Triple A: A New Approach to Understanding Action After Awareness to Privilege

 In 2005, I was a 25 year old and energetic graduate student. I was excited about completing the graduate program in Sociology, after spending years thinking about and exploring ways to create equitable spaces for a disadvantaged populations. I had begun my college education thinking that I want it to be a civil rights or immigration attorney, but decided that I wanted to be a social worker, and then a Clinical Psychologist, and finally a Sociologist. Very early on, I wanted to work within the helping professions and considered myself an ally, even as I did not have the language to express it.

As I completed the program in Sociology, I had a conversation with one of my professor mentors. I told that him my plans for post graduate school, which included traveling to Brazil and to Haiti, with the goal of creating programs for women. Having read about the rate of HIV in poor communities in those spaces, knowing (theoretically) about the demographic transition, and that access to education improves reproductive health, I was sure that I knew what women needed. I had never been to Brazil, nor Haiti for that matter, but in my mind, I was an expert at creating social change because, after all, I’d read everything about social change and Brazil and Haiti that I could get my hands on. I was excited as I shared that vision with my professor mentor. He listened patiently. As I finished, he took a deep breath, and thoughtfully began, “We have to be careful assuming that we know more. Our job as Sociologists is not to pretend or presume to know more about the lived experiences of a people or person. There is likely nothing that you think you know about these women’s lives that they don’t know intimately. There are probably no programs that you can think of that they have not already considered or tried. The issue isn’t always a lack of knowledge. Often, the issue could be a lack of resources.” That was by far, one of the most impactful conversations I’d had in the program. In essence, my professor was telling me to, “check my privilege,” and all of the assumptions that came with it. That conversation, although close to 15 years ago, still resonates with me daily.

 I did not leave the country as soon as graduate school ended. I married a month after graduation and my plans of heroically saving the world was put on hold. I did, however, soon take a job as a foster care case manager. In my first week, I was a bright and energetic new case manager, ready, once again, to go out and heroically save the world. I was convinced that children placed in foster homes would fare better than remaining in homes where they experienced neglect and/or abuse, and I was sure that these children would be happier. In a one on one with my supervisor, I recall him giving a gentle reminder, “no matter what mothers do, kids love their moms and will often try to get back to them. Don’t assume that foster care is what is best for children. Some placements aren’t great placements and some instances of neglect are related to a lack of resources. Don’t assume you know better.” Again, a “check your privilege” conversation. I didn’t know better nor more about the lives of the clients. I knew very little at the time of how to effect social change, neither on a micro or macro level.

 Ten years later, I began my own small business providing Diversity, Inclusion, Equity and Justice training for educators, corporations, and other entities. Often, the participants in my training are well meaning and consider themselves to be allies. Often, participants identify as politically liberal or progressive, and have strong desires to engage in social change. I tell both of the preceding personal stories as I  train to encourage participants to consider what it means to be an ally in a holistic way. I encourage participants  to consider the idea that allyship does not mean that we know better; instead allyship requires that we ask how can I support, and sometimes allyship requires that we are silent. Allyship occurs on a continuum or a spectrum and is highly dependent upon the need and the aims of the group experiencing marginalization and disadvantage.

 Central to my work and these conversations, particularly with self-identified allies and social change agents is the idea that it is vital to intentionally not shame allies as they are on their journeys. Because allyship is a spectrum of possibilities, it is plausible that some may use a version of allyship that may not be the most effective in certain situations, even as they are well intentioned. If they are indeed an ally, redirection, questions, and reminders are useful in assisting in their growth. If they are well intentioned allies, they are by themselves seeking out opportunities themselves to move toward an understanding of allyship as a continuum and not a destination. As a caveat, of course, it is also true that there are some who call themselves allies who, in a word, aren’t. There are some who identify themselves as allies of one group while maintaining and defending systems of oppression for other groups. These are not the people of whom I am concerned with. I am, however, concerned with allies who do not always see the continuum of allyship, but who are actively seeking to dismantle systems of oppression.

 However, as I think about power relationships and dynamics, even the language of allyship does not fully capture the role that we could play in assisting in creating equitable spaces. One current phenomenon that has led me to consider the language of allyship recently has been the news of the numerous black trans women who were killed during PRIDE month 2019. There is no way that I can know the incredible amount of inequity used experienced by black trans women. While I know to some extent the way inequities work related to race and gender, it would be misleading to presume to know the everyday lived experiences of members within the trans community. Truly, I am hesitant to even say that I can advocate on the behalf of the trans community in a way that brings a meaningful change. While it is true that as someone who identifies as cisgender, I have a responsibility to do something with my privilege, but part of that means supporting members of marginalized groups and without centering myself as an ally.

 In an effort to expand our understanding of allyship as well decenter the ally, I would suggest that the following Continuum of Allyship:

Questions we can ask/answer as we attempt to move toward a more full understanding of Allyship:

 1.       How do we understand our own power in relationships?

2.      What does it mean to be an ally?

3.      Does allyship operate differently depending on the time, the place, circumstance? (population served, etc?)

4.      What options do we have within allyship?

5.      How do we choose how to be an ally in any situation?

Allyship is:

Definition - An active and consistent practice of unlearning and re-evaluating. As an ally, a person with privilege seeks to operate in solidarity with a marginalized group. 

In working with marginalized groups, however, the work must support and be recognized as supportive by the marginalized group. 

Key to allyship is intentionality. Allies along the continuum provide a space and potentially a voice for disadvantaged groups, often while maintaining their distinct position of power.

Relationship to Power - Allyship sometimes implies a power dynamic that removes agency from the hands of the already marginalized group. Allyship is sometimes limiting, as it does not often require “placing oneself in the shoes of”; it does instead assume power and control for the group that does not experience that form of marginalization.  

Advocacy is:

Definition - speaking on the behalf of the marginalized group. It is an organized effort to garner public political, social and/or economic support on behalf of a marginalized group or entity. The goal tends to be engagement and collective action. 

Key to advocacy – Listening to the marginalized group, being able to synthesize needs and demands, and accurately report those demands to powerful stakeholders and decision makers.

