It's Time to Tackle Ableism

Disability rights. It is strange because ability intersects all identities so, why is disability left out? It’s left out because we uphold narrow definitions of perfection and little tolerance for imperfection. Research shows that we have a special relationship with atypical bodies; mostly centering on discomfort and disgust. For folks with non-visible disabilities, we suggest it’s a matter of will power, diet, supplements, or needed behavioral changes. We view disabilities as something to overcome.

Cue the inspiration porn.

The central message is we admire you despite — or because — you’ve overcome your disability. People who identify as typical congratulate themselves for their philanthropy, random acts of kindness, and project strategic goodness against the bodies and minds of disabled folks. It’s self-righteous, and not helpful.

Dr. Kendi’s agency maxim is easily transferred to disability rights. When I was teaching, I had a student who had ALS and was in a wheelchair and used voice technology to communicate. Students would look at “Tim,” register discomfort, quickly recalibrate and pretend he wasn’t there or were overly patronizing in their interactions with him. Patrolling speech and avoiding offensive actions are not enough. We need to be anti-ableist. By low estimates, 20% of U.S. citizens identify as having a disability — so that means us, our family, coworkers, community members, and our kids. If we are anti-ableist, we shift our thinking and make essential changes in our lives and the lives of others.

Take a moment and scan how you react when you encounter someone with a visible disability or when someone reveals to you that they have a non-visible disability.

Ableism presents itself in many ways, here are a few.

  • Staring at folks is a common one. If you do this, apologize and stop staring.

  • Assuming you have the right to know what someone’s disability is or how they came to be disabled is also ableist. You need to know that body language and statements conveying pity, annoy and anger people with disabilities.

  • Be aware of your approach. Don’t work out ableist anxieties on someone else. Reflexively sharing or comparing stories about other people’s disabilities is common ableism. Take a beat and a breath after someone has shared their story.

  • Racing to help somebody with a disability, while well-intentioned, can create obstacles for folks. Hold back and wait for a request.

  • Finally, stop debating or deciding whether someone is disabled. Chasing someone around a parking lot demanding that they defend their disability or placard is ignorant. Avoid being the parking spot police.

Here are some quick things you can do to avoid being anti-ableist.

  • Don’t use ableist language and stop those who do. We know that the r-word is not okay but so are the words “wheelchair-bound,” “crazy,” “mental,” “handicapped,” “handicapable,” “people with different abilities,” and “special needs.”

  • Check your language before you say it. Apologies don’t dull the impact of hurtful language.

  • Stop consuming and sharing inspiration porn on social media. These are the stories that make heroes out of people for overcoming their disabilities.

  • Similarly, stop disability blindness thinking; that is, “I don’t see your disability” or “You can’t even tell.” It negates people’s experiences and speaks more to your discomfort. Value the whole person, including their disability. Decentering ableism and centering people with disabilities is a major step toward being anti-ableist. Practice empathy and engage in perspective sharing; that is, try to experience the world as a person with a disability.

Stop presuming how people with disabilities should or do experience their lives.

Ask them. Stop assuming hardship, incapability, or inferiority. Again, that’s your projection. Instead, make sure our private and public spaces are welcoming for all types of people. Regularly check policies and procedures at work, at school, and out in public to make sure they are not discriminatory. Ask yourself the question — do people with disabilities have the same access and opportunities as able-bodied folks? If not, demand change. Put it on the next meeting’s agenda.

Why commit ourselves to being actively anti-ableist? We know that making room for the perspectives of others enriches our own lives as it relates to happiness, comfort, satisfaction, innovation, and productivity. So being anti-ableist means everyone wins. Each of us prizes our quality of life and our dignity—shouldn’t we extend that right to everyone? Remember, upholding inequity for one group of people puts all groups at risk. Systemic discrimination isn’t maintained by some Wizard of Oz-like character behind the curtain, demanding that we marginalize people with disabilities. It is held up by our everyday actions and thoughts. Don’t wait for others to make changes; step up, and do your part.

*first published for flexability.com

Sources:

Nielsen, Kim E., A Disability History of the United Stated (Boston: Beacon Press, 2012), https://www.census.gov/prod/2003pubs/c2kbr-17.pdfhttps://www.mckinsey.com/business-functions/organization/our-insights/why-diversity-mattershttps://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-diversity-makes-us-smarter/ , http://kirwaninstitute.osu.edu/https://belonging.berkeley.edu/

Waiting For Others Never Changed Anything

As we near the end of an annus horribilis (a year of disaster or misfortune that is 2020, we have much to reflect on. The continued violence and discriminatory thinking against Black, Indigenous, People of Color, transgender individuals, people with disabilities, immigrants, Jews, Muslims, under-resourced folks, and other minorities indicate that despite our initial massive push after the death of George Floyd, there remains much work to do.

I was delighted to see a dawning across Americans’ hearts and minds as they confronted their complicity or passive acceptance of biased thought and action. It seems like every US company, organization, and educational institution raced to upload BLM supportive and anti-discriminatory statements on their websites. Passion, concern, and commitment flowed into words committing to do better, reflect on inequitable workspace practices, increase minority representation across promotion pipelines and leadership, and create learning, living, and working spaces that are invitational and emphasize belonging and mattering.

Many of us conducting this work for many years understand that massive and widespread attention to equity and inclusion happens in stages. A devastating event, often involving the brutal murder or some other form of violence, throws us into the first stage. Next come widespread demonstrations cacophonous (harsh, discordant mixtures of sounds) outrage and symphonic calls for justice and change. Demands for education, awareness, and systemic change coupled with the righteous anger, fatigue, frustration, and dispiritedness of those most impacted quickly follow suit. We then listen, question, educate ourselves, and feel deep pain and compassion.

Unfortunately, and common during civil and human rights movements, our dedication wanes, and our attention is drawn elsewhere. Our collective heads look elsewhere and our index fingers point to others to create change. The pandemic doesn’t help. The dedicated masses soon dwindle to a few folks working against a tidal wave of changes needed on granular to grand scales. Prior commitments to equity and inclusion fall prey to other priorities and tightened budgets. The final stage leaves the wounded untended, organizational promises to equity and inclusion unfulfilled, and relationships among colleagues fractured.

It doesn’t have to be that way. We can let go of the myth that systemic change can only be accomplished by corporate leadership, local, state, national governments, and time. Systemic bias is created through everyday mindsets and behaviors by each of us and can be brought down by individual efforts. Every work action and interaction is an opportunity to increase equity and inclusion and eliminate exclusion and discrimination. Ordinary people do extraordinary things. You can do it. You must do it.

Here are some easy-to-implement strategies to decrease bias and increase equity in your workspaces:

  1. Educate Yourself—Don’t skip the hundreds of articles on bias and inclusion found in media, entertainment, and your industry trade magazines. Read, listen, and watch. You will be surprised at how much you will learn and digest.

  2. Assume Agency—Step forward and call it in when you witness bias mindsets and action. It’s not about being brave or courageous. Treat these incidents as problems that inhibit colleague cohesion and organizational productivity and fix them in the same way.

  3. Clean up Your Backyard—Don’t wait for others to make changes. Don’t spend your time calling out others’ bad behavior. Take a full accounting of your problematic thinking and behavior, work through your ego fragilities, ignorance, and identity anxieties. Don’t wax your lack of knowledge or guilt on others; instead, adopt adaptive and growth mindsets and put them into action. Flex the equity muscle often and watch it strengthen.

  4. Leverage Your Knowledge and Skills—Review workplace norms, scripts, policies, and practices for bias and eliminate discrimination. Replace neutral policies and language with explicitly inclusive, equitable, and anti-biased language and text.

  5. Secure Professional Development—Schedule foundational and scaffolded educational sessions on bias, inclusion, and equity. Make sure these sessions include how to effectively realistically apply these skills to achieve workspace inclusion.

  6. Conduct a Diversity Audit—Anecdotes hinting that workspaces emphasize belonging, mattering, equity, and inclusion are not enough. Create climate surveys, review hiring and retention, all work manuals, and external and internal messaging for explicit equity and inclusion. Use this information to create equity and inclusion strategic plans and follow through with the suggested items.

  7. Revisit Your BLM and Anti-Bias Statements—Go back to organizational commitments as they relate to supporting anti-bias and equity and either develop action items or check in on those items’ status. If they don’t exist, create them. If they do, delegate tasks and assign “to done” dates to ensure that these action items are completed.

Lived company and individual values require long-term commitments, focus, and action. Be the company and individual you say you are. Doing so is not that hard and your efforts will result in critical and sustainable change.

*first published for flexability.com

Nazis Come to Ann Arbor. What Should We Do?

Ann Arbor has a much-deserved reputation as a mecca for progressive ideas. We pride ourselves in our dedication to equity. It’s summed up by the saying that Ann Arbor is "24.6 square miles surrounded by reality.”  Its inclusive pedigree is regularly on public display everywhere, as shown by the many  progressive yard signs welcoming immigrants, Jews, Muslims, people of color, and LGBTQ community members. Our reputation is also demonstrated in election results. While Trump ultimately won Michigan, 83% of voters in Ann Arbor cast their votes for Clinton and, perhaps more telling, Bernie Sanders had tremendous support here in the primaries.

 

To be sure no place, not even Ann Arbor is immune to unstable political and social climates--including a surge of homophobia, racism, and anti-Semitism. It was still shocking to go out for my morning walk and see that while we were relishing our last moments of the weekend and hopefully deep sleeping, the racists had come to town. The Patriot Front  - BLOODANDSOIL.org - , a known Nazi (nothing neo about these guys) group, left Ziploc baggies full of anti-Semitic, anti-immigrant, and anti-black propaganda on our sidewalks. “Blood and Soil” was the cry that thundered through German streets in the 30’s. The deliberate use of Nazi slogans and symbols found on these cards show the seriousness of the threat.

 

As frightening as this group is, I found the reaction of our community to their provocation heartening. I was especially moved by the speed with which several neighbors responded. The police were called immediately, and without coordination, several of us walked the neighborhoods, collected the bags, and removed them from the sightlines of our community members and children. Removing the offensive literature represents an important first step in responding to this kind of hate speech.  The question now is: what other steps should we take?  This hateful behavior is not new in this country and given recent national and international events, we should not be surprised that this kind of bold racist action has once again literally landed on our front steps.


While our community beautifully united in their opposition to the racist propaganda, we experience and are motivated to respond to these events in different ways. As a social justice activist and educator who has been working in the Deep South and across the country for many years, I have worked with many communities who have implemented successful and sustainable ways to stem this kind of hate.  

While some believe that the best practice is to ignore these folks and their hatred, silence has not worked out historically. For groups like Blood and Soil, silence can be interpreted as tacit acceptance. It can also be interpreted as weakness and an invitation to ramp up both rhetoric and action. We must respond, and we must respond in reflective and compassionate ways. Positive and encouraging measures work better than negative ones.

 

Post messages of inclusivity and equity on your social media pages, on your cars, office doors and windows, and in your yards.  The impact of these acts  provides a firm and compassionate barrier fostering an inclusive community. It also allows everyone to feel welcome. We all benefit when we leave space for folks who haven’t wanted to be part of this community or who haven’t been interested in issues of social equity before.

 

This effort also needs to span generations. The Crescents and Haisley neighborhoods, both anchored by elementary schools, were targeted.  This suggests that the Nazis intended their message to be seen by children on their way to school. If your children inquire, be sure to avoid frightening language.  Instead, emphasize the importance of creating and sustaining a welcoming community.  Discuss why having different people in our communities makes us happier, makes us less nervous, makes us smarter, and makes us stronger.

Check on your neighbors. While we are all collectively and individually injured by messages of hate, we must understand that people targeted--including immigrants, Muslims, Jews, African Americans, Hispanics, Asians, LGBTQIA community members may feel especially frightened—and with good reason. Validate their feelings and experiences and ask how they are feeling; don’t debate or assume you know. Practice empathy and listen meaningfully. Ask them what you can do to support and help them feel safe. Volunteer to walk your neighborhoods and be aware of possible further efforts by hate groups to spread their propaganda. Interrupt unproductive action and unkind language. Volunteer to support our school and community efforts which focus on inclusivity and equity. If you possess special expertise, work with these groups to develop interesting programs and sustainable action.

Recognize your own power. There is no social justice action that is too small or inconsequential.  There is also no single right way to do it. Let people practice inclusivity and equity in the ways they feel most comfortable. It is not practical nor compassionate to demand that individuals respond to these events in exactly the same ways. We know that successfully fighting hate groups and preventing them from infiltrating our communities demands multiple responses—the crucial thing is that people respond. Let people explore and become comfortable with their own methods.

All signs suggest that we may experience repeated attempts by hate groups to push their agendas.  We thus want to encourage all community members to become and stay involved.  Sowing divisiveness and creating fractures within our community is exactly what fascist groups want.  Finally, let’s remember that inclusion and equity work should not only be approached as a counter response brought on by hate.  Rather, we should view it as a privilege; a moment to put our values into practice; a moment where we remind ourselves of the richness of our community.

 

Jennifer A. Stollman, Ph.D. lives on Ann Arbor’s West Side and is a justice and equity consultant (jastollmanconsulting.com).

Faith and Social Justice

Good Morning! I want to thank all of you for allowing me to join you this morning. I especially want to thank Shanda Taylor for her kind invitation. I understand that I am in presence of like-minded individuals, dedicated to equity and social justice.  I am also very privileged for the time that the preparation for my comments allowed me, in concentrated ways, to tap deeply into my faith.  My story begins with a family dedicated to the Jewish tenet of tikkun olam or “repairing the world” and there were tremendous expectations that members of the family be dedicated to service. From a very young age, I was obsessed with the concept of a moral compass, and specifically our responsibilities to others. I was especially taken with the faith-based concept that in healing others, we not only create community, but we heal ourselves.  I had the good fortune to have a life where I have developed my mind and my spirit and have learned that my intellect must always be in service to my spirit and through the ties that necessarily bind us, to the spiritual, intellectual, and physical wellness of others. Principally, doing this well means having conversations—to effectively listen to people speaking to their needs and challenges, their hopes and dreams, their fears and failures.

