And while I can't positively identify the group to which she was referring, there's a certain tone of voice and set of facial expressions many "White" folks are quick to use when speaking of other racial and ethnic groups.

I was caught in a dilemma. First of all, I couldn't be absolutely sure what she had meant. Secondly, as the department secretary, she could have made my life difficult as an adjunct--from not getting my copied exams on time to not getting subsequent teaching appointments. So I certainly did not want to step in uninvited with a political statement that might affect my well-being, even my income. And lastly, I was in a hurry. I left the office bustling off to wherever I was due, but with my thoughts in an uproar.

"I can't fix everything," I reasoned. "There's no point in my shooting myself in the foot when I'm not even sure what she meant."

But it was no good. I walked back to the office, poked my head in the door, and said calmly to the secretary in front of the other woman, who was still present, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk like that in front of me again. I don't feel the same way you do about people of other groups and it makes me very uncomfortable to hear stereotypes used in that way."

"Oh," she responded, "you mean what I said about the driver?"

"Yes," I agreed.

"Okay," she replied. And I went off down the hall again.

Allies are allies even when their allies are not present. Or when in the presence of others who may not be allies. That is to say, some European-Americans speak great political rhetoric around people of color when other European-Americans--particularly those who might not agree with them--are not present. But it's not lost on the people of color when they hear a "White" person back-pedal, however subtly, when another "Whitey" happens by. I was offered an excellent position once to join an Afri-centric social service agency once they had been able over a period of nearly a year to ascertain that I was what they called "consistent" in all venues. And I never knew I was being observed.

Over the years, I have mentored students of color as graduates and undergraduates, I have reached out to African-Americans in locations we share regularly and where they might be the only person of color, I have taught and trained and read and participated in settings calculated to raise my own and other's consciousness about "race," and I have sought myriads of opportunities to make tiny connections and infinitessimal differences. Supporting a new organization of African-American students by remembering to participate in their events. Reminding a Puerto Rican mother by the pool that it's okay for her son to play outside, even if it means he'll get "darker" ("Have you looked at the stars in the entertainment field lately?") Giving a young European-American woman a safe place to discuss her concerns that her bi-cultural lifestyle is somehow not appropriate. Learning our shared history and casually telling the truth of it whenever possible. Listening. Appreciating. Growing.

There is also something not to do. European-Americans who want to be allies for people of color don't be "down." That is to say, they don't try to "act" Black or "be" Black or impress Black folks, really, in any way (which is very difficult to do, in any case, given the state of affairs between the "races" in this country just now). European-Americans who want to be allies for people of color just "be." And then, eventually, they may find themselves being invited to "get in where you fit in."

It was my son who first modeled this for me back in 1993. He was sixteen at the time and playing spades across the street with a table of young African-American men at a family barbeque to which we'd been invited--slapping cards, talking smack, and generally just part of the milieu. But he was winning. The other men were drinking alcohol and, as the afternoon went on, I became edgy that Eli was going to wind up with a problem of some sort.

Following him back home at one point, I expressed my concern, only to have him "straighten" me. "I know what I'm doing, Mom," he said as if he was reassuring a child. "Look at my clothes. I'm wearing a Metallica t-shirt and Jenko jeans. Am I trying to be something I'm not? No. If I was trying to 'be Black' or prove something to these guys, they'd have already taught me a lesson. But I'm just being who I am and they can respect that." And he was right.

So there is much a European-American can do as an ally for people of color, but not until the "inside work" is done. The "inside work" (in Part 1 and Part 1b) is "ally work" (if there is such a thing). Some people who look like me come to me urgent with their "need" to "help," to "make a difference," "now." But that's not how it is. If you're not willing, ready, and able to change the universe inside you, then how would you expect to make a difference in the greater society? If you won't even listen to yourself, who would listen to you? And besides, since being an ally is a two (or more) member job, then why would a person of color be willing to trust you before you've at least made a dent in your own personal racial renaissance? You can't be an ally without another ally on the other side of the stream to help you build your bridge and you must prepare yourself with sacred diligence to be worthy of the name.

For White Folks: How To Be An Ally (Part 1b)

In view of the fact that I won't be able to post Part 2 of How To Be An Ally until Saturday (sigh), I thought it might be a good idea to post this little addendum to Part 1. In response to my statement (not very well explained, I'm afraid) that I don't tell people I'm "White," Yami McMoots over at Green Gabbro raised some important points:

"The shop clerk who doesn’t follow me around the store, the cop who lets me off with just a warning, and other notional tools of white supremacy are not responding to my ethnic identity as a North-European-Mutt-American (which is also a social construct), but to my race; they could care less about my self-identification.