Relationship to power – Advocacy also implies that the advocate has power. Distinctions are made between the advocate and members of the marginalized. These distinctions might be useful in gaining access to power-holders. However, actions are driven by those with power, and requires that power-holders report and demand in the interest of the marginalized group with no bias or ulterior motive. 

Accomplices are:

Definition - listening to the words, needs, ideas of marginalized groups and supporting their efforts toward freedom and liberation.  

Key to being an accomplice – Accomplices support the efforts of marginalized groups without demanding centering and power. Accomplices have agency but have no desire to be centered nor direct conversations or actions. The key to being an accomplice is the willingness to listen to understand rather than to respond. Accomplices validate experiences of marginalized groups even as they may also experience marginalization.   

Relationship to power – Accomplices follow the lead of those who experience marginalization. Accomplices support the efforts of and remains present for goals of liberation and transformation of systems. Accomplices recognize their inability to speak for or on behalf of, but stands in solidarity with marginalized groups.

Activists are:

Definition – Kendi (2019: 209), defines activism as someone who “produces power and policy change, not mental change. If a person has no record of power or policy change, then that person is not an activist.”

Key to being an accomplice – Activists use their position of power to both listen to those who experience marginalization and to create change within the systems that oppress them. Activists do not assume to know better; but instead rely on members of the marginalized groups and accomplices to drive systemic change. Additionally, activists may also be members of the group that experiences marginalization BUT is within a position of power to drive change in policy. Activists recognize their agency and power, even as they may experience marginalization and oppression.

Relationship to power – Activists follow the lead of those who experience marginalization, or they experience marginalization and oppression themselves. Activists demand liberation and transformation of systems through changing policy and systems. Activists  recognize their agency and power and use it in a macro level way.

One of the benefits of considering the variety of ways that one may engage in allyship is that it frees would be allies up to experience growth. By asking the right questions and developing a language and typology that allows for accountability, we can move toward a greater understanding allyship, transformation of individuals and systems, and liberation and freedom. This is, of course, in no way an attempt to suggest that all are interested in liberation and freedom. It is instead to posit that people who see themselves as allies and progressives may not always engage in a manner that is respectful or responsive to the goals of marginalized groups. Developing a common language and understanding may allow those allies to be critical of their own (our own) actions and motivations in creating change, the avenues through which we create that change, as well as our relationships with groups that experience marginalization.

I admit, I myself have not arrived. One of my goals in writing this is to remind myself that allyship is not one size fits all situations, groups, circumstances, but instead it IS a continuum. My hope is that this resonates with others as well. The work toward equity and justice is a constant work. In the words of Angela Y. Davis, "freedom is a constant struggle." So too is the work of building a more equitable and just society.

A River Runs Through It: Spatial Racism and the Relationship between Language, Space, Value and Validity

“…it is not space that defines language, but language that defines its space…”

“The official language is bound up with the state, both in its genesis and its social uses.”

-Bourdieu, in Language & Symbolic Power, 1982

A decade ago I moved to a small town in north central Illinois. Prior to the move, I was uncertain about the “best” areas to move to. My concerns were related to access - access to my employment, access to the highway, access to grocery stores, and access to educational institutions for my children. However, having become slightly familiar with the space due to work, I was aware that access to all of those things had a very racialized component. When I asked local residents for moving advice, I was often given the same answer - I should move near “the river,” but not on the east side of the river but not too far west of the river. I remember quickly coming to realization that in that town, a river literally ran through it, separating black neighborhoods from white neighborhoods and separating the social classes as well. What I also soon came to realize was that many residents of the town refused to travel west of the river for any reason, until a few years later, when gentrification became evident. Of course, the story of this town is not unique. The patterns of spatial separation and the assumptions made about those spaces is a pattern that is reflected nationally. The explanation of this pattern, however, is much more complex than migration and choice alone. The explanation is directly tied to the racial and economic structures of society, as well as what Ibram X. Kendi (2016) refers to as Racist Ideas. Kendi writes, “There was nothing simple or straightforward about racist ideas, and thus their history. Frankly speaking, for generations of Americans, racist ideas have become their common sense…muffling the more complex antiracist reality again and again” (2016). And thus, an understanding of space and its’ relationship with race and racist ideas has often been understood as some naturally occurring phenomenon, or personal choice. A more critical understanding, however, reveals that our very understanding of space is tied to historical patterns and policies, rooted in racist ideas.  My own interest in this is related to these questions:

·       How does perception of space influence movements and migration patterns?

·       To what extent does perception of space reflect racial hierarchies, a racial identities, and a racial ideology?

·       What is the relationship between perception of space and language?

I have written before about the use of language and how language serves as a gatekeeper of valid and valuable experiences. Frequently, the way in which language is used either values or devalues or validates or invalidates in an effort to send a message about the individual speaker and the group to which they belong. In other words, when people use Spanglish or Ebonics/ Black Vernacular English (BE/AAVE), or many of the other pidgin languages that stem from English, those pidgin tongues are devalued. That is to say, as a society we find those versions of English to be lacking compared to American and British English. However, not only do we perceive that they lack value, but by devaluing it is implied and understood that value of the spoken tongue is taken away. Which is to say, these dialects and versions of English have less than no value. Consider what this means for our perception of the speaker. Englishes that have been devalued allows for individual speakers to be viewed as less than intelligent, incompetent, and lacking in literacy skills. From a sociolinguistic perspective, this view of the speaker and the view of the language has very little to do with whether or not the rules of that dialect and language are being followed, but rather it has everything to do with the perception of the speaker and the group that is most likely to use that form of English. What this means then, is that if we devalue a group then it becomes easy  and ideologically necessary to devalue the attributes of that group to maintain a social hierarchy. So if a marginalized groups speaks a particular form of language, and that group experiences devaluation within that society, then all of the attributes including language will also experience devaluation. This idea is one that is incredibly clear as a relates to language and the use of language in public spaces and educational institutions. When we devalue of the attributes, belongings, and spaces occupied by marginalized groups, it is completely related to the value and validity that we associate with that group, rather than the thing (attribute, belonging, space) that we are devaluing. Simply put, when racial, ethnic, and class groups are devalued, the languages that they speak, the places they live, and perceived behaviors are also seen as inherently deficient and inferior.