What a week! Listening, speaking, seeing, words and words and more words. We have so many conversations coming across our airwaves, our communities, our politics, and our minds. So many conversations and so difficult to keep up. Conversations about justice mainly. So, I know that this is Coming Out week and in part, I am here to discuss the current state of affairs re LGBTQIA+ in the state. The long and short of it is that since the shooting down of HB1523 and its unconstitutional nature, conversations about human and civil rights for issues for LGBTQIA+ community members in the state of Mississippi have gone rather silent.  In fact this was the quietest “Coming Out” week in my memory. I cannot decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Folks continue to work on important grass roots levels to make individuals’ learning, living, and recreating spaces safe and thriving. Many individuals are using their vote to demand that legislators, local and national, place these issues on their radar.  Beyond that, the conversations have largely gone silent, with the exception of an achievement or an act of terror and then perhaps it hits the Facebook cycle and then. I was confounded on how to speak on this because this conversation is not larger than any others. In fact, we have dozens of social justice conversations happening. All related to the ideas of human dignity and equity, be them based on race, class, gender, sexuality, nativity, or any other identity. Together these conversations are both loud and silent and mostly unfinished. I would like to train our attention on--incomplete conversations.

As you may know, Jews around the world have just completed their days of awe or days of decision, known as “yamim noraim,” the Days of Repentance.  For Jews, 10 days beginning with Rosh Hashanah and ending with Yom Kippur, this is a deeply introspective time. With the busy pace of our lives, complexity of our local to global situations, our persistent fears holding forth over our love for one another, it is good to take long and concentrated moments to find a quiet space, away from internal and external din, to reflect on our place in the world, our transgressions against our local and broader community members, good deeds, our continued responsibilities and how we relate and communicate with each other. And because we love equity and justice, so we must reflect deeply. In these times, we must turn our focus inward with honesty and truth, with bravery and trust, with love and empathy, for ourselves and others, and take a full accounting of our thoughts and actions. Where have we risen and where have we fallen?  When have we firmly grasped the hand of our neighbors and when have we loosed the grip? When we have fulfilled our aspirations and when we have not. We must think about the conversations that we had, that we didn’t have, those we needed to have and those still left unfinished.

When reflecting upon my words this morning, I reached into my faith, as I frequently do, and examined this week’s Torah portion.  Well, this week’s “parsha” or portion is quite relevant. Haa’zinu is a poetic song delivered by Moses and Joshua.  Haa’zinu means to literally “give ear” or pay heed, listen up, pay attention. The opening phrase is “Listen, O heavens, and I will speak; may the earth hear the words of my mouth.” This is a particularly strong statement made by Moses, who the next day will climb Mt. Nebo and will see The Promised Land but, because he disobeyed God, he will be denied entry and he will die.  This 70-line song is delivered to Moses to the children of Israel on the last day of his life. It is a conversation with his community of the utmost importance. It demands meaningful listening and speaking. The song serves as a prophecy of what will transpire to the Jews, the good and the bad, until the end of times. While it is delivered as a song, this is a stringent warning to the faithful that their salvation depends on their own will and actions towards both God AND importantly, those who walk the Earth.

While this portion is rich in intent and purpose, I’d like to return to the subject of conversations.  I’d like to focus on the differences outlined in this Torah portion between to “give ear” and “it shall hear.” Talmudically, there is a vast difference between these two words. To “give ear” refers to our relationship to the heavens or to our creators.  “It shall hear” refers to a much more vulnerable earth. Our earth—its people fragile, beautiful, weakened, pained and empowered. Because of this and for this commentary, our sages suggest that when speaking to each other we should try to adopt a softer tone and strive to use methods where we can be understood, heard, our words taken in as important as profound. Fulfilling expectations includes understanding the art and spirit of conversations. The sages ask us to meticulously choose our words, and when we speak, move with the person as opposed to against, find empathy and compassion. Instead of driving a point home and instead of winning, we might consider welcoming and encouraging individuals to stay awhile and stay in conversation.

While I will leave you to understand the tones in which you speak and hear from your higher selves or higher creators, I am hoping that you do not mind if I address how we speak and hear one another. My entire work life is dedicated to productive and compassionate dialogue on difference. Certainly when we pursue justice we are in fact, pursuing happiness for individuals. Thus, I want us to consider how we hear and what we hear, the words and tone, the melody and the beat when we exchange communications. I want to speak about the important series of exchanges of listening and hearing known colloquially as a conversation.  How important these exchanges are. If done incorrectly, how much devastation they can wreak and more potently if done correctly, how much individual and collective power they can bring.  I stand before you quite humbly and quite conscious that I am not immune nor apart from the very observations that I am about to make.  I stand before you speaking as a social justice activist, as someone deeply committed to ending those thoughts and behaviors which harm us as individuals or community members. I speak as someone who has risen and fallen to the challenge and opportunity of hearing and speaking meaningfully.

Returning to Ha’azinu--“It shall hear--” It can be viewed almost as a question, as if we are unsure about the methods and motivations of the sender or receiver of words. In these challenging political, social, and economic times, we are an injured people. We are an unsure people. We want to extend love, yet fear of losing our own place and our own resources encourages us to not adequately listen or forcefully speak. We fail to hear because we have been taught that words matter and words can deeply hurt and thus in a world where we have chosen competition over compassion, words can be used as danger and daggers. So under this threat we go silent. We also know that words can lift and empower, but we often scatter about to find the best words and also consequently, we go silent.

“It shall hear” It can be unproductively heard as a demand. These demands emerge when conversations facture. We are so very desperate to be heard, and if our pleas are not heard, we often yell, exhale defeated, or walk away. To be explicit--actions and abandonment are forms of listening and speaking. We  speak and listen with aggression, we speak and listen with ego, we speak and listen with violence, we speak and listen by withholding life sustaining resources from people, we speak and listen and encourage division and hierarchy and prioritize every single one of our needs over the needs of others. We speak and listen and encourage willful ignorance and atavistic amnesia. We speak and listen in profane and putrid ways. And strangely but not surprisingly, we speak and listen and demand humanity while we refuse to extend the same to others.

“It shall hear— It can be a question of audience. “Who hears? How do we hear? When do we hear? Do we hear it all or just the parts that resonate or injure? I have spent the past four years crafting, delivering, and witnessing words and mostly, I become concerned when we see disconnects because we exist in cacophonies and dissonance. We are bombarded and assaulted by words dripping with hurt and hate. And we often return in kind.  And unfortunately, the possible and beautiful long-lasting symphony is often lost and in the air is literal and metaphorical atonality. We reserve soulful speaking and listening to friends, family members, and people who resemble us.  In today’s world, the “it” will hear only if we deem them worthy.

“It should hear”—When do we stop before the “should hear?” I’d like to refer us to a repeated issue when it comes to the acts of listening and speaking—we quite frequently stop listening and speaking before the conversation ends. Why is that?  Why do we maintain shortened attention spans? Why, as a nation and as communities, have we stopped comprehensively speaking and listening about Black Lives Matter, LGBTQIA+ rights, education, mass incarceration, school to prison pipelines, national and international tragedies and other vital issues?  Why are we no longer covering systemic racism? Why, for example, after HB 1523 was deemed unconstitutional did we suddenly go silent and or at the very least, the conversation dimmed? Why when Initiative 42 failed did we, in concentrated ways stop talking about education in our state?  Where is the continued conversation about our states disastrous criminal justice system? Why are we no longer comprehensively and as a community speaking about our “school to prison pipeline?” Why have we, en masse, stopped having conversations about our failed legislature? Where is our concentrated attention?  Where is our stamina?

I am so very interested in the ways in which we are able to initiate conversations but not see them through past immediate challenges.  We have great fortitude and energy to begin such conversations. I notice that this energy, heretofore coded as finite, is able to be expended in tremendous spurts. And when we have pushed the conversational boulder over the initial challenging hills, we become reasonably fatigued.  I often wonder why. How is it that for a concerted amount of time we can concentrate our totality of focus, we accomplish impossible things, really difficult tasks AND then we, for lack of a better phrase, we lose steam or interest? I argue that in this moment when others begin important conversations, we listen and hear and then when these conversations become difficult and challenging, when they ask us to self reflect, to change our thinking and our behaviors—we stop speaking and we stop listening. We know how to initially make folks aware, engage them, and move them. We quite well understand the initiations of meaningful listening and speaking.  We must learn to continue the conversation.

In just my concentrated work over the past 4 years, I have seen tremendous social justice change but I am a bit concerned because the conversational social justice and human rights paths are littered with open ended and incomplete conversations. I wonder if this is happening because we need to alter or differently view our framework of speaking and listening.

  “It shall hear” So let us reconsider how we approach conversations. Friends, we cannot accomplish that which we must accomplish in the realms of freedom and social justice, if we don’t learn how to continue conversations. Perhaps speaking and listening as it relates to justice and making sure that people are valued and honored is not a limited communication engagement to be finished, it is, I would submit, a lifelong endeavor and we are engaged in multiple lifelong relationships. To do that we must listen to be heard. We want to be heard and I humbly suggest that in order for us to be meaningfully heard, we must learn how to meaningfully listen. Can we understand that the acts of listening and speaking are not just expressions of rights, an expression of self, an expression of needs, wants, hurts, loss, and strength?  Maybe we should understand conversation as a holy endeavor. A conversation is a moment where spirits may be joined, may double or triple their power. It is a gift of the highest level. I would argue, speaking and hearing isn’t just an act of voices, ears, and brain function. No, dear friends, those are mere conduits to the true phenomenon.  Meaningfully speaking and meaningfully listening is where grace happens. It is where grace happens. Language and sound are merely the conduits for the initial energy plugging in. They are the gifts of symphony of comfort and embrace. Even the most difficult conversations, those that deal with inequity and justice can be viewed, instead of a struggle, as synergy.

 “It shall hear—“ How shall we meaningfully hear and meaningfully listen? To speak to be heard, to listen to understand, we should consider these things. We must commit ourselves to the act. We must initiate, continue, and complete the act of meaningfully listening and speaking. We must acknowledge the importance and holiness of the act. We must not understand our conversations to just be acts of communication but acts of communion. Before we engage in this act, we must prepare for it. And when we begin, we must first find our spirit, find our humanity. We also must locate the spirit and value in the person we wish to engage in conversation. We must allow judgment to be replaced with wonder. We must train our mind to seek out and excavate the holiness of the beings and social justice issues before us. We must commit mind, body, and spirit to hearing and speaking with reverence. We must replace ego with empathy. We must quiet our limbic systems. We must lower our defenses. We must listen and speak to each other as the cherished beings that we are. We must speak and listen, not for deficits, but for potential. We must speak and listen, not for exercises of unproductive power but for sustainable equity force. We must speak and listen through the hurt of past experiences and the knowledge gaps. We must speak and listen in ways that promote healing. We must remember that our strength and salvation rests on each other. Perhaps we might perceive disagreement as demonstrations of past injuries and trauma.

What if instead of speaking and listening into the wind, where our words are carried off and above,  we spoke and listened to each others’ spirit and fire?  What if we upped or increased our expectations regarding our stamina for meaningful listening and action? Might that impact our stamina to continue the conversation and therefore enable us to continue to fight for justice and equity? I wonder-- what if we approached our conversations on justice as perhaps the last ones we will be permitted to have? How might it change our empathy, compassion and effort? I would submit that we might understand our words as sacred as life sustaining for ourselves, the people we impact, and for generations to come. We must remember that we aren’t just speaking for ourselves We are speaking and listening with the guidance of our ancestors. We speak drawing from the speech and hearing of those that have come before us, those in our presence, and those still unborn.  So dear friends, let us commit ourselves to meaningful listening and speaking. Let us imagine the chaos and anger and fear as holograms and instead reach across commonalities and differences in the same way—understanding that we each carry the divine and that our access to that divinity is dependent upon each other.

“It should hear”—And so I close where I began. How will we move forward? Will we make the choice to access the grace and the divine in each of us to meaningfully listen and hear? Will we find the fortitude and stamina to pick up unfinished conversations and see them to their end where justice and equity are achieved? Will we be brave enough to engage in conversations that do more than satisfy the immediate danger ahead or push our own goals forward? Yes, I think so. But this is a +1 kind of deal. We cannot wait for others to engage in the conversation. We must rely on ourselves to do the work. We must summon our strength and move forward. We must train our tin ears to hear the symphony. We must raise our voices beyond the rasp of our own needs to echo across the mountains of the needs of others. We must listen to the silences. Regardless of our faith positions, we are all the Israelites in the desert—awaiting freedom and safety and security and communion. Maybe we are Moses because as we stand on the mount of social justice and though we might be denied entry into the promised land, but we must engage in these conversations so that our future generations may. If we finish the conversations dealing with securing equity and justice then we ensure that we have fulfilled our responsibilities to our fragile earth and the divine beings that walk among and with us.  This is the covenant we make with humans. I believe that is the intent of “it should hear.” Thank you.

Orlando's Pulse

 Good Evening,

The last time we gathered together it was for Oxford’s  Pride Parade, we were celebrating our love, our community, our strength, and our allies.  We stood in the face of our state and nation’s adversity, hate, and misunderstanding and realized that, through our march, Oxford welcomed us in droves. Cheers, music, dancing, and happiness permeated our town. We discovered that we were surely not as alone as we thought–despite the deafening and nonsensical noises of anxiety and anger delivered through legislation.