"There are two ways to get them to not respond to me as White: engage in racial drag; or wave the wand of magic anti-racist enlightenment every time I meet someone new. Not practical answers. Since my assigned race influences my life whether I want it to or not, I don’t think it makes any sense to run around telling people 'oh, I’m not White, I’m Euro-American'.

"I doubt Changeseeker would deny that the way one is racially categorized has significant impacts on one’s experience in society, regardless of one’s personal level of antiracism/internalized white supremacy/etc., or that she thinks we can change the way we are identified by others (though obviously she’s welcome to correct me on this) - I think we just have different concepts of identity. She appears to see identity statements as claims about the speaker’s desire or affinity, while I usually interpret them as claims about the speaker’s interactions with the world, including the way other people respond. These aren’t mutually exclusive metaphors, and neither of us is wrong, but when there’s significant tension between personal desire and social response the distinction becomes important.

"If identity is a claim about my interactions with the world, saying that I’m not White is a lie, and all kinds of un-PC as it means I am denying my own privilege. If identity is a statement of desire and affinity, saying that I’m not White is a perfectly sensible and progressive statement whose truth value cannot be determined without a detailed, intimate examination of my antiracist commitments. Conclusion: when making statements about racial identity, it is important to be clear about what 'identity' actually means."

And this was my response:

What I was getting at in the paragraph you cite (and you are so right that I needed to be clearer about what I mean by identity) is that I am calling for a paradigm shift by reminding us that “race” is a socially-constructed, political notion while privilege is a system of practices. I can seek to reject privilege when it is apparent to me. (I will address this idea in Part 2.) What I was shooting for here, though, was to suggest that in order for privilege to be apparent to me so that I can reject it, I have to be able to recognize it as a response to a socially-constructed, political notion based on no actual deserved quality. Whiteness perceives itself as deserving. European-American individuals, on the other hand, have no basis upon which to perceive themselves as any more deserving than any other ethnic group on the planet.

Now, obviously, I know that daily practice at every level in U.S. society privileges European-Americans as “White” with or without their conscious awareness, admission, or acknowledgment, let alone any embarrassment or guilt. And yes, the first step is an ever-increasing awareness of this functional reality.

But this functional reality is based on (according to the famous UNESCO study reported in the early 1950's) a “social myth.” The realization of “race” as a myth in no way mitigates the damage done by its perpetuation as a concept. It just makes it that much more unconscionable or even heinous, while being totally ridiculous. How can a person think they deserve privilege because of their skin tone? If there was any sense to this, I would lose privilege in direct proportion to the sun tan I’ve been getting.

I don’t tell people “I’m not White”--for exactly the reason you brought up, Yami. It’s not immediately understandable as a statement given where most people in the U.S. (on all sides of the issue) reside. What I do is tell people that “Whiteness” is a meaningless social construction devised for the purpose of exploiting people of color for the enrichment of people that look like me. (Again, I might have and probably do have African heritage–as many people who look like me do–but I still get the benefit of “White” privilege, as long as I don’t tell people “I’m Black.”)

There is no need to abandon group identity. Each of us belongs to many groups and group identity is short hand (a code) for understanding another individual’s experience, reality, and/or self-determined claim. The difficulty has never been “difference” per se. The difficulty is the fact that we declare difference and then socially impose an entirely arbitrary hierarchy on it (men over women, “White” people over people of color, etc.). Then, those who find themselves privileged by this hierarchy begin to imagine that they are indeed better than those “beneath” them on the ladder. And therein lies the problem.

When I use the term “people that look like me,” I am challenging listeners to remember that they can’t make simple sense of “racial” difference without my complicity. So I don’t say: “I’m not White.” I just choose not to identify myself using that term, but rather create a series of teachable moments related to “race.”

I know that most European-Americans are not prepared to do this at this time. Nevertheless, what I was nudging them towards in my post was the possibility of considering that their “race” is a “social myth” deserving no privilege and that keeping that idea foremost in their minds at all times will move mountains in their psyches, as well as their own and others' lives.