 Considering what this means for spoken language and perception led me to the realization that this plays out in other ways as well. It is a truth that in the United States, we have been sold a particular structure of a racial hierarchy (both global and national) and we may often buy into it, if we are not using a critical lens. This impacts our perceptions of our own neighborhoods, home values, schools, identities, language, and behaviors. I was recently in conversation with an associate of mine. The topic of crime in neighborhoods was brought up and he stated, “if you live in a black neighborhood, you live in ‘the ghetto’… all black neighborhoods are the ghetto. All black neighborhoods have crime. Don’t pretend as though your neighborhood is any different than any other black neighborhood.” I was taken aback, in part because I could not fathom that this individual felt that I agreed with them, but also because the argument was so rooted in a white supremacist thought of black criminality and spaces inhabited by Black people. I struggled to respond, as I did not want to give the impression that I saw myself or my community as any different than other Black Americans; but rather that Black criminality is not innate and inherent to black spaces. While some might experience higher levels of crime in their communities, it is not a function of race. Additionally, the black experience is not a singular experience, and assumptions of criminality as a function of blackness was flawed. His announcement however, was not totally surprising, as I am well aware that racial socialization and white supremacist thought does not only impact people who are white, but when socialized in a white supremacist society even members of the disadvantaged to group are impacted.

A week later, as I listened to National Public Radio, I heard a segment with a spokesperson from the Cherokee Nation. While the segment was focused on the economy of tribal lands, one thing that the spokesperson said resonated with me. She noted that many have a flawed perception of people living on “reservations” and tribal lands. Often, she noted, tribal lands are mistakenly viewed as places with an incredible amount of poverty, hopelessness, and social ills. As such, related to the views of the spaces, the perceptions of those who inhabit those spaces also tended to be quite negative – that they were somehow trapped, or unhappy, or ignorant.  I was struck by the similarities of the way in which black communities are described. That “tribal lands”, “Indian Country” (which has its own set of connotations) and “the ghetto” were described similarly, as places of entrapment and hopelessness, where no one wanted to live, was not as much about the physical space, but instead an attempt to describe the type and status of the people who inhabited those spaces. To a certain extent, this then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Or, we have a perception based on racialized stereotypes, which then impacts our perceptions of the spaces that occupied, and those perceptions become a reality for others in the society, who avoid those spaces, leading to further perceptions of  a void of opportunity filled with hopelessness.

 There has been much written about gentrification, migration, and space. However, not as much has been written about perceptions of race and space. How this differs is that those perceptions are rooted in stereotypes and ideologies about race, which influences migration and settlement patterns. Much of the spatial gatekeeping is done through racially coded language; but also, perceptions of race impact policy as well. The policy has worked to create racially and class based segregation patterns. In The Color of Law, Rothstein (2017), provides a comprehensive history of the impact of federal policy on segregation and migration patterns. The widespread practices of redlining, restrictive covenants, and neighborhood clubs threatening violence all but ensured that communities remained racially segregated even as laws were passed to diminish blatant de jure segregation. Nevertheless, even as public policy and neighborhoods worked to ensure continued racial segregation, they used the argument of economic necessity to justify the inequities. Or rather, if neighborhoods become “black neighborhoods,” the property values would decrease and the neighborhood would become impoverished. In reality, the opposite was true. When Black Americans moved into neighborhoods, White Americans sold properties for less than the value of the property, often to investors. These investors, knowing that black residents were not privy to this information, then sold those same marked down properties to black home buyers for far more than they were worth – sometimes trapping black home buyers into mortgages that they would sometimes lose. The investors would then sell the same properties to new home buyers for highly inflated prices as well. For those black homeowners who were able to keep and maintain their homes, the highly inflated prices meant working multiple jobs and shifts and debt. What this means then is that the idea of a decline in property values was actually opposite of reality. Property values, and all of its subjectivity, actually increased during White Flight as a means of making a substantial profit off of black folks. Additionally, the view of the space as a black neighborhood and it’s association with property value was related to the value placed on the inhabitants rather than any economic value. Isabel Wilkerson (2010) also details this pattern in Warmth of Other Suns, providing a history of the Great Migrations.  A consistent pattern has been white violence, white resistance, and then white movement away from neighborhoods as black families move in. Interestingly, however, communities are seen as “Black Communities” when there are a mere ten percent black residents. Wilkerson details the lives of many black residents from southern states to places like Chicago, Detroit, and Los Angeles. Especially in places like Chicago, predatory lending drove up the prices of home for black home buyers, even as racist ideas permeated the society suggesting that property values had dropped due to the migration of Black families. Such a paradox. The racist ideas, of course, impacted business in the communities as business owners moved away even as the property costs increased.

 Not only were Black families violently restricted from buying in white communities, but white families were steered away from black communities. These practices impacted, and continue influence behaviors; but more significantly, impact ideology and sense of identity, providing white Americans with an over inflated sense of value and worth in themselves and in their properties. The same behaviors and ideologies impact (some) black folks, especially with regard to their neighborhoods. Other people of color as well buy into this ideology, desiring to live in predominantly white communities and seeing Black faces as signaling a decline in property values and an uptick in criminal activity and more policing and law enforcement. To be clear, this association of Black communities, crime, and is not a new phenomenon. In fact, Khalil Gibran Muhammed discussed this phenomenon in The Condemnation of Blackness (2010). In the early years of the twentieth century, there was mass movement of Black Americans to northern cities such as Philadelphia, at the same time that there were large numbers of European immigrants entering the nation. In many white and immigrant communities, vice districts were commonplace. Due to racist ideas, there was already an association with crime and race. Or, many residents believed that crime belonged in black communities and that white spaces should be kept free of vice. As a means of “protecting whiteness,” police officers would pick up people engaging in crime and vice in the poor white communities and drop them off in the poor black communities. This was multi-purposed- it served to make white spaces free of vice, while justifying harsh treatment of those in black spaces. After all, black spaces were filled with vice and danger, even if the cause of that vice and danger was the literal placement of those elements in the black community. The stereotype of black spaces as inherently dangerous continues, however, as does the variation in policing in white and black spaces. Again, this association of blackness and crime was a function of stereotypes and racist ideas, which led to behaviors that exacerbated social problems in very specific places. This was, of course, still far more related to perceptions of inhabitants of the communities than to the spaces.  