And, yet today, this is a very different day, friends. We stand stunned, gut punched, sad beyond tears, struck silent by our immense grief, numb from the pain of rage. We feel the tremendous void left by our sisters and brothers, our sons and daughters, who on a joyful night celebrating Latin gay culture had their lights and lives extinguished by a man so moved by fear, anxiety, and hate as to allow him to commit an unspeakable act which will surely cause convulsions reverberating across generations. 

I wish I could stand up here and say to you “How did this happen?”  But I know how and why this happened and so do you. Given what is going on in this country, the more honest and nauseating question is, “How could this not happen?”

In our nation, we refuse to deal with the consequences of unchecked narratives of fear, hate, and exclusion screaming across our internet and airwaves, our news outlets and our own national psyche will rush to individualize this incident. Yes, we can reduce our comprehension of this event to the actions of a disturbed, fragile, and toxic individual who fed off these narratives to develop and carry out his devastatingly murderous act. But we know that this event does not begin nor end with the madness of one. To understand it as such is to disrespect the lives lost and injured. To do so means to shirk our responsibilities to our country, to love, and to freedom.

Together, we must understand that this event, targeting our LGBTQ Americans, is the logical next step in a country that, through apathy or action, regularly exalts difference is worthy of hatred and violence. In a strange but not unexpected turn of events, the murderer braided global and national narratives of hate to firm up his ideas and justify his actions. How could this not have happened when the majority of our citizens base their understandings of the world from demagogues and divisive individuals who preach fear and hate mongering and who twist our sacred and secular words to satisfy their own narcissistic needs for power?

In a nation and a world that, with devastating consequences, organizes, categorizes, and reduces holy and wonderful beings to good and evil, normal and aberrant, welcoming and threatening, how could this not happen? When a nation and a world have historically dealt with difference through execution instead of embrace, how could this not happen? When we define human rights as currency, power, finite, and to be determined and doled out by the few, how could this not happen? When we continue to define love through the lens of hate, how could this not happen?

And so we must ask individually and collectively, is this the world that we want for ourselves and our future generations?  Do we want to continue to regularly gather to mourn or to celebrate? It is our choice and we have the power to change it.  

How do we honor the beautiful and unfulfilled lives lost? We know. We will do what our elders and leaders have done when found in this exact space. We must understand where we are now and where we want to be.   

            And so reflecting in both tragedy, looking towards triumph, and to honor and memorialize the young lives lost at Pulse, as difficult as it may seem, we must continue the strategies that we have always relied upon. The ones that have worked and will always work.  In concert with grieving, we must commit ourselves again to peace and to love. And as we awaken and recover from this vulgar and living nightmare, we must continue to render ourselves visible. We must continue to use our words and actions to challenge those who hate. We must educate the uninformed and misinformed. We must embrace the fear out of those who do not know us. In memory of those magnificent lives who will not have the opportunity to live out the LGBTQ dreams of freedom, love, and equity that we have fought so hard for, we must take responsibility and work tirelessly until we have achieved equity, equality, and value for all members of the LGBTQ community.  As members and Allies we must continue to teach our children the power of love over hate.  We must demand from our politicians and judges, that we will stand for nothing less than full equality, equity, and recognition. We must work together across this neighborhood and nation to stop this god forsaken violence. Through our fatigue and fear, we can and we must filter out hate and fear poisoning our minds, bodies, and spirits.   For our own sanity and safety, we must demand that we stop believing the myth that we can only strike violence down with more violence. This is difficult work and it is our most crucial work.  It is the debt we owe to our society and our fallen LGBTQ community members.  And finally, we must continue to draw from our absolutely endless reservoirs of strength—each other. For generations and tonight, violence and misunderstanding from outside forces have called upon us to rise after being struck down. And we will rise again and again and again and again until we have won. And so, let us raise our candles in solidarity and with reverence and let us say to each one of those people whose lives were brutally cut short, we will not forget you—no, each and everyone of us will honor your lives and memories by continuing the fight to love who we love, without fear but with pride.

The Power of Change in the Face of Passivity

Good afternoon and thanks so much for having me on your campus. It is truly an honor and a privilege. I would like to thank Sana Hussein and Dominique Earland for their tremendous efforts bringing me to campus.  Wow! I am so very moved to be here. I have had the excellent fortune of working with several Southern Methodist Civil Rights Pilgrimage students when they have visited the University of Mississippi campus. Their interest and dedication to peace and conflict and civil and human rights gives me tremendous hope for the present and the future.  We are in a time and space where this is so very important.  I would like first begin to pay homage to Professor Dennis Simon who passed away on Sunday, February 12th. What a lion. A brilliant scholar, a passionate and oft- rewarded educator and a man who “walked the walk.”  Professor Simon clearly understood that in order to establish and preserve human rights, it was necessary for individuals committed to this work to visit “sites of conscience.”  Why do we do so?  We do this because these are sacred and profound spaces. We do so because these are sites where we learn not only through reading, listening, and viewing. More importantly, because we can feel the history that has taken place in these spaces. As we quiet ourselves and inhale the moment, we hear echoes of the the protest shouts and cries, we see the mighty and mangled bodies, we soak up their strength and we are empowered and we feel clarity knowing what and our next steps must be. You cannot experience a civil rights pilgrimage without being comprehensively transformed. After visiting these sites of conscience you are forever changed and possessing the responsibilities to continue the fight for human rights. Professor Simon was both in tune and clairvoyant. He understood this work to be hard. He understood the need for cross-cultural engagement, for people to move across their discomforts and knowledge gaps, hurts and slights to a space of understanding and activism. So in the spirit of honoring our ancestors and understanding that we stand on the shoulders of giants and in particular, a giant that has taught and given us so much, let us take a moment to reflect upon Professor Dennis Simon. We humbly bow our heads for how you have impacted us and how through his work and teaching, we will impact thousands.

Okay and now let us return to the work that Professor Simon and the thousands of extraordinary yet ordinary individuals who were committed to this work. This work is not easy. We know this.   We have all had that experience, that “human rights high” where we come together, diverse individuals with diverse life experiences, committed to making change. We meet, we discuss, and we are truly intentional to make change and then—(pause) we run into difficulty. We find that good intentions and dedication to a common goal are not enough. We find that in fighting for human rights, our socialization against difference emerges.  By this I mean, we gradually begin to “think” that we cannot work together across race, class, gender, sexuality, ethnic, religious, or political lines.  We fracture. Instead of understanding the importance and usefulness of affinity groups, we create chasms of identity politics.  What are the ramifications of this?  Does any of this sound familiar? We suddenly cannot hear differing perspectives. We suddenly only see threatening identity presentations. We demonize people with different political perspectives and reduce them to caricatures which allow us to ignore, deny their existence, and walk away. Let me be clear. This happens both within our community groups and from without. I would like to spend my time speaking about this and how we can fix this. In order to achieve our goals of ensuring human rights for everyone, we simply must adjust our approach to difference. And by difference, I am speaking to difference wherever it emerges.         

Let us take a breath--we are in a particularly important moment. And when we are speaking about the business of human and civil rights, aren’t we always in important moments? Sometimes, we speak of movement as collectives of people and forget the individual people that make up these movements.  As I was writing this address, I flipped through the news.  Across the dials and up and down the news stations, we see and stories of human rights crises and tragedies. I hear of chemical attacks on Syrian children, refugee crises across the Middle East and beyond, immigrant and undocumented people, genocide and displacement, denial of rights across the globe. Basic human rights like the right to life, freedom, access to opportunities and rights, and happiness, yes happiness are being denied. And what do we see complacency or fear—either way most people turn the channel or turn the airwaves and broad bands off. But not you. Not you. You care. Your generation is a renewal of hope. I was a child of the 80s and well, we weren’t exactly focusing on human rights. It was more of a selfish generation. But your generation, Generation Z, you are different. You care.  And you in this room care.  But respectfully we must move beyond caring. We must act. But we cannot act if we don’t confront the thoughts, perceptions, and actions that inhibit our abilities to work across difference. You see we cannot understand and implement human rights if we universalize our experiences and perspectives. In this spirit, I will spend the rest of my comments addressing and providing contemporary context and addressing some common behaviors and ways of thinking that inhibit our activism.  I will also include how we can change. After this address, I hope that you will join me for a workshop practicing how we can undo our problematic ideas and actions.

As a scholar/activist, I see that current days bear the markings of a civil and human rights moment. This isn’t going to be a political speech. I will speak the language of decency and humanity.  We have been discussing the “broken democracy” for decades. Just for the record, it isn’t broken, if we keep working the program, our constitutional values will prevail. We are however seeing both enlightenment and ignorance.  Strange times since as a nation, we tend to vacillate between the two.  We are a nation and a people conflicted. Our religion, our spirits, our moral compasses instruct us to love everyone, to lean towards compassion and love.  And yet at the slightest twitch, we struggle to maintain those aforementioned philosophies because of fear—fear of losing power, fear of losing resources, fear of being forgotten and unseen, fear of being lost living in a world that we don’t recognize.

We see tragic and violent events and policies against our national and global citizens. And we see it in counter group and ally responses, we see personal reflection and then we see changes and actions in our thoughts, perspectives, and behaviors and then of course, we see resistance.  In fact, we are in all of these moments.  It is this last aspect that I want to briefly speak about--resistance. While many understand resistance reductively, I believe that if we understand resistance beyond the fear of change, we can more quickly, more effectively, change.  I understand resistance and the belligerent and challenging behavior that comes with it emerges out of fear—fear of loss and fear of being disempowered. But these are powerful feelings for these reach to the heart of us—they run so deep that we might believe these to be life or death situations. I believe this is why people respond in the way that they do—without reason, with violence, without compassion.  I believe this is why we are seeing such a return to anxieties directed at people and populations where we enjoyed such progress and understanding. Such individuals are literally in a wormhole of fear—meaning there is no ground, no horizon, no oxygen and complete darkness. It becomes confusing and disorienting, it is frightening. While such displays of fear and threat might remind us of our own fears and insecurities and encourage us to step back, look away, we must resist these counter productive behaviors. As compassionate beings and especially as individuals bestowed with the responsibility of caring for people and their minds, bodies, and spirits, instead we must open our hearts, sharpen our minds, lean in, and embrace these discomforts until they dissolve and transform into compassion, empathy, and a pull towards social justice and equity.  I understand that this is much to ask for, perhaps for some impossible, but for most it requires a simple pivot, that is a commitment to creating public and private, communal, civic, and professional spaces that value everyone. To do so, empowers all of us, for we must remember that power is not finite, it is infinite.  We must extend power to those who have previously been denied that power, we must recognize where we have assumed and gained from power that is not rightfully ours and we must understand that to do so empowers all of us, calms our anxieties, and advances ourselves as communities and individuals. We must stop thinking in terms of “us” and “them” and the millions of ways we divide folks and instead remember the best of “me” and “you.” And we can do that every day, with intentional action. We have the power. Your change and consequent actions can achieve freedom for everybody on local and national scales.

            So, in doing this, most folks that I run across insist that they cannot do anything until “change happens.” They argue that institutions, structures, and “others” must change, that is, everyone must change before “I” can do anything.  I am here this afternoon to challenge such thinking. This thinking also emerges from fear of action and fear of failure.  In fact, I would argue that such an approach hinders absolutely any possibility of fulfilling our hopes and responsibilities for social justice and equity. Let’s take a step a back and I would like you to think of the power that you possess. Think in terms of your training, your knowledge, your expertise, and your experiences, your gifts—both developed and passed down, Without the actions of “I” and then collectively “us,” we will forever be on the cusp of change and equality and happiness and contentment, with success so near yet so far we can see it but cannot grasp it. Mostly, I have discovered that most have an urge toward equity, human rights, toward calm, toward empathy, that is, rarely do I run into individuals who prefer to stew in hatred and anxiety. In fact, most are simply looking for the tools, for the language to use to understand inequity and to create or restore equity and equality. With this in mind, I will spend the rest of my time briefly and alternately describing the penetrating actions and rhetoric which both sustain and tumble inequity and equity. What I humbly offer are the clear articulations of those devices which I believe hamper our ability to live in peace and to value others.  What I also offer and emphatically believe is the awareness, knowledge, and skills that each of us can utilize, if we have not already, to join in this historical civil rights moment to make change, to erase fear, to live in harmony and peace. I want to stress that you as

            As individuals dedicated to human and civil rights, we can begin with ourselves and the spaces we find ourselves in. We can create equitable and compassionate spaces that are attentive not only to present dynamics but to the experiences, ideologies, traumas, and truth that our community members bring to those spaces. So, I will frame the rest of my remarks in terms of what inhibits and what builds and sustains communities dedicated to human rights and those who don’t. With such knowledge, we can create better, less anxious and more cohesive spaces where more healing and more community building and solidifying may take place.  It is not hard, it is our job, and as humans it is our calling.

            First and foremost, we must understand what bias is and is not. It is not an emotion; it is not merely moral. It is in fact, a behavior. Scholars have called bias, performances and while I do believe this to be true, I think that for this particular historical moment, we would do well to heed scholars understanding that bias as “bias craft” and it does descend from its ancestor witchcraft. Deliberately and etiologically developing the phrase from its ancestor “witchcraft,” “bias craft” understands bias as a behavior mixed in with a little superstition. Bias is repeated acts of stylized behaviors designed to create and sustain superiority and inferiority based on different racial, class, gender, and sexual identities. Oftentimes we understand biases “to be inherited” or “to be carried.”  This suggests that we are not responsible for these behaviors. The superstition part is the belief that somehow these beliefs are essential and to fail to perform these ritualistic behavior is to risk stability and safety of ourselves and our society. So, if we understand bias as something that we craft and behaviors that we do, then we have immediately at our disposal several ways in which we can understand crucial behaviors that create spaces of inequity, fear, and isolation.