For White Folks: How To Become An Ally (Part 1)

During the past month, while Israel has been busy pounding Lebanon and the U.S. has continued to occupy both Iraq and Afghanistan, I've been watching the castigation of several bloggers of color by "White" folks who purport to be seeking information, but often use a bludgeon of words to ask for it. Now, on the surface, these things would not appear immediately to be connected, but I would argue that, in fact, they are. And in any case, I have experienced them as being current manifestations of the paradigm in which we still find ourselves enmeshed, a paradigm predicated on the idea that "White" is "right." Period. No matter what. A paradigm that, in the end, serves no one well (not even White folks) since it weakens any possible future social stability that might develop otherwise.

While all the ugliness was unfolding against Nubian, among others, there have been some excellent responses. Despite her own struggles, for example, Granny has unleashed several remarkable volleys here and here and here. And Shannon had already drafted a walloping list of frequently asked questions about racism here. So there couldn't possibly be anything left to say, could there? Well, let's see what I can add to the process.

First of all, I'd like to begin by saying that there is no twelve-step program for White folks. More's the pity, really. But there isn't. This means that a European-American can't just read a few pointers or one article or one book or even take one workshop or a whole class and have the matter of "race" down pat. It doesn't work like that. Which is one reason why so many of us wind up with our feet (both of them, shoes and all) half-way down our throats on a regular basis, typically without a clue and without realizing it. I mean, it would seem obvious, wouldn't it, that a person would come to recognize the taste of shoe leather? But apparently this is not the case for many who really, really, really don't want to face reality. And, as I love to say, you can't wake up a person pretending to be asleep.

So if you find yourself arguing with Nubian, Granny, Shannon or me, or any of the other folks who sound like us or any person of color, in general, as a matter or fact, who happens to be making you uncomfortable, I would suggest that you spit out your feet and just shut up until you no longer feel like arguing. It may be a long, slow process, but there will be progress. And believe me, we're not making this up as we go along. If you're scared, say you're scared. But reality is never going to become something different than it is just so you can feel more comfortable--even if you're "White."

Now, this brings us to a second point. I believe that there is a distinct difference between being European-American (an ethnicity) and being "White" (a "racial" category). Most European-Americans don't realize that "race" is a socially-constructed, political notion. It was created as a concept out of thin air by Europeans a few hundred years ago for the express purpose of rationalizing and legitimating the rampant exploitation and even genocide of people of color around the world to make Europe and Europeans rich. And it didn't work because Europeans were the superior group or because God had mandated that Europeans should be in the catbird seat. It worked because enough Europeans were willing to be viciously brutal themselves or to condone the vicious brutality of others who looked like them to make it work. Obviously, this is nothing to be proud of.

Some European-Americans counter their own history by claiming that their ancestors didn't own any slaves, captain any slave ships, or whatever. But the wealth that bankrolled the Industrial Revolution and the establishment of the United States as the richest nation in the world came directly out of the ruinous rampage Europeans visited on people of color for several hundred years. We would not be the nation we are if this had not occurred. Moreover, every social institution in the U.S. was built to benefit European-Americans and has since the beginning to the present continued to be controlled by the group that they were built to benefit. You don't have to know it's there for you. It's not personal. It's a system. And it's working just like it's supposed to.

What I'm attempting to help you see here is that Europeans created the concept of "race," created "Black" people (who were actually Africans or African-Americans) and "White" people (who were actually Europeans or European-Americans) and then an entire system of social "rules" to determine how "Black" people and "White" people should or would be allowed to live their lives. For this reason, I don't call myself "White." I don't choose to identify myself with the socially-constructed, political notion of "Whiteness." I'm not ashamed of my ethnic heritage, per se, or of being myself as a European-American. But, since the category of "White" was created only for the purpose of oppressing people who are not "White," I don't identify myself with it. You could make the same decision, if you wanted to. Not to deny "Whiteness" as a system of privilege and power that is destroying our nation, but simply to disavow your desire to participate in the maintenance of that system while knowing that you are doing so. Which would be a beginning, a move in the direction of becoming an ally.

Having already said that no single presentation is going to be a down-and-dirty moment of truth for anybody, I'm not expecting any European-American reader to slap his or her forehead at this point and exclaim, "I get it!" So, if you just did that, or you find yourself wanting to do that sometime as a result of a single conversation, book, etc., try--hard--to refrain from slapping your head because you'll be fooling yourself. It's not possible to suddenly understand. Baby steps. Baby steps. If you try to prove you're ready to climb the mountain before you can walk, you're gonna fall and nobody is expecting you to climb yet anyway. There is no easier, softer way. Take your time, but remember, mouth shut until you know a little something and that won't be for a long, long time. Capisce?