 Of course, as just as housing is impacted by racist ideas and spatial separation is maintained through the ideas and the use of language influencing policy and choices, educational experiences are also influenced. I hesitate to make the claim that educational access and opportunities are impacted, as that claim also assumes value and validity. I can only make the broad claim that educational experiences are impacted. However, for many, because of the racist ideas related to education and housing, the assumption is that “white schools” or “mixed schools” provide better opportunities. While it is true that racial, ethnic, and class diversity is associated with increased creativity, assumptions of “better” or quality of educational experiences cannot be deemed to be innate or inherent. Sadly, however, all too often the value and validity of educational experiences are tied up in perceptions of the racial and ethnic makeup of the school buildings. These perceptions may have their own detrimental consequences for both black children and white children, as white children are socialized to see  their education as “quality” and themselves as more competent (DiAngelo, 2018). So then, even educational spaces are influenced by racist ideas and language, assigned a value and validity based solely on perceptions of race.

When we assume that something had less value simply because it is owned by, frequented by, served by, led by, spoken by, and populated with black and brown bodies, we perpetuate white supremacy and racism. This impacts our perception and realities of communities and educational spaces, and has long lasting impact. It is incredibly vital that we realize that even members of marginalized groups are impacted by these ideologies through racist ideas that become social realities. The challenge is to always be aware and cognizant of the language and perceptions that serve as gatekeeping tools of legitimacy and dominance.

References

 Bourdieu, P. (1982). Language and Symbolic Power. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

DiAngelo, R. (2018). White Fragility: Why it’s so hard for white people to talk about racism. Boston, Massachusetts: Beacon Press.

Kendi, I. X. (2016). Stamped From the Beginning: The definitive history of racist ideas in America. New York, New York: Nation Books.

Muhammad, K. G. (2010). The Condemnation of Blackness: race, crime, and the making of modern urban America. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

Rothstein, R. (2017). The Color of Law: A forgotten history of how our government segregated America. New York, New York: Liveright Publishing Corporation.

Wilkerson, I. (2010). The Warmth of Other Suns: The epic story of America’s Great Migration. New York, New York: Random House Publishing.

Beyond Tolerance and Policy: The Classroom as an Arena of Social Justice

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On Why a Teaching Philosophy Fails at Being Just

This academic year makes a full decade that I have been teaching at the collegiate level. It seems like a short time ago that I graduated from graduate school and was searching for academic positions. I spent quite a bit of time during those years focusing on my teaching philosophy, cleverly titling my teaching philosophy a toolbox, listing all of the tools I had in my toolbox that I was prepared to utilize to teach. The teaching philosophy also reflected the way I viewed education, the functions of education, and my role in the process of educating. The statement of teaching made many assumptions, which, for my first few years of teaching,  I built upon, focusing on what I had and was willing to share with my students. Of course, this framing implied power relationships and assumptions about agency, but this, in my eyes, was the way in which education operated. At least that is how I felt in my early years as an educator – and while I had an awareness that performing the educational process in this way was not the best method for learning, it was the way in which the institution of education trained educators to “educate”.

 Ten years into my career, I began to rethink the way I teach. Focusing on the teaching philosophy seems to me to be an upside down way of thinking about education, that places the agency squarely in the hands of the knowledge holder, the expert, the professor, the educator. In my years as both a professor and diversity and inclusion trainer, with a focus on equity and justice, I began to see my own role in the classroom differently. Questions about power and agency, as well as access and diversity, created questions in my own mind about the functions and gatekeeping that occurred in education and it made me uncomfortable. I questioned:

1.     How do students learn?

2.     What is my goal for students in the class?

a.     Is my goal engagement? Memorization? Development of critical thought?

b.     How do I present the material to encourage engagement?

c.     How do I assess engagement over memorization and regurgitation? 

3.     How do I construct my classes in a way that centers the student?

4.     How do I expect them to engage with the material that I am so passionate about?

5.     What barriers exist to that engagement?

a.    How and why do those barriers exist?

b.     Are the barriers institutional or situational?

6.     How do I, as the professor, provide students with the agency necessary to be successful in the college classroom?

7.     How do I, as the professor assist in removing unnecessary barriers to engagement?

I began to see the statement as a Statement of Learning, or a learning philosophy, rather than a statement of teaching. This shift of focus from Teaching to Learning is really related to engagement practices and comes from my own commitment to diversity, inclusion, equity, and justice.

 During the time that I have been teaching, I have also developed a training and consulting business, as an anti-oppression worker, initially focused on the differences between and the movement toward diversity and inclusion, and has since moved to an emphasis on equity and justice. It is helpful to define these terms:

Diversity: the visibility of differences within a classrooms, institutions, or societies. Power dynamics and systems of stratification are readily visible and felt by those defined as “diverse,” since those with power define in and outgroups. Diversity includes recognizing certain differences while ignoring or refusing to acknowledge any associated barriers

Inclusion: allowing those within the classroom, institution, or society opportunity to express agency and be a part of the conversation related to rules and policies that impact their educational experiences and lives. Inclusion still implies a power dynamic as those with power invite the input and participation of the “diverse” groups. Inclusion includes noticing the differences and discussing those differences while still refusing to remove those barriers

Equity: equal access within classrooms, institutions, societies. All groups are seen as valid and valuable. Decision making occurs within groups and each group is seen as valid.  Equity involves acknowledging the barriers in the room and giving to each according to the need to be related to the barrier.