The first behavior cannot be easily detected. It is our implicit bias and it rests in the

unconscious. And everyone has it. Full stop. No twitching and no denial. Take deep breaths and move forward. Implicit bias occurs when someone consciously rejects stereotypes and supports anti-discrimination efforts but also holds negative associations in his/her mind. Implicit bias can come from brain stimuli and schema. Based upon visual and aural cues, individuals make automatic judgments about what category a particular person fits within and we often act on those judgments. Implicit bias responses often begin with the limbic system (describe) and our need to unconsciously categorize along simple lines of safety/danger. Our limbic systems are crucial regarding primal survival needs and humans need to understand the complicated and complex world. Things become less constructive and more violent when the brain, which automatically generalizes starts to categorize and conclude in ways that are unproductive and discriminatory. Thus, implicit bias does not mean that people are hiding their various prejudices. People literally do not know they have them. According to brain science, implicit biases are often positively or negatively triggered by past experiences, memories and conditioning and, thus, unintentionally different things get linked together. Implicit bias creates embedded stereotypes that heavily and arguably always influence our decision-making without our conscious knowledge. And as if this is not enough, the process becomes further entrenched. Once a group or category has been defined through brain processes and cultural conditioning, humans tend to exaggerate the differences between different groups and to presume homogeneity. We possess logical fallacies and we learn that we are not as rational as we think. “Trusting the gut” becomes really problematic. Repeated brain science and cultural conditioning reinforces implicit biases in an unwieldy cycle that unless addressed head on, sustains and reinforces discriminatory action and thinking. While it seems inaccessible and impossible to fix, there are at least four behaviors to intercept of interrupt implicit bias.  As we mover through this discussion, I want us to honest reflect within ourselves how our biases impact the ways in which we conduct our work, the way we view our colleagues and clients.

            First and foremost, one must have awareness about the existence of implicit bias and your relationship to it. Secondly, constant education about the way implicit bias operates and where it appears and its impact.  Detecting and eliminating implicit bias requires constant self-reflection and self-patrol. Finally, when our implicit bias appears we need to enact counter behaviors. We need to privately and publicly acknowledge, apologize when necessary, and allow ourselves and others to recover. We must understand that implicit bias wells run deep.  We must understand that our society relies on our limbic systems, our fears and safeties, to control us, to create divisions, to control access to opportunities, rights, and resources.

            The second behavior is created by implicit bias and is in fact an externalization of implicit bias. Micro-aggressions are actually macro-aggressions and come from social conditioning. Micro-aggressions are commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, which communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative slights and insults toward people. And we all commit them and we all experience them. The chief vehicles for anti-equity behaviors are micro-aggressions. These are pervasive, conscious, unconscious, subtle, stunning, often automatic, and non verbal exchanges which are ‘put-downs’ of individuals by offenders.” They are perceived as innocuous, harmless and are perceived as free speech. Can be verbal or non-verbal (failure to make eye contact/closed body). Micro aggressions involve: overt charged intentional discriminatory attacks or avoidance behaviors. They convey rudeness and insensitivity and demean a person’s identity and can negate or nullify the psychological thoughts, feelings, or experiential reality of minority persons. Some examples include: alien in one’s own land, ascription of intelligence, blindness and privilege, criminality & assumption of criminal status, denial of individual oppression, myth of meritocracy, that body project of inferior and superior bodies that I previously mentioned, pathologizing cultural values & communication styles, second-class status and environmental micro-aggressions.  Again, let us take a moment to think about the ways in which we might have had these behaviors acted upon us and how we might have done this to others.

             Wow, right and still, and still people think that micro-aggressions are much ado about nothing, that they are political correctness run amok, that acceptance and attention to this creates a fragile and fractures society but I would humbly submit that this is not the case. Micro-aggressions create tremendous stress (conscious and unconscious) on our minds bodies and spirits. We are in the business of caring and protecting and fighting  for humans so I believe that is crucial that we understand the impacts of micro-aggressions. If left to fester, micro-aggressions can cause serious psychological and physical damage, including depression, frustration, anger, rage, loss of self-esteem, and anxiety. In fact, if we commit these as health care professionals, we are actually pushing against and hampering our own work designed to heal bodies.

Micro aggressions justify inequality, reinforces stereotypes, sends societal cues that signal devaluation of social group identities, firms up and legitimizes hidden or unintentional biases, and creates disparities in law, health care, education, legislation and other spaces in society. Because of their often stunning and lightning speed, micro-aggressions are insidious. People who experience them often wonder: did the person engage in micro aggressive behavior or did the “victim” misinterpret the action? These behaviors and their “invisibility” mask unintentional expressions of bias. They come in so fast that when it happens, the individual is not sure if it happened, whether it was deliberate, how to respond, and what are the ramifications for responding. Adding to the destabilization, the perpetrator is usually sincere in the belief that they acted without bias. Confrontations often lead to accusing the victim of having overreacted and responses are almost always negative. Additionally, people perceive that micro-aggressions cause minimal harm. Thus, perpetrator and victim are most likely to “let it go” thereby allowing the behavior to persist. Finally, victims of repeated micro-aggressions fall into the “it won’t change anything anyway” trap. For a moment, again let us ponder how this might be impacting our colleagues and our clients—our relationships, our abilities to successfully conduct our work, our own happiness and spiritual wellness.

            So what are we to do when we commit a micro-aggression or are micro-aggressed? Super easy, especially in our spaces because you have the time and privacy to conduct the repair. First, we simply stop what we are doing and quiet the space and our egos and nerves.  Then we say, “I am sorry.” I often marvel at the healing that is accomplished by those words and equally gob smacked when we are afraid to conduct the healing because we have misguided egos, understand apologies to mean weakness instead of empowerment. Next, we find out what happened? We ask, not about intent, but about impact. We listen to the story. We acknowledge the other’s story, we trust when they say they have been aggressed and impacted even when we ourselves cannot see it.  Finally, we ask what steps must we take to bring the relationship back to a good space. AND then we take those stops. We adopt neutral or if we can, compassionate body language and tone.  We must allow people to recover from micro-aggressions. Humiliation or gossip serves to reinforce embarrassment and thus exacerbates aggression. We address micro-aggressions because we want to stop the injuries and chasms that come through micro aggressions. We do not want to cause our friends or community members pain. And we can do this—how do I know this? Because we already know how to cross difficult bridges, challenging conversations. We can just apply these skills to fostering excellent relationships with our colleagues and patients.  This is an added healing strategy.

            So now I would like to address another behavior that is interfering with the complete success of communities—stereotype threat. I would humbly submit that in your in your experiences, stereotype threat is a giant factor in your lives as activists, citizens and community  members. Stereotype threat is a situational predicament in which people are or feel themselves to be at risk of confirming negative stereotypes about their social group. Stereotype threat has been shown to reduce the performance of individuals who belong to negatively stereotyped groups. If negative stereotypes are present regarding a specific group, members of that group are likely to become anxious about their performance or their interactions with you, which may hinder their ability to perform or communicate at their maximum level. Importantly, the individual does not need to subscribe to the stereotype for it to be activated. Moreover, the specific mechanism through which anxiety (induced by the activation of the stereotype) decreases performance and communication is by depleting working memory.  It may occur whenever an individual's performance might confirm a negative stereotype because stereotype threat is thought to arise from a particular situation, rather than from an individual's personality traits or characteristics. Since most people have at least one social identity, which is negatively stereotyped, most people are vulnerable to stereotype threat if they encounter a situation in which the stereotype is relevant. Situational factors that increase stereotype threat can include: the difficulty of the task, the belief that the task measures their abilities, the relevance of the stereotype to the task. Individuals show higher degrees of stereotype threat on tasks they wish to perform well and when they identify strongly with the stereotyped group. These effects are also increased when they expect discrimination due to their identification with negatively stereotyped group. Repeated experiences of stereotype threat can lead to a vicious circle of diminished confidence, poor performance, and loss of interest in the relevant area of achievement. The consequences of stereotype threat include: decreased performance, internal attributions for failure, self-handicapping, task discounting, distancing the self from the stereotyped group, disengagement and dis-identification and altered professional identities and aspirations. Behind the stereotype threat rests anxiety, negative cognition, lowered performance expectations, reduced effort, reduced self-control, reduced creativity, flexibility and speed and excess effort or attention. Friends, this is big and important.  To ensure even greater success with our colleagues and the community members we have the privilege of working with this, we must understand that stereotype threat is a huge factor in communication.  If we don’t recognize this, how can we be truly effective in our efforts to achieve human rights?  

            So with this tremendous device and the fact that all of us can be subject to stereotype threat, how do we reduce stereotype threat? First, we can deemphasize threatened social identities.  We can utilize a method that increases the sense of self-complexity.  We can also encourage self-affirmation. This can be done by encouraging or co-workers and clients to think about their characteristics, skills, values, or roles that they value or view as important. The nature of the feedback provided regarding performance has been shown to affect perceived bias, individual motivation, and domain identification. The effectiveness of critical feedback, particularly on tasks that involve potential confirmation of group stereotypes varies as a function of the signals that are sent in the framing of the feedback.  Constructive feedback appears most effective when it communicates high standards for performance but also assurances that the student is capable of meeting those high standards. Several studies have shown that stereotype threat can be diminished by providing individuals with explanations regarding why anxiety and distraction are occurring that do not implicate the self or validate the stereotype. Some individuals tend to believe that intelligence is fixed, not changing over time or across contexts. Others tend to view intelligence as a quality that can be developed and that it changes across contexts or over time (an “incremental theory”).

            Finally, the issue of privilege exists as the final peg that creates and maintains inequity in a healthcare community. Privilege exists when one group has something of value that is denied to others simply because of the groups they belong to, rather than because of anything they’ve done or failed to do. Access to privilege does not determine one’s outcomes, but it is definitely an asset that makes it more likely that whatever talent, ability, and aspirations a person with privilege has will result in something positive for them. This can come in the form of citizenship, able bodied, class, gender, ability, sexuality, and religion. In many ways people who have privilege may universalize their values, perceptions, thoughts and behaviors and you want to watch out for this. We are not to blame for the privileged class, healthy body, race, gender, or sexuality that you are born into but we must consider the ways in which you can use the benefits that you have acquired because of it. We must accept that many of us have not had the resources or environs that help us succeed or have in fact have put us in directly disadvantaged positions. Privilege operates interpersonally through assumptions about what is normal/problematic and through assumptions that everyone operates on your paradigm. Privilege is so damaging because it provides individuals with a false sense of power. It causes unnecessary division. Privilege discourses have hurt justice and equity as silencing and blaming mechanisms, through shutting down others’ conversations and contributions, by emphasizing pain, humiliation and embarrassment, by alienating or marginalizing, when expressing past trauma and project it unknowingly onto another.  One can use their access to power to promote and ensure equity.

            So how do we access our understanding of our own privilege? First, we must willingly ask questions, honestly and productively face answers, understood how privilege has impacted my success, understood how privilege has impacted my failures, be willing to be uncomfortable but staying focused, avoid finding reasons to move away from the ideas or thoughts, understanding the anger and suspiciousness that might come your way, not being paralyzed by others’ mistrust, and by accepting that you may experience guilt, shame, humiliation and confusion. So we recognize these issues and we can, yes we can easily navigate through privilege. We must create genuine and authentic relationships with people who, in every imaginable way, are different from us. We must not demand that certain conditions be met before you will act in positive and compassionate ways. We must check assumptions and expectations about what can be accomplished when people different from us express experiences, ideas, and demand power over their own bodies and minds.  We must leverage our privilege for good. We must avoid blaming the victim. We must avoid: “but what about me? Syndrome and we must avoid overcompensating. Also, we must understand the anger of people who have not had privileged.  So when your colleagues or clients seem off, perhaps they have been impacted by privilege. Don’t be ashamed of your gifts and resources, just learn to recognize where others’ don’t have them, have not had access, and perhaps consider sharing your power and gifts. As a direct positive consequence, you will create more trusting relationships with your colleagues and clients

            And so my dear friends, I have arrived at the end of my remarks. I hope that through this lightning fast address you understand a few things.  First, you have the power to build a community of equity.  You need not wait on some big shift to happen, you are the shift.  Second, this work begins within, that is, this work is dependent on your self-reflection. I say that we have gone awry when we so easily patrol others’ behavior without a glance toward our own or when we weaponize our knowledge and instead of building community, we embarrass, marginalize and alienate. Third, its not that hard. Think about it like exercise, the first few times or weeks that we do something it causes fatigue and pain and sometimes even despair. But that quickly changes and we are empowered by our abilities to make change immediately and not waiting for others. Finally, let me return to where I began, in addition to your work existing in the province of health care, please remember, and let this city remind us, everyday you are conducting social justice, civil rights, and human rights. You simply cannot forget that.  We must have the bravery of a warrior, the intelligence of a sage, and the compassion of a healer.  Thank you so much for your time.

Turning Apathy into Empathy: Building Communities Across a Divided American South Einstein Forum-June 15-17, 2017

Hello.  First, I would like to thank my hosts here at the Einstein Forum for inviting me. Berlin is a long way from Mississippi and I marvel at the distance I have traveled in miles and perspectives in the span of a mere 36 hours. Mississippi and the Deep South are like no other places on Earth. Conferences like these remind me of the importance of reflecting and sharing work, quantifying successful strategies that will end inequality and achieve solidarity, and draw upon the innovative ideas of people who may be differently connected to the work. Conferences like these are crucial because they bridge the gaps, turf wars, and quiet the tension between academics and equity educator/activists between theorists and practitioners. I hope to contribute by pushing back against the prevailing notions that American Southerners are irredeemably racist, enjoy the fractures and fissures created by injustice and inequality, and do not wish to bring diverse individuals into community. In fact, I believe most white Southerners want just the opposite but prevailing techniques for bringing this about have failed. During my time, I’d like to explain how I came to this work and I will share the techniques that have reaped results for me as an equity activist and educator. I must confess that these techniques are not sophisticated, rather, they are simple and they rest on the tenets of compassion, encouragement, persistence, and understanding.