Am I trying to be rude here or hurt your feelings or something? After all, you're reading this because you want to be an ally for people of color, right? Shouldn't I be a little kinder, a little more thoughtful, perhaps, of your good intentions? The answer is: no. You don't deserve special kindness for making some tiny effort to face reality. It may not be your personal fault that institutionalized oppression in the name of racism against people of color has made sure that people who look like you and I have the most of the best and the least of the worst. But since you have benefitted from birth because of it--whether you realized it or not--you've already gotten all the special treatment you should expect. And given the fact that this system is not going to disappear any time soon, you're going to continue to get benefits anyway, even if you don't want them. (And let's be real about that, shall we? Are you sure you're ready to give up all that privilege when you've never experienced life any other way so far? Hmmm...?)

The fact is that it's almost impossible to make a dent in most "White" people's social armor. We've lived in the ritualized norms of our lives for several hundred years. It was already in place when we were born, so we think and tell ourselves and teach our children and make damn sure people of color know that this system we've got is just, well, natural. It's the way things are. And after all, it's worked pretty well so far, right? And things have changed, haven't they? I mean, we've got a "Black" secretary of state and a "Black" supreme court justice and a few thousand "Black" athletes making serious money. Doesn't that count for something?

Yeah. It counts for a relatively small percentage of African-Americans doing very well and a somewhat larger percentage of African-Americans who have fought their way up-hill to make a decent life for themselves--as long as they play by the rules--while one out of every two African-American children are living in abject poverty. I know, I know, it's not your fault. You sent ten bucks to the United Negro College Fund. And even got passed over for a promotion one time that was ultimately given to an African-American--and you didn't even protest (though you were absolutely certain that you were better qualified)...

So, what am I trying to say here? If the whole mindset of "Whiteness" is so hard to buck, then why try? Right? I mean, African-Americans are already so angry they don't even want to let you ask your questions or touch their hair or anything, right? How are you to change if they won't "help" you? All right. You asked. Just remember that. And here's a little list to help you get started.

(1) Read! Read The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, Notes of a Native Son by James Baldwin, Coming of Age in Mississippi by Anne Moody, Racist America by Joe Feagin, and White Like Me: Reflections on Race by a Privileged Son by Tim Wise. And after you read all those, start checking out the sites on my blog roll. Then, you read blogs. Not to comment. Not to question. Just to read and learn. And then read the comments and find more blogs to read. All while just in a receiving mode. Believe me, if you really want to learn and you read long enough, you will begin to get a glimmer of understanding. Trying to "state your case" will set you back light years. Trying to "clarify (defend) your perspective" is a giant flag screaming "Whiteness forever!" Don't go to these blogs and tell them I sent you and then act the fool. They know me better than that.

(2) Face the fact that the system and other "White" folks are going to try to keep you operating out of your "Whiteness" and this is going to make it harder for you to become an ally for people of color. European-Americans can be allies. "White" folks are just "White." They can't help it. That's the way it is. If you really want to be an ally, then you're going to have to learn how "White" you already are. You're going to have to allow yourself to begin seeing "Whiteness" for what it is--an ugly, mean-spirited, frightened, greedy, social-construction that borders on some form of insanity. And you're going to have to be vigilent all the time to resist its subtle and not so subtle manifestations. If you're serious about being an ally, though, you'll get the help you need to learn how.

And finally, (3) look African-Americans in the eye without challenge. Even if they don't dress like you or look like they're in the same socio-economic class as you (whether better or worse) or speak exactly the same way you do and even if you get the distinct impression that they don't like you. See them. Recognize them as humans just like you--no better, no worse--with issues and disappointments and intelligence and capabilities and rights, for God's sake! Accept them straight out as people--just like you. And then show some respect. Respect gets respect, you know. And if you're not getting it, you're not giving it, even if you think you are.

Now, if you think this just puts too much of the onus on you--the "White" person--keep in mind that the issue at hand is becoming an ally for people of color. African-Americans don't expect European-Americans to be anything but "White." They've been surviving and even rising above with little outside support for hundreds of years. But that doesn't make it reasonable or just or decent or healthy for European-Americans to leave it like that. Being an ally for people of color is what we need to do for us. And for our nation. And for our world. And for any hope of a future for ourselves or our children. Truly, isn't that worth the effort?