Justice: the intentional and purposeful removal of the barriers to full access within a classroom, institution, or society.  Justice requires visibility of agency, as well as a push toward advocacy and anti-discriminatory practices. Decision making occurs across groups and there are no barriers to full inclusion, recognition, and regard. Justice is acknowledging difference and removing the barriers that might exist with in the room.

 During my time as faculty, I have worked to develop assignments and projects reflective of goals of the discipline. As I gained more knowledge and more insight into my own Teaching Philosophy, my assignments became more structured, and more pages, and more difficult, at least according to my students. In my mind, however, Sociology as a discipline that demands critical thinking, it also demanded an incredible amount of rigor – and rigor was defined as writing, at least for me. Never mind that in many of the colleges and universities, Introduction to Sociology courses had no prerequisites, as students often took these general education courses in the same semesters. I wanted APA format and a clearly constructed argument to demonstrate both the retention of course information, but also to demonstrate just how rigorous this course could be. Also during this time, I began my company, Diversity to Inclusion, Inc. (D2I), with the express goals of discussing diversity and inclusion. Having both experiences concurrently, and providing trainings to educational entities forced me to evaluate the practices in my own classroom. While the discipline of sociology lends itself to concerns of diversity, equity, and inclusion, the structure of academia is not always inclusive. It is definitely not always concerned with creating a justice filled classroom.

 I have written frequently about inequities and implicit bias in the college classroom. However, much of that writing was centered around a theoretical perspective that focuses on implicit bias and behaviors of instructors toward students, with an assumed power relationship. However, the more I engaged in the work, and the more I engaged with students, the more I began to see that implicit biases are not the only things creating barriers to success in the classroom. When we look at the student in a holistic manner, one must also question, “what systemic and/or institutional things are in place that may impede success and what is my role in maintaining that institutional barrier, even as I am in the practice of checking my own biases?” Additionally, what barriers do students experience unrelated to the institutional policies and behaviors of the professor that can impede success? How am I being a gatekeeper of access to education by my policies? In what ways do my policies impede of discourage engagement with material and the discipline at large? This line of questioning can lead to a far richer understanding of how students learn rather than how the instructor teaches and could potentially lead to a higher retention rate for students and a more fulfilling experience for professors.

Example of how this plays out in the classroom:

When I first began teaching I had strict policies about submission of assignment completion, exams, and quizzes. Papers could not be submitted online, quizzes had to be taken online before 11:59pm, and they were timed at 20 minutes per quiz, exams had to be taken during class and could not be taken later without prior approval, and other rules that made me feel as though I was a serious professor, serious about my craft and serious about the rigor of the course. However, in my syllabus, on the same page as my requirements and list of no statements, I also have a statement about inclusion and inclusive practices.

 As I have done the work of inclusion, and then moving toward justice, I realize that it becomes imperative to reflect upon one’s teaching philosophy and pedagogy and compare it to how well we are ensuring equity and justice in the classroom. When I look at my statements of “No…” how well does it fit with my goals of access and engagement? Does having timed quizzes and no flexibility in assignments align with my beliefs about justice, equity, and access? Do these things by themselves create rigor in the classroom? Was I being “tough” for my own sake or theirs? Did this method encourage engagement or regurgitation? The answer then, to these questions about my “no…” statements was consistently no. My teaching philosophy as reflected in my syllabus was only a reflection of what I expected in teaching and unrelated to what and how I thought students learned.

 This internal self-talk also made me consider why I enjoyed doing Diversity and Inclusion training so much. Part of the appeal is the ability to engage individuals in conversation and encourage critical thought. As I go out into corporate America and institutions of higher learning to talk about inclusion, equity, and justice, and made comparisons to what I do in the classroom, it became clear to me that my classroom policies around quiz taking, assignments, and grading were not as inclusive as I had imagined; and they definitely were not leading to justice in the classroom. While assessment is involved in both, assessment in D&I training is related to how participants engaged with the material and how much critical thought and application was encouraged. On the other hand, the structure of the classroom focused assessments on how much information was retained and repeated.

 I sat with this information for a while. During my tenth academic year, I began making adjustments to assignments and grading as well as accommodating students of all strengths and abilities. Having students every semester who bring accommodation forms from the institution requiring things such as extended time on exams and quizzes, accommodations in when and how they submit assignments, the ability to record the class, and a variety of other needs, I began to consider what that meant for engagement for all of my students.

At the beginning of the semester I decided to remove all time limits and numbers of attempt on the online quizzes. The quizzes used to be timed with one of him and a significant part of the grade. While there is still a due date for the quizzes, if my goal is engagement, my hope is that they utilize their text books, notes, and other class resources to complete the quizzes. Even if they get the questions wrong, going back through the text to discover the correct answer is engagement rather than being penalized for not engaging.

 More significantly, how does justice play out in this scenario? Given that there are students in each class with accommodations from the college, it felt imperative that I meet the need of the all students in the class. After all, who defines what need is significant for an accommodation? While medically diagnosed things are recognizable, single parenting of a newborn may be just as distracting. Needing to work over 40 hours a week while also taking classes full time may also provide a barrier. Therefore, when thinking of accommodations, justice requires an expansion of the definition of necessary accommodations.

 There tends to be a quite a bit of emphasis in higher education concerned with equality in the classroom. However, as I have written before, equality is the (somewhat selfish) idea that I, as the professor or the decider and power holder, have a set number of resources and, because I am in the position of power, I distribute resources evenly. Equality pays little attention to the need of the students or the constituents but rather, is only concerned with  how the resources of the giver are decided upon and distributed. In this sense the professor is the giver. On the other hand, equity is related to the need of the students and as the giver, it I have access to the  resources and I give according to need. Which, in the classroom, might mean an extension of due dates or a little bit more “handholding” and explanation for some students. However, even this even does not go far enough in ensuring that everyone has access in the classroom. Another step forward could be considered inclusion. In an inclusive classroom, everyone within that space has agency to create and all needs are met. The giver serves as a coach, ensuring that all voices are heard ensuring that everyone within that space is included in the decision making process. In the classroom this also looks like a variety of things in the professor’s toolbox to meet the variety of learning needs in the class.