I began my journey to social justice through academia.  I completed my doctoral studies in history and anthropology. I specialized in American intellectual history, women’s, African and Native-American histories, memory studies, and gender, sexuality, historical, cultural, feminist, and critical race theory. I spent 20 years in the undergraduate and graduate classrooms.  I especially enjoyed the direct mentoring of students where I actively worked to demonstrate to them the importance, utility, and applicability of their knowledge in their everyday lives. Over the past few decades, our responsibilities as academics have broadened beyond teaching our disciplines and I for one, am glad about it. What use is a liberal arts education if you cannot be a solid contributing member to society? To that end, I channeled all of my energies to not only create excellent professionals, but also productive citizens, and compassionate community members. I did this semester after semester, taught at colleges across the country and finally stayed long enough to achieve tenure, chair academic departments, establish gender and women’s studies programs, and publish. My last professorship was at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado. The College sat on sacred land purchased/stolen from Native Americans. I was shocked at the cognitive dissonance of having a western liberal arts college sitting on spaces where racism and violence still cause deep injuries to the Navajo nation. Everyday, I went to work on the stunning southwestern desert-toned mesa, and witnessed people overlooking racial tensions, ignoring Native American culture and privileging white culture, and pretending that all of this was in the past. It was not. I saw the pain in my Navajo students as they reconciled the daily violence committed against them in pursuit of a degree. I also witnessed white guilt manifesting itself in anger at the Navajo for their refusal to have their culture extinguished. I was deeply affected by this experience and became actively involved in straddling the life of an academic and activist, so when I received a call from the Winter Institute for Racial R Reconciliation at the University of Mississippi asking if I might like to become their Academic Director and work as an equity educator, I was immediately intrigued.  I hoped that I could combine my interests and employ my academic training to make real impacts on the lives of the students and the communities that I would work in.

I arrived at the University of Mississippi, a neo-Confederate space and historical space where both Civil War and civil rights violence took place aware of what I was getting into. The Deep South and the state have been ground zero for racism so I knew putting theory into practice would be a challenge, and it was. Mississippi is deferential not democratic, decidedly evangelical and distrustful of academics. Most Southerners trust tradition over innovation, are deeply connected to kin and neighbors, and equally suspicious of outsiders. Here is what I learned very, very quickly. Nobody was remotely interested in theories, intellectual discussions, and a discussion of academic history. They knew their own history and it had been passed down through generations and memorials. Southerners deem non Southern academics dangerous liberals who are secretly aiming to upend and destroy the South.  I was told often and quite frankly, that my theories and histories were inaccessible and irrelevant. Add to that--I was a Northern Jew and LGBTQ--I became the perfect incarnation of everything the South was threatened by. I understood that while my academic training would eventually be crucial, I needed to build trust and I needed to build trust fast, therefore, I relied on my skills as an educator, compassionate communicator, and dedicated community member. Despite experiencing lots of shunning, misogyny, xenophobia, anti-Semitism, and homophobia, I charged on, intent on not failing, because I understood the suspicion, I was committed and, well, I had no other choice. Quickly, I learned that in order to be successful, I would need to rely  heavily on my historical and theoretical knowledge, years of working with resistant and frustrated folks in academia, and the patience and compassion I deployed as a professor. In other words, every single bit of my experience was necessary to develop the successful techniques that I eventually deployed.  I had to bring my best self at all times and I have been doing so for the past five years. It is challenging but necessary work.

Through this learning process, I soon discovered that I have a special way with, and please don’t be offended when I say this, effectively reaching anxious white folks. Because white Southerners possess most of the political and economic power and social capital and also perpetuate racism, I decided to concentrate my focus on them. I knew that equity’s sustainability depended on many different strategies and entry points and that others were effectively tackling the impacts of racism elsewhere. I also knew that most folks were intimidated by white backlash. I knew that I had to and could confront and collaborate with those who held unearned racial power so, over the past four years, I have perfected techniques designed to reorient white southern thinking, encourage self reflection, and ensure that white southerners realize they have the absolute capacity to upend implicit and explicit bias.

Turning apathy into empathy to achieve solidarity requires that we approach the region without those judgments which views Southerners as backward, ignorant, racist, and actively belligerent. Instead of insulting and unproductive comments to and about Southerners who are still fighting the war, we might try listening to them. In fact, the war is not over, the war continues and has become so normalized in Southern society, it has become quotidian. Here is where my historical analytical training was crucial. Over time as economic, political, and social circumstances have changed, Southerners renamed their wars from the Civil War and its battle over rights and resources, to Jim and Jane Crow, Civil Rights, mass incarceration, and school to prison pipelines. The war continues and every Southerner, regardless of race, class, gender, sexuality, and ethnicity, are soldiers and casualties. New wars are created as Southerners perceive themselves under threat, struggle to retain power they feel entitled to, and demand rights previously denied to them. These wars continue at both the societal and individual levels and Southerners are so mired. But let us be clear, I do not believe that Southerners want this, in fact, I firmly believe they crave peace.

To turn apathy to empathy and as is the case in war, we must accept that this is a region continuously and deeply traumatized and wounded. Let us abandon the notion that Southerners need to be fixed and instead understand that they are in need of healing. Equity educator/activists must attend to the wounded through triage, rehabilitation, and care. We must collaborate and not correct. Trauma and wounds are the theoretical underpinnings and material framework which guide my work and they are the keys to successful community building.  To succeed at fulfilling solidarity and achieving empathy, equity educator/activists must deploy individualized approaches because racist and other oppressive historical and contemporary traumas are experienced uniquely. We cannot create healthy communities unless we undo the individually inherited and experienced traumas created by racist ideologies and actions.

Turning apathy into empathy is to understand the manifestations of racial trauma. While most people understand that racism is sustained by major acts or by publicly slurring individuals or groups, I argue that forms of oppression are fortified through implicit bias, everyday interactions, and stifling etiquette designed to keep people assigned to their classed, racialized, and gendered spaces. The South can be a frightening land of interpersonal violence with insults yelled from slow moving threatening vehicles, giant Confederate flags waving from mammoth bro trucks, and de facto, yet strictly enforced, residential and educational segregation. Laws don’t mean a damn if people feel unsafe and laws don’t fix that. Because we have not effectively attended to the traumas, the South is replete with folks in states of resistance, retreat, and in clusters of comfort. We must begin from this space. To not do so, is a pivot away from possibility.

Turning apathy to empathy means recognizing the symptoms of racial trauma. Southerners continue cycles of racial trauma by repeating racialized thinking and duplicating and upholding racist systems and structures. Like other forms of trauma, racism is rarely discussed; it is avoided, and held deeply within Southerners’ interiors. But it is ever present. Like other forms of trauma, racism consciously and unconsciously frames the way white Southerners exist. White Southerners are bilingual depending on situations and who is within earshot.  They mask their trauma by perpetuating untruths and assure each other that everything is fine, that racism is mostly over, that everyone gets along with everyone, and that people are responsible for their own inequitable situations when, in fact, they know that none of this is true.  These polished narratives are not lies really, they are the defense mechanisms of wounded psyches.

 To turn apathy into empathy and to achieve solidarity, we must abandon traditional forms of doing diversity because, well, we know it does not work. It is a check in a box for Human Resources. It speaks to the converted and makes hostile those who harbor explicit or implicit bias. Existing practices lack proper engagement, short and long term impacts, and sustainability. Here is how normal diversity sessions are viewed by most Southerners. First, regarding white folks: nobody wants to discuss diversity because they 1) find it boring 2) think the training is punitive and most important of all 3) they think you are going to call them all racists.  If you are not white, they are 1) worried that this training will further marginalize them 2) be expected to speak for everyone of their race and most importantly 3) don’t know what the hell you are talking about.

In order to be successful, I quickly learned that equity educator/activists need to meaningfully listen. We cannot come in as saviors dictating processes for ending inequality.  We must acknowledge and accept that communities can best identify their own challenges and solutions. We must reorient white Southerner thinking and recognize that most Southerners are products of their environment and wish for a more communal society. I have found that most people want to shed the shields of guilt, anger, shame, blame and distrust. We, as equity educator/activists, must recognize that apathy is simply the armor protecting empathy.

Turning apathy into empathy means that those of us guiding folks through these processes must be honest with ourselves. We need to ready and steady ourselves for difficult and exhausting work. Many equity educator/activists mistakenly focus their efforts outwards without any real self reflection.  To be successful and to demonstrate to the folks we work with that ending bias is possible, it is mandatory that we take a full accounting of and be painfully honest about our own anxieties or biases. The fastest way to get people to understand how to undo bias is to model it.  We simply cannot expect people to perform change when we are unwilling.

Turning apathy into equity depends on being dynamic, enthusiastic, absolutely competent and confident in the material, and being sharply perceptive with the audience. It means directly connecting with your audience because racism has made individuals lonely and afraid and they yearn for connection so that means we must initiate connections and not be rebuffed by resistant behaviors. This is easily accomplished by sharing real space, learning names, holding people’s gazes, meaningfully listening to people, turning to wonder and allowing folks to recover when they stumble or say something problematic. It requires interrupting discomfort, filling knowledge gaps, and responding to resistance with humor and intellect. It means that you understand that your success directly depends on alleviating fears, providing folks with requested knowledge, and working arm in arm with them as they work out their own anxieties. And doing it with compassion and love. Yep, love.

Turning apathy into empathy requires that we have an unwavering faith that equity can be achieved and oppression eliminated. Full stop. We must impress upon each encountered individual that they are crucial to the process. Participants often understand that people who hold more power than themselves are responsible for undoing systemic inequality. We need to make clear that each person has the capacity to undo inequity and that each interaction is the exact right time to chose compassion over conflict, to step in instead of stepping back. I have found that white Southerners need a tremendous amount of encouragement and confidence building. They must be made to understand that racism hurts everyone not just the the targets of oppression. Hatred, inequity, and injustice corrupt absolutely. Again full stop. Participants must be persuaded that all people have value and that tolerance as a paradigm fortifies inequity (run through tolerance/value exercise). This must be conveyed from start to finish and in every collective and individual interaction.

Turning apathy into empathy requires us to stop blaming white southerners for 400 hundred years of racism. Instead, we must limit their responsibility to their own lives and how they educate their family, friends, co-workers, and community members.  The blame and shame game results in defensiveness and deafness. Of course, we must hold folks responsible for their own implicit and explicit bias but I like to utilize an anti-deficit approach (meaning that I make no assumptions about the extent of their bias), meet the people where they are, and create non-threatening though often uncomfortable environments where white Southerners will examine current and past relationships to inequity and their participation in these inequitable systems.

This works. There isn’t a training where people don’t report they are buoyed by my enthusiasm and connection. When I was working with large cable laying corporation in a deeply racist space in Mississippi. Diversity training was mandatory. Two guys did not realize they were on a hot mike and I heard an exchange stating “this training was bullshit and if she thinks we are going to just welcome and marry lazy insert slur well, fuck her.”  Of course, I chuckled and was undeterred. Throughout the training, I paid special attention to these guys understanding that they were anxious, afraid, and apathetic. I extensively involved them in the conversation and pointedly discussed how racism hurts white folks and their communities, profanes their deeply held religious beliefs, and exhausts limited resources. I was so very proud of these men because they conducted the hard work of perspective change. Harsh body language was replaced with relaxed postures. Belligerent silence transformed to inquisitive engagement. As a final question, one of the men asked “Why do you do this work and how can you be so enthusiastic?” With warmth and quietly, I responded: “Because I want to make a more comfortable life for individuals and communities and because I get to bear witness to the hard work that you and your friend conducted during these past 90 minutes.” I explained that I heard the conversation. He wondered why I would work with him.  I said because I must because he was crucial to ending racism and oppression, that I have deep deep respect and love for humanity, and that everyone can recover from long or short term ideologies and actions. Since then, I have heard from both men who have been putting the thinking and the training into practice and have shared it with others. Importantly, we must remember that we can work through a plus one practice, that is, we don’t always require critical mass when conducting this work, we must deploy chaos theory’s butterfly effect. A simple action can result in tremendously positive impacts.

Turning apathy into equity requires that equity educator/activists accept that they walk on painful, contentious and exhaustive ground. Nobody has a comfortable relationship with oppression and they experience it through lenses of hurt and folks will work their shit out on you. An effective facilitator does not personalize that hurt, instead, they up their compassion and they must turn to wonder. Here is what I know, the closer you get to the injury or the trauma, the harsher the defensive response.  Equity educator/activists need to stay un-rattled, be compassionate in words, body language, and tone, and must acknowledge the participant’s anger, suspiciousness, and resistance and then gently move them out of the space to consider a different and more empathetic response. Stunningly, a simple “I am sorry that this happened to you” or diagnosing racial battle fatigue does wonders for moving someone from spaces of apathy to empathy. 

I was working Memphis Veterans Hospital social workers and they work with an extremely racialized population with serious issues and are beyond fatigued. After what I thought was a reasonably sound presentation, the room was overcome with a barometrically pressured silence and then a nuclear sandstorm hit me.  Too many raised hands to count; folks challenged the efficacy of my suggestions. All doubted that change could happen. Taking each concern, I meaningfully listened to their stories of doubt, failure, and resignation. One by one by one, I encouraged where they had done the right thing, I tweaked less than productive pivots, and suggested self care as alternatives to frustration and quitting. Each individual holds their own stories and experiences I knew that I must exhibit and model complete and total focus and empathy to the folks who I hoped would later carry on their own projects of empathy. In these instances, time is irrelevant and I stayed until the last person was satisfied and felt capable of deploying anti-bias techniques. Patience and compassion are key to getting people on board. It worked. I maintain my relationships with the Memphis Veterans Hospital social workers and continue to train each new cohort of social workers and students and they routinely report that, in fact, bias was negatively impacting their relationships with their clients and with these suggested changes, pathways to understanding and trust immediately appeared.

Turning apathy into equity requires that we must understand the defensiveness and depravity of silence and that equity educator/activists must not be undone by it. When the session begins, I am frequently stunned by the absence of sound and withdrawal of energies. This penetrating silence simply cannot be ignored. White Southern etiquette dictates that discussing race or other forms of oppression exacerbates it, is impolite, and can lead from indelicate to violent responses. So, we must invite people to speak about these issues, we must welcome them to the task and insist that we are grateful for their presence and this is the first step to bettering their presents and futures. Racism, sexism, classism, and other forms of oppression are always deeply personal and therefore, discussions about these topics require ground rules for conversations (cue slide and review). To ensure engagement, the facilitator must ask if participants find these guidelines useful, are we missing anything, and can we agree to abide by them? Working with instead of directing participants is always a good strategy. Routinely, groups report that they have shared these ground rules in their workspaces, civic, and communal spaces.

Most white southerners who lack empathy do so because they do not possess the historical, scientific, or sociological knowledge that would lead them to develop it.  As equity educator/activists, we cannot weaponized these knowledge gaps. We must fill them. Developing empathy across racial lines depends on providing folks with information on how inequity pervasively exists and how society socializes people to be biased. Here is where all of my academic knowledge was brought to bear. Success depends on extensive knowledge and innovative information delivery.  Diversity fatigue is so widespread that if we don’t bring something interesting and engaging, we fail. Moral arguments should be explored but they should not be solely relied upon. I have discovered that people are more likely to respond to brain science and in particular how the limbic system or our guts cannot be trusted because it has, at times, been socialized to ensure racist and oppressive outcomes. We must convince folks how easily our unconscious thinking can lead to perforated logic and we must first accomplish it in positive and non-threatening ways (cue otter slide).  Through this, we can assure folks that they can rewire their thinking and that they can reboot their thinking when it comes to the possibility of ending inequality and creating community. I do this in every session and in every session it works. 

Here is what I know from delivering hundreds of sessions and engaging with thousands of people, providing knowledge proves liberating for folks. Most respond with relief and feel completely transformed by knowledge and they frequently report sharing equity information with others. I also know this works because such trainings lead to other trainings. All of my work is by invitation only. I have never once, for the hundreds of trainings that I have conducted, sought out work. My work comes solely through word of mouth where participants felt this was important knowledge to share with others. This is how I moved from the University of Mississippi to dozens of universities across the country, to law enforcement agencies, public defenders, hospitals and medical organizations, and non profits and corporations. Most importantly, to tread on a path towards equity and away from injustice, you must move away from aspiration and squarely towards inspiration. It has been my experience that an aspirational approach encourages apathy and is more often than not used as an excuse for why change cannot happen right now. Which it can.

Turning equity into empathy requires establishing trust with the individuals you are working with. Trust, is in fact, earned. How can one earn trust when one has a limited amount of time? Total transparency is crucial. When one is dealing with subjects so personal as these, it is best to eliminate the secrecy, render the invisible, visible, and make audible, the inaudible. It is also important to establish credibility with the audience through respect and letting them know that you are there to make their lives easier and to conduct their jobs more safely and productively. This is how you build trust. 

Let me share a story. I was charged with training the Mississippi Police Chiefs Association. In theory, this did not seem daunting at all, rather it was an opportunity, until I pulled into the parking lot. I cannot even begin to describe what I saw.  I saw law enforcement vehicles that were so over equipped and weaponized that I was frightened. I thought I was living in a militarized society. When I entered the auditorium, I saw 102 police chiefs from all 82 counties in Mississippi. All white except for maybe 4, all male, full of power and let’s just say, they were not feeling me.  I was at DEFCON 1 with this and decided that since I could not run, I needed to build trust and build it fast.  I moved through the aisles and utilized small conversation to begin to bring the police chiefs into the conversation.  When the formal presentation opened, I was completely transparent about why I was there and why it was important for me to be there. They were not being punished. I drew them in with the language of community and empathy. I asked them why they became officers and in these challenging times, why they had chosen to remain police officers. I preempted the choice of power by boldly stating that if they were in it for the power, I would gladly take their resignations. They laughed and more interesting answers came in. I explained why I thought they were so important, that they and other police officers in their department were the ones who were directly responsible for upholding equity in our society as outlined in the Constitution and in our nation and state’s laws. Assigning importance to their work rather than beginning by charging them with having deficits immediately built trust. We cannot have a nation which axiomatically mistrusts their law enforcement and their citizens. I explained the ways in which bias created and continues to create fractures between community members and that the police have the responsibility and the unique ability to repair those relationships. This created continued engagement.

Finally, it is crucial to teach white southerners not to run when conflict or discomfort arises.  How does one do that? You first ask them their best tactics for moving through challenges and positively acknowledge their answers. Then you build on their list. You discuss and teach people about the importance of apologies and how to apologize, how to meaningfully listen when someone challenges an oppressive statement or behavior made, and how to compassionately share an instance of injury, how to ask what steps must be taken to repair the damage done, how to see these steps through to fruition, how to not weaponize someone’s mistakes, how to allow people to recover, and how to teach others to take the aforementioned steps.  You provide boiler plate language because that is the number one request—what should I say and do?  Then, in that session you ask participants to draw upon real life experiences, devise scenarios, and practice these skills. I am a big fan of muscle memory. Like every other exercise, practicing these anti-bias skills makes it much easier for folks when they actually encounter a racist or oppressive situation.

These are just a few approaches, techniques, and strategies that have worked for me and have worked for the folks I have been privileged to work with.  I understand that these may seem like overly simplistic solutions to intractable problems in a world that seems to become more dangerous everyday at a time when the world is more fractures and more divided. This is a difficult historical moment but it may be creating some opportunities as more and more people are seeing and realizing the impact of division on the public realm but on their personal lives. We can see this happening particularly in the US since our recent election. People in this scary and divisive time seem far more willing to reach out for help, accept training, and to assess their own culpability in creating the contexts at has resulted in inequity and in particular, Trump presidency. The other beauty of this approach is that these techniques are ones that everyone can employ with their colleagues, community members, and their families. We know we cannot rely on others to legislate empathy or others to undo racism and its impacts. Historians knows that the past is littered with unintended consequences where something that looks hideous actually presents opportunities for positive change at our most challenging moments.  We reimagine our communities  to see opportunities where others see obstacles, to see possibilities where others see problems, and solidarity instead of schisms.    

Remembering the Value of Women's College

Good Day.  Before I begin I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you very much for including me in the faculty retreat.  My first year at Salem College has been an extraordinary one. I feel very fortunate to find myself amidst a supportive environment, with wonderful colleagues, and to be able to teach ambitious students with excellent potential. Let me begin with an anecdote:  When I research, teach, or discuss the existence and ideals of women’s colleges, inevitably the term “finishing school” or  “Mrs. Degree-granting institution” is lobbed as a pejorative.  I find this sort of humorous, because I understand that the speaker, in attempting to insult women’s colleges, is in fact, actually complementing women’s colleges’ curriculum.  After dispensing with the annoying smirks and the not so veiled misogyny, I of course launch into my gentle historical discussion on the emergence of women’s colleges. Women’s colleges began with vision--administrators, faculty, and supporters founded and maintained their colleges with a critical level of conscious intention and design.  First and foremost they hoped to offer women liberal arts educations—denied to them prior to the nineteenth century. Through course requirements, through college organization, athletics, women learned routes of power, how to work cooperatively, how to actively compete, and how to lead.  

In the earliest years of republican motherhood, in which American society charged women with active roles as moral guardians, as culture bearers, as ones in charge of fashioning the foundations to create respectable and productive citizens.  Young women in the nineteenth century were guided through a curriculum that would in fact make them good mothers and good wives.  But what was included in that education, society has dropped from their general consciousness.  Professors instructed female students in, yes, the decorative arts and proper etiquette, but also, among other things, in writing, analytical thinking, mathematics, the sciences, great books, biography, classical languages, biography, and contemporary affairs.  Education moved elite and middle class women away from the popular but historically false vapid constructions of Victorian women, to women who engaged their family communities.  To be women of status meant to be educated women.  Course curriculums changed to suit the historical context but throughout 19th and early twentieth centuries, African- American and white women’s education focused on moving young girls out of adolescence.  As productive and respective female citizens, through formal and informal progressive and conservative campaigns and as career women, these women carved niches and create satisfying lives while improving the lives of others.

From the end of World War II through the 1970s, female discontent and the rise of the feminist movement encouraged an emphasis on self-improvement; the acceptance of women as equals in the professions and the trades. Women entered into colleges, male- only colleges opened up to coeducational institutions, and women demanded equal treatment at these institutions, and again the debate over the utility of women’s colleges reemerged.  Was this type of college still necessary, hadn’t the playing field been leveled enough so that it was now up to the women themselves to assume parity?  Of course we know the statistics, that sexual discrimination and sexism has narrowed but we also read again and again in academic studies that among other things, women in coeducational institutions are still affected or intimidated by the presence of male students, that professors continue to reinscribe notions of difference in their treatment of and approach to female students.  With this in mind, the utility of female colleges speaks for itself, not to create a utopia or a false world for women, but rather to create a space that empowers them by building their confidence, their analytical skills, their ability to speak comfortably in front of one or one hundred.  The small environment, the interpersonal relations that develop between students and students, students and faculty, and students, faculty, and administration is not terribly different than the small elite coeducational colleges but the motivations may vary and the audience is certainly different.   Like all educational pursuits this setting has mutually inextricable links to political goals of creating strong and educated women.  Sometimes it helps to be reminded of this mission—that it is in many ways similar to other college campuses in educational goals, but the fact that the student population is comprised of women means that we must prepare and relate to the students differently.  Not recognizing the different position that women hold in the consciousness of society and how that affects their placement and experience in society is wrongheaded and misguided. 

Faculty at Salem are charged with such a unique mission, and thus we feel that we need to be at our best—in research, in teaching, and in our interpersonal encounters with students.

The uniqueness of a women’s college setting presents itself most obviously in the classroom, in office hours, in extra-curricular meetings, and informal interactions.  The challenges or difficulties of teaching women of all classes, races, varying ages, from regions close and afar seem daunting but I employ several strategies or tenets to guide me through this morass of difference.  As the faculty step on this campus we are reminded of the legacy of Salem and other women’s colleges and the agendas and missions put forth by great teachers and administrators before me.  We are here to teach, to guide, to mentor, to empower, to instill a love of critical thinking and knowledge, and to provide students with concrete tools to succeed in their professional, community, and personal lives.  This is a daunting task and one that we  understand, alone we cannot complete.  The faculty are inspired by the individual life stories and experiences each Salem woman brings to the classroom and to the office.  We  remember that these are women, most in transition, either from adolescence or midlife changes.  We remember that these women both expect a service to be provided with each lecture and meeting but also they expect to be guided through the task of intellectual and emotional maturation.  We understand that our job is not only information distribution but is much more holistic.  Bodies and minds undergo incredible transformations while engaging in higher education.  

At Salem and at other women’s institutions we inspire students by respecting them.  We inspire students by recognizing how their individual race, ethnic, class, regional, and sexual identities have shaped them but we do not pigeon hole them because of it. We inspire students by our approach to them as unique individuals.  At Salem we inspire students through mutual respect, our confidence in their ability to succeed, our willingness to guide them through their challenges, and the recognition that we view them on a personal level.  We inspire students by making the courses rigorous, by making the courses challenging so that when they are successful in their efforts they acquire genuine feelings of accomplishment.  Dumbing down courses reinforces a sense of inferiority--the notion that this is all that can be expected of them.  At Salem we  inspire students through our comfort in allowing them to sometimes direct the subject conversation on a particular topic. Our self-worth is not wrapped up in our being able to overwhelm students with our brilliance but rather how successful we can be in guiding them to achieving their goals. At Salem we inspire students by conveying to them that we understand the challenges of subject mastery, that we were once there, and that if they trust our guidance and employ our strategies they too will succeed.  At Salem and at other women’s colleges we inform students that We are here to eliminate the mystique of knowledge-- that knowledge acquisition is strenuous and challenging but not magical, rather, there are steps to it.  We inspire students by not condescending to them because of course we already have the degrees, we don’t have to prove our superior knowledge.  We inspire students by not intimidating them with the course workload but rather by electrifying them with it.  We inspire students by designing each course session formally with desired intents and goals.  Nebulous classes often lead to confusion.  As one of my mentors stated, informality is overrated.

At women’s colleges and here at Salem we inspire students when we engage them in dialogue, by respecting and developing their viewpoints, but also in the ability to not embarrass but gently guide the misguided.   Women’s colleges work  to develop female student voices and we need to do so carefully and with respect.  While to completely hide our views is somewhat dishonest and cowardly (students pick up on this anyway) students learn by example and the way in which we present our views is crucial to how they will engage in future conversations.  We inspire students by our obvious respect for them.   Students are inspired by the accessibility and approachability of their professors and their genuine interest in their concerns and goals. We inspire students through our compassion, individualizing our interactions with them and supporting them in their class, extra-curricular, political, employment endeavors.  Finally, we inspire our students as mentors. 

Orlando Vigil Remarks

LGBTQ Orlando Massacre Remarks Delivered on June 2016, Oxford, Mississippi

 Good Evening,

The last time we gathered together it was for Oxford’s  Pride Parade, we were celebrating our love, our community, our strength, and our allies.  We stood in the face of our state and nation’s adversity, hate, and misunderstanding and realized that, through our march, Oxford welcomed us in droves. Cheers, music, dancing, and happiness permeated our town. We discovered that we were surely not as alone as we thought–despite the deafening and nonsensical noises of anxiety and anger delivered through legislation.