 While an inclusive classroom seems to meet the need of each student while in the classroom, what could happen if our focus was instead a justice filled classroom? If the focus of the classroom is justice, the professor pays attention to and foresees possible needs and barriers that exist and will prevent individual students from accomplishing the required tasks. For some, those barriers might be access to technology; for others those barriers might be some mental emotional needs; for others that barrier might simply be an elementary and secondary school experience that did not equipped them for higher education. Justice sees the extra work of “handholding” not is something that is punitive to the professor but is something that is necessary to ensure the success of all students in the classroom. Justice allows for everyone in the classroom to have an equal footing and being able to accomplish the tasks.

 The Practice of Justice in the Classroom

What does this look like in practice? For my own individual class I spent some time reflecting on my teaching philosophy. I evaluated several things. What did I want students to remember about my class one month later? 5 years later? Was this goal accomplished by the rules laid out in the syllabus? Or, was my motivation for those who take my classes to feel such passion within my classroom that they are moved to be engaged in the classroom and create change in their own world? Is my syllabus a reflection of education that uses punitive measures or one that encourages engagement? I decided that if my goal was actually engagement, that then should compel me to consider possible barriers to engagement. Very practically, one of those barriers to engagement was the timed quizzes. Research suggest that simply adding the pressure of a timer can be anxiety inducing, with the potential of driving down test scores. If the students with written accommodations could have the timer removed because they sought help through student services, what of those students who may have accommodation worthy needs that are nondiagnosable? What of those students who’s needs are related to a challenging family life or work schedule? What of those students who did not have an accommodation form, but could have received one if only the institution had been flexible enough or inclusive enough to provide them with this service? Or those students who had economic barriers that prevented them from having 24 hour access to the internet.

 While considering the ways in which students experienced barriers with online quizzes, my questioning expanded to potential barriers with written communication as well. I have for years required five written assignment per class per semester. One of those assignments was a group assignment that required that students met with group members outside of class time to complete a research proposal, including a brief literature review and proposal of research. The last paper was similar to the first in that it was a full research assignment, but it did not require group meetings. Nevertheless, it required extensive research and an understanding of the scientific method, sociological theory, and the ability to read current academic research. For years, I thought that I had prepared my students for such tasks. However, one semester students really struggled with both the group assignment and the final paper. For one, having no prerequisites for the introductory level course meant that many in the class were not familiar with or comfortable with academic research and writing. Additionally, students had familial responsibilities, were working 40+ hours per week, and were all experiencing life circumstances that required thoughtfulness and consideration on my part. I realized during this experience that creating a climate of equity, inclusion, and justice meant that I take these factors into account as well. I had to evaluate all the varieties of barriers to success that existed both in my classroom and outside of the classroom if I wanted to ensure academic success for each student.

Recently, I shared my classroom changes with a friend. In the exchange, they expressed concern that the new set up was “dumbing it down” for students. By requiring fewer pages of writing and by removing time limits on exams, it gives too many opportunities. My response, however, was this: what is the function of education? If I expect that education is related to equity and justice, the my concerns are engagement with material and equity of access. The rigor and critical thinking is found in the discipline, the way material is presented, and the questioning and discomfort it creates. Expecting that rigor is found in the difficulty of assignments is related to a punitive model of education that serves as a gatekeeper of who can and cannot have access. This gatekeeping has far reaching effects beyond the college classroom and can impact retention rates and future recruitment rates. Additionally, changing the structure of classes, including the syllabus and assignments, can provide students with the agency necessary to complete successfully. Finally, by intentionally removing barriers we are demonstrating and modeling inclusive and just practices, which is a useful skill in any industry and relationship.

Privilege: Or An Understanding of Hands and Fish

I moved to a small town in northern Illinois in 2010. Having a background and educational training in sociology, with an emphasis on race, class, gender and the intersections of marginalization, I was convinced that I was prepared to provide educational training for undergraduate students on those topics. I quickly realized that while I was prepared from an academic and technical perspective, I was woefully unprepared on a very practical and a personal level. I quickly began to receive a very practical education on the ways in which privilege operates.

I was raised in a very middle class Black community. And while I went to very ethnically and racially diverse primary and secondary schools, the racial socialization experienced in my household was one that taught self-esteem and self-efficacy. Harris-Britt, Valrie,  Kurtz-Costes, and Rowley suggested in their 2007 study on black youth that racial socialization is a protective feature for black youth, providing protection from the drastic dip in self-esteem and academic achievement particularly for black girls in adolescence.  Other researchers had found similar results, including Witherspoon,  Speight, and Jones Thomas in 1997. Because of this positive racial socialization and positive perceptions of blackness, my own academic achievement remained high and my self-perception and peer esteem and regard were also high. I therefore felt very comfortable as I studied and received degrees in Psychology and African American Studies as an undergraduate and focusing on race in the discipline of Sociology in graduate school.

Therefore, having always been aware of my blackness I felt comfortable in my performance of black womanhood. What I did not consider, however, was that my performance of black womanhood was rooted in a class system that offered me class privilege as well. My first few years in northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin was filled with culture shock as I was daily reminded of my blackness and the lack of privilege associated with race. In fact, some of my experiences went beyond a lack of privilege associated with race and was more in line with a reminder of constant marginalization associated with my race. In one such instance, I remember recoiling at assumptions made of me related to race. I recall immediately thinking,  “I should not be treated this way because of my social class and social standing in the community.” My education, occupation, my family and family of origin had afforded me some protections from individual racism. Although structural and ideological racism were a constant, the very confrontational individual racism was not felt. However, in that moment, the thought of surprise and disdain quickly passed as I recognized that my response to racism was one that was rooted in middle class privilege. This recognition of my own biases and my own privilege forced me to think about a privilege on a macro level differently. This confrontation of myself forced me to think about the ways in which I taught whiteness differently, the ways in which I taught gender differently, and the ways in which I taught privilege and marginalization differently.