And, yet today, this is a very different day, friends. We stand stunned, gut punched, sad beyond tears, struck silent by our immense grief, numb from the pain of rage. We feel the tremendous void left by our sisters and brothers, our sons and daughters, who on a joyful night celebrating Latin gay culture had their lights and lives extinguished by a man so moved by fear, anxiety, and hate as to allow him to commit an unspeakable act which will surely cause convulsions reverberating across generations. 

I wish I could stand up here and say to you “How did this happen?”  But I know how and why this happened and so do you. Given what is going on in this country, the more honest and nauseating question is, “How could this not happen?”

In our nation, we refuse to deal with the consequences of unchecked narratives of fear, hate, and exclusion screaming across our internet and airwaves, our news outlets and our own national psyche will rush to individualize this incident. Yes, we can reduce our comprehension of this event to the actions of a disturbed, fragile, and toxic individual who fed off these narratives to develop and carry out his devastatingly murderous act. But we know that this event does not begin nor end with the madness of one. To understand it as such is to disrespect the lives lost and injured. To do so means to shirk our responsibilities to our country, to love, and to freedom.

Together, we must understand that this event, targeting our LGBTQ Americans, is the logical next step in a country that, through apathy or action, regularly exalts difference is worthy of hatred and violence. In a strange but not unexpected turn of events, the murderer braided global and national narratives of hate to firm up his ideas and justify his actions. How could this not have happened when the majority of our citizens base their understandings of the world from demagogues and divisive individuals who preach fear and hate mongering and who twist our sacred and secular words to satisfy their own narcissistic needs for power?

In a nation and a world that, with devastating consequences, organizes, categorizes, and reduces holy and wonderful beings to good and evil, normal and aberrant, welcoming and threatening, how could this not happen? When a nation and a world have historically dealt with difference through execution instead of embrace, how could this not happen? When we define human rights as currency, power, finite, and to be determined and doled out by the few, how could this not happen? When we continue to define love through the lens of hate, how could this not happen?

And so we must ask individually and collectively, is this the world that we want for ourselves and our future generations?  Do we want to continue to regularly gather to mourn or to celebrate? It is our choice and we have the power to change it.  

How do we honor the beautiful and unfulfilled lives lost? We know. We will do what our elders and leaders have done when found in this exact space. We must understand where we are now and where we want to be.   

            And so reflecting in both tragedy, looking towards triumph, and to honor and memorialize the young lives lost at Pulse, as difficult as it may seem, we must continue the strategies that we have always relied upon. The ones that have worked and will always work.  In concert with grieving, we must commit ourselves again to peace and to love. And as we awaken and recover from this vulgar and living nightmare, we must continue to render ourselves visible. We must continue to use our words and actions to challenge those who hate. We must educate the uninformed and misinformed. We must embrace the fear out of those who do not know us. In memory of those magnificent lives who will not have the opportunity to live out the LGBTQ dreams of freedom, love, and equity that we have fought so hard for, we must take responsibility and work tirelessly until we have achieved equity, equality, and value for all members of the LGBTQ community.  As members and Allies we must continue to teach our children the power of love over hate.  We must demand from our politicians and judges, that we will stand for nothing less than full equality, equity, and recognition. We must work together across this neighborhood and nation to stop this god forsaken violence. Through our fatigue and fear, we can and we must filter out hate and fear poisoning our minds, bodies, and spirits.   For our own sanity and safety, we must demand that we stop believing the myth that we can only strike violence down with more violence. This is difficult work and it is our most crucial work.  It is the debt we owe to our society and our fallen LGBTQ community members.  And finally, we must continue to draw from our absolutely endless reservoirs of strength—each other. For generations and tonight, violence and misunderstanding from outside forces have called upon us to rise after being struck down. And we will rise again and again and again and again until we have won. And so, let us raise our candles in solidarity and with reverence and let us say to each one of those people whose lives were brutally cut short, we will not forget you—no, each and everyone of us will honor your lives and memories by continuing the fight to love who we love, without fear but with pride.

“Activists Talking Past Each Other: The Challenges of Racial Reconciliation Conversations on a College Campus” Presented by Jennifer A. Stollman, Ph. D. for UNESCO

Good day. Let me first express my profound gratitude at the honor of speaking in front of this group today.  It is with great delight that we share this hour together in pursuit of advancing racial reconciliation and education on race issues.  As a professor of intellectual history and specifically, the individual and collective construction of identity categories such as race, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, region and others, I am especially familiar with the challenges of understanding the development, interpretation and motivation of these identities.  As an activist, I also have had first-hand experience with the challenges of working through these conversations to achieve the goals of understanding, advancement, and acceptance.  Normally when I speak to audiences, as a historian, my work is primarily backed by lengthy research and evidence.  As I weave the historical data into discernible narratives that advance our understanding about the complexity of race my work also exists as a political act engaging readers and audience members. While I am cognizant that the evidence may be problematic or that necessary evidence or perspectives might be missing, I am familiar with the frameworks and methodologies in professional historical writing. These parameters serve as guideposts and beacons and I know this path quite well. The same might be said for my previous conversations on race. Within the classroom, the courtroom, the city council, and the streets, there exist familiar points, which teachers and activists must cross. These elicit an entire range of emotions—frustration, happiness, defeat, success, anger, reconciliation, fear and love.  Like all activities in life, certain patterns emerge and expectations are set and some are fulfilled, still others are not.  While there are challenges in research and activism, there is an understanding by the participants that through perseverance, resolution and reconciliation will be achieved. But what of those moments in which reconciliation is subverted, resisted or consciously averted? 

During this past year, I had such an experience on my college campus.  While I am still processing my responses and am still trying to articulate the year’s events, I thought that it might be fruitful to share my experiences.  I intend not to draw any conclusions or even provide advice, rather, my brief comments will hopefully raise more questions than answers, encourage us to remember to continuously reexamine our approaches to racial reconciliation, the personal and professional challenges, the conflicting and perhaps contradictory approaches of others, to remember that important change does not come with ease and that struggle will always be a part of racial reconciliation.  I also know that in involving ourselves in racial education or reconciliation,  that there will be setbacks, some shocking ones but we need to accept being knocked down, assess our own culpability  while still on the mat, gather ourselves, and finally rise up, dust ourselves off, and begin the conversation with positive intent, love, determination, and a sense of community.   I have learned from this experience that no matter how experienced we feel about our ability to approach racial reconciliation successfully, it is important to remember how complex and difficult these conversations are. Because of this complexity, each of us understands race differently and also approaches racial discussions differently.  Consensus is not always achieved but in my experience the mere act of conversing about race does advance the project of racial reconciliation. This experience has served to remind me that the type and success of educational and activist work that we engage in requires reevaluation and recalibration.  We need to dialogue and repeat these questions to ourselves: why are we here? What are we trying to accomplish?  Where have my own fears interfered with the process? Are their points when we abandon this particular vein in the  project? What approaches might best serve the uniqueness of the situation?  After my comments, I thought that we might engage in a brief discussion addressing the challenges of racial reconciliation conversations between ourselves and family, our students, colleagues, our immediate and distant communities.

Salem College is a small private liberal arts women’s college housed in the city of Winston-Salem, North Carolina. It is the oldest American women’s educational institution and is the 13th oldest college in the United States.  It has Moravian roots but broke from the church early in the 20th century. It is a legacy school and up until the last twenty years, it educated predominantly wealthy southern white women.  One of the past president’s main goals was to increase diversity in the student population and over a thirteen-year tenure, she increased its minority numbers to an impressive 17%.  With a student body of 1200, 600 traditional age students and 600 continuing studies students, this year we have 77 international students from India, Africa, and Europe.  The campus has a large African American representation.  Emphasizing “sisterhood” over class, ethnic, religious or racial identities, Salem can honestly boast that it lives the dream of reconciliation better than most college campuses today.  Women of color have achieved powerful positions as campus group leaders.  Examining the public sites, we see less evidence of “self-segregation” than we would see at other schools.  Even with  its small population, the campus has three strong clubs that emphasize and focus on  promoting racial and ethnic issues.  Despite this, racial crevasses exist and polarize the students. The same narrative of sisterhood that is so heavily promoted by the College and its students poorly masks the cleavages caused by racialized thinking.  White female students are clearly uncomfortable with talking about race, fearful of being thought racist or perhaps revealing their own racism.  Black female students speak of the insidious forms of racism that exist on the campus, that bleed into their lives because of the unique racist legacy of Winston-Salem and the larger south, the isolation and marginalization that they feel, and their own subsequent distrust of whites.  Notions of sisterhood acted as a temporary bandage and the wounds, far from healing, festered, opened up and rendered the bandage not only useless but revealed a mockery of racial reconciliation. By the end of the year, the racial events of the past year divided the campus. The school year ended without obvious resolution, a professor resigned his position and two other professors were left having their credibility as professors and racial activists in question.  Stunned, the students, the faculty, and the administration lowered their shoulders, bowed their heads in temporary defeat--feeling completely lost.

So what caused this break? This rift?  What exposed the racial fractures on the campus body?  I did.  At the center of this controversy was me-- a white, Jewish, woman with a female partner, an extremely radical and well-respected female straight, an atheist English professor who had achieved cult status during her tenure of 8 years, and an Afro-Jamaican Rastafarian professor of sociology. I along with the sociology professor (we will call Robert) were in our second year at Salem when a series of events served to shift and crumble the racial stability of the campus.  What is somewhat unusual about these series of events and conversations on race is that we were all fighting to achieve the same goals—that of racial awareness and reconciliation and more importantly understanding, respect, and community.  Our different approaches to racial reconciliation and our inability to reconcile these approaches obstructed the project.  And while I understood and espoused the notion that there are many ways to approach racial reconciliation, I was somewhat destabilized by the inability of three trained professionals and well-worn activists to move the conversation forward—all under the watchful eyes of students. All three of us understood that how we approached these situations was crucial because students model their own abilities to engage in racial conversations, the utility of entering into such conversations, and the success of achieving their goals by analyzing how their professors and mentors handle these situations. Over the next few moments I will trace the major events that occurred and how they drove the campus conversation on race into discomfort, division, and seemingly defeat.

Now let me state at the outset that I was excited to work with these professors.  Upon coming to Salem I was so relieved that I would not be alone in my private and professional fight against racism.  I was delighted that these two other professors understood race to be a foundational narrative and issue in their research and teaching and the ways in which it informed their professional development and on and off campus activism. During my first year we shared many a “trenches” story and were pretty much aligned in our thinking as to how to highlight or illuminate the importance of racial reconciliation with the liberal arts education. It was sheer pleasure not to be the sole “race” person on the campus.  Our genuine respect and caring for each other and the projects that we engaged in virtually guaranteed our success.  We believed surely that power existed in numbers and with our determination and expertise we would successfully identify and effectively take steps to resolve racial problems apparent on campus and begin to work on the deep racial divide that exists within the larger Winston Salem. 

Shades of trouble emerged early in the semester when an African-American student requested that I and the English professor guide her through an African-American studies major.  We agreed and encouraged the student to prepare a précis detailing her intended course of study and to provide an argument as to why this was important to her personally, to her own professional goals, and why it should be included in a liberal arts curriculum.  Self-designed majors are subject to faculty approval and clearly because of his expertise and perhaps because of his race, “Robert” was asked to decide whether the registrar’s office should accept this major.  While the student did not request “Robert” to be her advisor, she did frequently speak to him after meeting with the English professor and I. We were not worried because we accepted that we all shared the same dedication to racial education. Should any disagreements arise because of the major’s interdisciplinary approach, we could surely work through it.  Early on it became apparent that something very different was taking place.  Stephanie, the student, often went over the notes taken in “Jan” and my meetings and run it past “Robert.” This of course caused professional antagonism and raised the ever-prevalent question as to who should be teaching African-American history or literature. To further complicate “Robert,” a sociology professor, provided Stephanie with a list of several history texts that are considered Afro-centric and are often assigned at the graduate level where students might compare the different approaches.  I was a bit taken aback that the professor had assigned books out of his field. This situation became even more problematic because it became clear that while Stephanie valued our expertise, she read “Robert’s” blackness as an indicator of superior knowledge on African-American topics and “Robert” did nothing to dissuade her of this fact.  I wondered: did he have problems with my whiteness, my femaleness?  Historically there has been tension between black men and white women, was this being played out in this situation?  While I avoided challenging his questionable reading suggestions, I did express my concern over the clearly emerging conversation on legitimacy and authenticity. Throughout the year, Stephanie continued to do this and when confronted, she denied it.  This caused immeasurable friction yet we were unable to stop this. Hoping to prevent this from progressing any further, I spoke to both professors and suggested that we meet, hash things out and set a plan of action to address legitimate concerns and prevent students from knowingly or unknowingly creating fissures in the faculty.  I was deeply concerned that this path might fracture an already tenuous racial front and such activity would squarely remove our eyes from the main focus of racial reconciliation. Our collective professional anxieties inhibited our abilities to overcome the situation.