I have found that when speaking of privilege, particularly as it relates to white supremacy, people become very defensive sometimes angry and expressed extreme discomfort. However one way that I have found to start the conversation is to begin with the rather innocuous  example of handedness. I was born right handed into a world that caters to right handedness. I never had to consider what it meant to not be right handed, as there is nothing in this culture that marginalizes right handedness. That is, until I had my first child. She was born left handed; a fact that I still didn’t pay attention to until she was school aged. When she started kindergarten, I was excited. I bought all of her supplies with joy. All of the scissors, pencils, notebooks, necessary items and unnecessary items. However, I quickly discovered that it was challenging for me to teach her to write and cut. I realized that what my child needed was not scissors, but instead, hyphenated scissors. She needed left-handed scissors. Additionally, when she used a pencil, the residue of the lead was on her hand, and she had no representation at home for how to write. I began to pay attention to other ways in which she experienced a disadvantage. One such way was something as simple as opening the refrigerator. When I give trainings, I reenact her opening the refrigerator. While right handed people open the refrigerator and look inside, she opens the refrigerator and literally has to shift her body to look inside. In this, and many other ways, there is a literal shifting of the body to fit into a right handed world that that we don’t hyphenate. Additionally, we must consider that for much of the history of education in the United States, left-handed children were forced to accommodate those who were not left handed. Punitive measures like tying hands behind their backs, hitting the hands of children as they wrote with their left hands, and facing stigmatization further marginalized children who were not right handed. In other words, the groups that are most likely to be marginalized happen to be the most likely to be hyphenated, and are most likely to be punished and devalued.  

Consider how this might work on a more societal level. Which groups experience hyphenation? How are hyphenated lives devalued, stigmatized, and further marginalized? In what ways are people who experience hyphenation constantly shifting their bodies to fit into a world that does not accommodate them? Specifically, in the US, we have a system of white supremacy that privileges “people” while marginalizing “hyphenated people.” Therefore, when considering the way in which privilege operates, White Privilege maintains White Supremacy in a way that forces People of Color to constantly shift their literal bodies in public, in educational spaces, in shopping malls, in language, in work environments. The very literal shifting of bodies is also evident on highways, leading to the term DWB, or “driving while black.” In what other ways do people who are marginalized by the social structures literally shift to fit into the society? How is this maintained by privilege?

It is important, however, to acknowledge that, in the words of Kimmel, “privilege is invisible to those who have it; this invisibility is political…” (2003).  McIntosh wrote, “I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, assurances, tools, maps, guides, codebooks, passports, visas, clothes, compass, emergency gear, and blank checks” (1988). Another way to envision this invisibility is this: fish are born into water, they are surrounded by water,  and need it for survival. As such, fish will never recognize the existence of water because it is a constant. When water ceases to be a constant, this is when fish can recognize it’s existence. In a similar way, white supremacy and white privilege are invisible simply because they are constant. White Americans are born into a system and society of white supremacy, which affords them some benefits – the “invisible knapsack,” in the words of Peggy McIntosh, or White Privilege.

One of the concerns in conversations of White Privilege is the fear that those who experience privilege should willingly recognize their privilege and shoulder the blame. However, it is my belief that blaming paralyzes. Those feelings of guilt lead to frustration, which then lead to immobility. Therefore, it is my belief that the way in which we could talk about privilege should be liberating. The ways in which we could talk about privilege and marginalization should allow for those who experience privilege to have agency to reject their privilege, or at the very least, to use their privilege to dismantle systems of oppression that seemingly benefits them. Rather than excusing or removing those with privilege from the conversation, this approach could engage those who benefit from the waters of white supremacy in conversation and hold them responsible for the  systems. After all, who but those with power can change their own systems? The trick is allowing for the fish who are immersed in that water to be able to see the water they were born into. The trick is also to allow those fish to see that the water is not always safe for them as well. Finally, the trick is to allow those fish who are immersed in the dangerous waters of privilege to see that sometimes that water leads to dangers that they themselves are harmed and exploited by.

Nevertheless, the challenge of making the fish aware of the dangers in the water is ongoing. Often, when people hear the phrases White Privilege and White Supremacy, they protest as, of course, race does not always guarantee economic benefits. Frequently, I hear people deny the existence of privilege by saying that they worked hard and they deserve what they have. This argument suggests that privilege should grant people things without hard work, and if they don’t have those things, they cannot have privilege. And while for some, it is most certainly the case that there are tangible rewards related to privilege, it is also the case that others have worked hard for what they have attained. Specifically, when we talk about material objects and credentials it is difficult to say that people are not working hard with their achievements. However, what is missing from that argument is that while people are working hard to achieve, others experience real barriers in the same types of achievement. Therefore, a lack of privilege means that people experience barriers; legal barriers, housing barriers, educational barriers, and so forth. A lack of privilege equals barriers. Having privilege then, means a lack of real tangible barriers as well as assumptions of worthiness and hard work. One example of this would be the way in which social welfare policy has provided equality for White Americans while simultaneously constructing real tangible and legal barriers for Black Americans. Therefore, even if we think about social welfare policies, affirmative action policies for example, as an attempt at leveling of the playing field we have to also consider the ways in which Black Americans were removed from the ability to even begin at the same level. In this way, privilege affords White Americans things that seem natural, while denying People of Color things that should be inalienable rights. The difference is, for White Americans, privilege remains invisible while for People of Color, the denial of access is very visible and visceral.  

Related to the discussion of economic benefits, however, is the denial of privilege using such claims as “slavery is over,” “I was not alive then,” “I can’t undo what my ancestors did.” Of course, a glaring issue with these and similar claims is that it assumes that race is binary (literally black and white), and that racism and privilege are an issue of blackness. And while, as I suggested before, discussing race, racism and privilege using guilt has the effect of paralyzing and inaction, these are topics that must be addressed to move individuals to action. The argument of, “it’s not my fault,” is also an argument that can only exist with privilege. In other words, privilege is the ability to take advantage of present benefits while distancing oneself from the history that created those benefits. To be able to say, “those were the actions of my forefathers,” while recognizing the inequities, without a subsequent responsibility to tear down the structures of inequity built by those forefathers is an embodiment of privilege. Adding to the definitions of privilege, I would suggest to you, simply put, that it is being able to simultaneously distance oneself from history while still reaping the benefits.