The next event occurred later that semester when the Sociology Department sponsored a lecture to be given by Daryl Hunt.  Daryl Hunt served time in prison for over 17 years for a murder that he did not commit.  He was eventually exonerated and has devoted his life to the Daryl Hunt Project—an organization dedicated to providing legal services and public awareness about African Americans wrongfully serving time in prison.  This was a phenomenal coup. We are a small college, Daryl Hunt’s experience was nationally and internationally known and all of us thought this would draw important attention to the racism that exists within not only our institutional infrastructures but also within the larger Winston-Salem Community and its racist responses to young black men.  Publicity posters went up.  One of them was posted in the History Department hall and I was stunned by the quote that was attached to the publicity photo.  The caption read “ He’s that black man the police framed because they couldn’t let the rape of a white woman go unpunished.”  I was stunned by the choice of the quote.  I played the sentence over in my mind, diagrammed it, and was disturbed by its message.  In the converse it seemed to imply that one should trade on gender violence.  We sit at a women’s college and I was bothered that the quote somehow insinuated, however unintentionally, that we should let female rape go unpunished.  The quote was unsubstantiated and no author was attributed.  Since it was sponsored by the Sociology Department, I contacted “Robert” and asked him if we might discuss the implications of this selected quote.  This riled him and he suggested that I did not understand the historical complexities associated with the rape of white women by black men.  As a historian of the south, I did understand the foundational position of protecting white women’s sexuality in setting up slavery, racist notions of African American men, Jim Crow laws, and countless lynchings that have taken place over the past two hundred years.  I requested to sit down with him and he declined sure that somehow I was privileging my white womanhood  or gender issues over racial issues.  He turned on his heel and walked away. “Robert’s” primary focus was on racial issues, his approach to reconciliation did not consider gender.  I hoped to make him understand that race and gender issues are mutually constitutive and simply can not be separated.  I believed that we cannot condone a path to racial reconciliation that sanctions the oppression of another population.  I understood that tempers flare so a day later, I followed that up with an email hoping to break bread with him, sure that we could achieve resolution. I was used to these disagreements and accepted that a good meal, dialogue and mutual respect guaranteed a success.  The professor refused the invitation and I understood that feelings were hurt and decided that in continuing the project, our professional and personal relationship would right its off keel. The visit by Hunt was extremely well-attended but much to my dismay the audience was overwhelmingly African American, packed with community members and Salem’s African-American students.  Clearly, the white students on this campus understood this event and site to be “blacks only.”  This was a major red flag that there were deep divisions on campus.  The disagreements between myself and “Robert” were not only professional but indicative of a wider campus phenomenon.

The second event came on the heels of the death of Ms. Rosa Parks.  We were on a short holiday and over email, members of the faculty suggested that during the first lunch after break we conduct a memorial service and solicited participants.  As a scholar who specialized in African-American history, it was suggested that I write an obituary--an homage to Ms. Parks’ contributions to the Civil Rights Movement.   I decided to frame my discussion of Ms. Parks under the theme of “I will not stand” and in addition to detailing the racist laws and thinking that Ms. Parks refused to stand for, I asked the audience to consider those things that they would not stand for.  A communications professor, who is white and female, created a montage of major Civil Rights images.  Finally, the campus gospel choir sang two songs.  During my comments, “Robert,” dismayed at what he perceived as a hastily put together and therefore disrespectful program and one that did not represent campus minority voices,  very publicly walked out.  In a later editorial, “Robert” expressed that because Ms. Parks was an African American, the program should have included more minority representation. Let me remind the audience that this was a purely voluntary program, those who wanted to participate were asked in a campus-wide email.  When challenged on this, “Robert” insisted that black faculty should have been individually invited. It was clear that “Robert” believed that on black issues, African-Americans should hold primary positions of education and activism.  Whites should participate but blacks should be driving the program.  I strongly disagreed with this approach, not only because I found it offensive but also counterproductive.  Race is everyone’s issue.  In the words of Lillian Smith in Killer’s of a Dream, race hurts everybody and thus everybody should actively be working on the project to eliminate racist thinking in our world.  It seemed to me that “Robert” increasingly espoused a “Black Panther-like” approach to racial reconciliation—that blacks had to assume not only a primary role in ending racism but the only role.  His comment to students on his ideas about racial reconciliation, while espousing racial inclusiveness, seemed to marginalize or exclude whites’ participation. On this small campus, “Robert’s” policy was not about racial reconciliation between the races but more likely black empowerment in spite of whites This was a major impasse: the three professors dedicated to racial education and reconciliation subscribed to philosophies that directly contradicted each other thereby threatening to stymie reconciliation.  I simply did not know what to do other than dialogue with him to mutual understanding. I wanted to explain to him that on this racially diverse campus this approach might be counterproductive, that a separatist approach was a poor one,  that in a world in which few pay attention to race unless it directly affects them, surely we should not exclude those people interested in fostering racial reconciliation. I suggested that we meet.  Again he refused citing that my own lack of recognition of my own privilege inhibited even the most basic of conversations on race.  Shocked, I responded that in fact I understood my privilege as a female, a white person, a Jew, a middle class individual but that he too possessed privilege in his maleness, his desirable Afro-Jamaican heritage, (people who met him coded his Jamaicanness as a different and more desirable blackness). I also suggested that by his own logic which assumed that because of my skin color and thus could not speak from a position of authority, his own Afro-Jamaican roots prevented him from speaking on behalf of American blacks.  It was here that the conversation clearly descended. We had moved off the project of racial reconciliation and onto pointless discussions about who had the “right” to address race. For the rest of the semester this was the issue that neither myself nor the other two professors could abandon.  Like many conversations on race, this became personal and our own anxieties about racism, and our own abilities to effectively advance racial reconciliation centered on who was more authentic. In subsequent conversation myself and “Jan” relied on our vitas detailing our professional training and our social activism and he relied on his blackness and slammed our “privilege” to either accentuate or de-accentuate our expertise. We knew the discussion would lead to nothing yet we simply could not step off that plane of conflict. The campus divided and the other faculty remained silent, unwilling to enter this very difficulty conversation.

The next major event that escalated the conversation was a panel that was planned for black history month.  Students from the BADU, an African –American activist campus group, were setting up two panels.  They requested that I along with two other white faculty members participate on a panel that discussed racial education.  It was clear from their email that a second panel with all black professors on a different topic was planned.  Fearing a repeat of the Rosa Parks event, I called the president of BADU and stated that I would not participate in the panel discussion unless there were people of race on the panel.  Now let me say this, I do not believe that skin color conveys expertise and I do not believe that one must wait for people of color to lead or drive conversations on race.  This encourages inertia. Based on the Rosa Parks event, I, however, understood that skin color conveyed legitimacy and I believed that in the interest of campus racial reconciliation, the panel needed to be more racially balanced, regardless of the expertise of the participants.  BADU failed to follow up and I  refused to participate. This action resulted in tremendous hostility from the black student population. It seemed that I had committed an egregious error.  In the next edition of the student newspaper, the editor of the Salemite lambasted us  for not participating.  Speaking of us she charged “for some black people being ostracized for their skin color will happen for the rest of their lives. If black people can take the heat everyday, why couldn’t you for this one time?”   She continued “their absence at certain events not only hurt me but also hurt students who were looking forward to your presence and knowledge and that the professors who did not attend did not do so due to lack of courage.”

Such an editorial provoked an incredible response from the students some in support of the editorial and some against.  The disturbing pattern of support along racial lines continued. White students chalked the campus with famous quotes by prominent African-American civil rights activists.  I was quite moved but was worried that this conversation was descending into a popularity contest that was clearly marked by race.  I was correct.  The next issue of the campus newspaper the “Salemite” was inundated with letters from students challenging the editor’s comments. Many editorials focused on assigning blame, celebrating the professors’  teaching and mentoring contributions--both particularly unproductive approaches.  These letters in support of Jan’s and my actions were written by white students.   Those supporting “Robert” were written predominantly by black students.  Even more disturbing was that except for a few of these brave students, most of Salem’s students completely backed off from the conversation. These were personally and generally very dangerous and uncomfortable and many decided to respond anonymously and in private. 

Constant bantering in subsequent Salemites prompted a phone call from “Robert” demanding to know whether I had invoked his name when I refused to participate.  I stated that I had because I understood that he believed that African Americans should drive racial reconciliation conversation and that skin color conveyed expertise.  I was trying to respect the campus tenor  and endeavored to create a setting that encouraged him and other black students to participate.  He responded angrily that I had constructed him as a scapegoat and that if I did not wish to participate because there was not enough black representation that was one thing but to rest my reasoning at his feet was unprofessional. I responded that I believed that in panels such as these expertise is crucial and to merely place blacks on a panel because of their skin color consisted of “tokenism” and thus reinscribed what I found to be a particularly insidious form of racism. He again suggested that my privilege which he assumed was an axiom in this conversation prevented me from effectively engaging in this conversation.  This statement again forced me to assess whether my privilege had influenced my responses to racial reconciliation.  I continued to question how I might avoid having my privilege inhibit the project of racial reconciliation which led to a very perplexing question is this a dead end?  Can we separate ourselves from the benefits of privilege or can we merely be made aware of that privilege?  While having this internal dialogue we bantered about our different approaches, resorted to calling each other unprofessional and finally he ended the conversation when he hung up the phone.

I gave much thought to his comments and endeavored to see his position. I was desperate to find a resolution and fearful that this campus was going to explode racially or even worse bury the conversation. During this same time, I had invited the folks from the William Winter Institute for Racial Reconciliation to screen their documentary on the youthful population that led many of the grassroots organizations involved in the sixties Civil Rights Movement.  I was especially interested in the fact that a predominantly  all-white documentary team chose to illuminate the activities of mostly young black activists.  I hoped that the panel would engage the students in the many ways of approaching Civil Rights and that in addition to black power directives, non-African Americans should be encouraged to not only be the foot soldiers but also help to decide and drive objectives and achieve goals.  Harboring a desire to encourage cross-campus participation regardless of race, campus status or ethnicity, I offered to provide interested faculty members with a copy of the documentary.  I solicited the advice of all faculty members as to how best approach this event. I received no response from the sociology professor. 

Shortly thereafter, the campus managed to secure feminist activist bell hooks as our major speaker in the Fall and, I in my capacity as a member of the cultural events committee, was asked to facilitate campus discussion in preparation for her visit. I sent “Robert” a personal email asking for his input so that we might mend professional and personal fences to join intellectual and creative forces to make race a forceful and productive conversation on the campus.  He responded with an email stating that he felt scapegoated and that his comments endangered his professional position.  His email suggested that I was a liberal racist, that I, along with people like bell hooks, reproduced white hegemony and that the only way for racial reconciliation to succeed was to deconstruct existing power structures.  As an identity scholar, I was well acquainted with power theory and its impact across historical space and time.  His email underscored his belief that those he perceived were in power needed to cede power to others he felt were powerless.  Where we disagreed was that I did not subscribe to the notion that certain people held all the power while others possess none.  I believed in French theorist Michel Foucault’s ideas of power in which power is held, while not equally, by all people.  But “Robert” and I were no longer at a point where we could discuss these things.  I understood that in order to continue the conversation on race, perhaps we needed to travel our own paths to reconciliation--fully hoping that at the end we would meet the same objective.   I carefully analyzed his comments to see what could be fixed.  I believed that as educators and activists we need to be vigilant in recognizing our attempts to misuse our power.  We need to continuously reexamine how our own selfish motives, our own lens of race and power might be hurting the project. 

In addition to analyzing where I faltered in this conversation, colleagues suggested  that “Robert” might suffer from the very things that he accused me of.  They queried, might he in fact be looking through his own racist and sexist lens in assessing my approach, my privilege and my power?  What also drove me to these thoughts were reports from his classes that he was steadily alienating white students from black students.  Students began reporting that they felt uncomfortable because of their whiteness.  Now I agree measured discomfort regarding one’s privilege based on skin color is an important step to racial reconciliation, however, when these discourses are taken too far, they often serve to marginalize white students who not only become disinterested in conversations on race but actually seem to grow increasingly hostile and disenchanted with racial reconciliation..

Still furious with me, “Robert” composed a long letter to the editor in the Salemite. Echoing his sentiments during our phone conversation, he further suggested that I did not care to see how my actions hurt the very people that I claimed to care for.  Finally he called me a “downpressor” and questioned my legitimacy as a professor.   He claimed for himself marginalization and omission.  In this editorial, I felt that he misled the campus into thinking that he had been excluded when after each event I requested that we meet and figure out how best to deal with racial conversations.  Furious at his allegations of my legitimacy and my intentions I approached the administration and asked that while we may differ in our methodologies, I would not stand for a fellow faculty member to sabotage my credibility as an educator on the campus.  In such a small campus, to lose my authenticity would leave me dead in the water as an teacher and a campus facilitator.  To the college dean, I reasoned that over the past year, I attempted to reconcile the conflict on my own and but that on a professional level, I would file a faculty grievance to stop what I perceived were slanderous statements.  The administration asked to handle it.  I am not sure what transpired during the conversation but I learned that at the end of the week, “Robert”  resigned his tenure-track position. This devastated me.  This professor decided to walk and, I felt, abandoned the conversation.  One cannot continue racial reconciliation conversations with only one person.   I agonized over my responsibility for his departure. How had I contributed to this? I was even more fearful of how Salem students understood this situation.  Would they read that when the conversations get rough, its best to end the conversation. This was clearly not either of our goals.  The conversation had stalled and died.

Or had it? In my mind it occurred to me that the interactions between the faculty, the students and the administration in fact were still conversations on race. Though these were not typical conversations on race, because most begin with concrete problems to be solved, that is eliminating racism, promoting diversity and cross cultural and racial understanding and reconciliation. But in assessing my experiences, I thought about the varied racial reconciliation projects that I had engaged in or read about.  I recalled that in many substantial racial reconciliation endeavors time had to be devoted to defining racial terms, objectives, languages, methodologies, and assigning responsibilities.  To effectively do so required complex conversations and often involves conflict.  Temporary consensus may be arrived at to achieve goals but in fact in many historical and in my experiences, in fact differences encouraged us to divide and work towards our similar objectives individually or with like-minded people.  While I am dismayed at the loss of “Robert’s” contributions, I am somewhat comforted by the knowledge that he will continue his project  on race education according to his different ideologically-based approach and will move the conversation forward.  I learned a great deal from this experience.  I was reminded of the need to listen carefully, to check personal anxieties and motivations, to explore the lens of race, racial reconciliation, and notions of privilege and power through eyes other than my own.  Finally, strangely I learned that I am energized by this experience, that conflict serves to in positive ways alter or tighten one’s focus on the protean nature of race and racial conversations. 

At this point, I would like to thank you for your attention and time and would welcome any questions that you may have for me or perhaps open the conversation to the audience to share any experience or offer guidance from lessons learned from their own racial reconciliation or racial education projects.