And so what does privilege look like? Particularly white privilege? While we can discuss ad nauseam the ways in which privilege denies access, I think it is also worthwhile to consider the way in which privilege impacts identity. In 2015, Rachel Dolezal received national attention as a white woman performing blackness. When asked about her race and racial background she stated that she identified as a black woman, acknowledging that her parents were white but claiming to have had a spiritual connection with black women her entire life. She used her “blackness” to gain social positions that came with some monetary benefit, teaching about black hair and black art. These positions could have been taught as a white woman; however, her “blackness” afforded her some perceived legitimacy. Additionally, she served as a leader for her local NAACP chapter, which also could have been done as a white woman, but again offered her more perceived validity. What is fascinating about this case of identity is that she demonstrates that race is a social constrict and social performance, but also this case embodies privilege. By having the ability to wear blackness as a costume, and having the choice of racial categories, she demonstrates how privilege operates. In other words, White Privilege afforded her the ability to choose. And while the reactions to her performance of race fell on a continuum of those finding it comical and others suggesting that she had some form of mental illness, her claims were not blamed on her being white, nor her racial group membership. In fact, some suggested that it was a perverse compliment – after all, who would want to be a black woman in this society with all of the discrimination faced by black women? However, to be clear, her ability to perform blackness and receive perceived rewards can only be a product of White Privilege and an ability to choose. Now, this is an extreme example of the intersection of identity and privilege. However, when we consider performances of race and who is rewarded for what behaviors, we can see how those rewards and punishments either serve as normalcy or barriers to achievement.

Privilege and white supremacy are multifaceted concepts. And as we demand accountability, it is important that we acknowledge that we can hold people accountable for what they did and what they have. Holding people accountable for who they are is much more challenging. Linking privilege to personhood can lead to feelings of guilt, denial, and anger. However, if we move the discussion toward responsibility and have a working understanding of these concepts, we can begin to then we can begin to dismantle systems of oppression. Using language that demands responsibility removes paralyzing reactions and allows for systemic change.

Shifting the Language of Diversity and Inclusion

Shifting the Language of

Diversity and Inclusion  

 A few months ago, I was involved in a conversation to review the goals and vision of an institution. As we reviewed, I was struck by what was so obviously missing. I was not surprised by what was listed, of course; values of respect, excellence, learning, integrity, and collaboration all seem to fit as reasonable expectations for any successful institution. However, as a space that seemed to consistently struggle with creating an inclusive climate, I was surprised that neither diversity or inclusion were explicitly listed as a value or goal to attain. I suppose I should not have been surprised, given that it was fairly obvious that these ideas did not seem to be valued on an institutional level.  And so, I inquired, arguing that when it comes to creating an inclusive environment, it must be intentional and explicitly stated. There can be no intentionality and measurement if the aim is not explicit. Otherwise, the institution behaves in a colorblind fashion, maintaining the status quo. How do we measure what we do not name? How do we hold institutions and the people within those institutions accountable for things we don't make explicit? 

Of course, language is extremely important and powerful for creating social change. The Sapir Whorf Linguistic Relativity Hypothesis suggests that as we think in language, language has the ability to limit us. If we only have one word for snow, when we see snow, we cannot distinguish between fluffy snow, rain-like snow, snow that falls straight down, or that falls on an angle. We have only snow. If we only have one word for blue, teal, aquamarine, and navy all merge into blue. Unfortunately, if we only use the colorblind language of respect and do not explicitly state and acknowledge the power of racial, gendered, and cis hierarchies, when we see an injustice or experience micro aggressions, we will not see it as an institutional issue, but a personal respect issue. In this way, language is powerful and shifts the responsibility from the personal to the institution. It is therefore the duty of the institution to name the institutional inequities that exist. 

On both the macro (societal) and micro (individual) levels, language determines and defines what we hope to obtain. Our visions for ourselves and humanity are defined through language. When we say what our visions and values are, this becomes our focus and aim. Unfortunately, there are those who claim to be working toward social justice, but their goals and values are defined in ways that protect privilege and the status quo. In some ways, the language used reflect values that are paternalistic and protect power structures and hierarchies that exist.  

One of the most commonly used examples and descriptions used within Diversity and Inclusion (D&I) work is the use of the dance example to explain the difference between diversity and inclusion. The teacher/trainer explains it this way, "Diversity means being invited to the dance and inclusion means being asked to dance while there." I have admittedly used this example before, even as I am aware of the problematic nature or this example. When using this example, in both diversity and inclusion, there is a power structure that is maintained. In other words, in this example, inclusion implies that the marginalized groups must still wait for permission from those with the power to "ask." I tend to supplement this example with my own; "diversity is being visible in the room where decisions are made. Inclusion means being seated at the table where the decisions are made and the ideas, values, concerns, and perspectives are heard and valued. Diversity implies presence; inclusion implies and demands agency and ownership. Indeed, when we think about how this relates to institutions and organizations, it is clear to see why the distinction is a necessary one to make. Simply advocating for diversity does very little at creating a safe and inclusive environment. It is to the benefit of all within the institution to actually work toward inclusion rather than diversity.  

Moving from an institutional level to the societal, the same critique may be extended to the distinction between assimilation and pluralism. And while assimilation has historically been praised and encouraged, it is similar to being asked to dance while there. This does not create an equitable society, only visibility of continually marginalized, and in some cases silenced groups.   

So, what does pluralism and inclusion look like? To discuss this, we must consider who has power. Indeed, in every society, people who experience marginalization lack power and access to recourses, and in many cases lack power and agency in many important aspects of their own lives. Consider this – public schooling is in theory free to all in this society. However, what happens in schools depends in large part on the social class of the surrounding community. Therefore, for those who lack access to resources, the agency to direct their educational experiences is lacking. The hidden curriculum and the formal curriculum both deny those who lack economic resources to determine their own lives and experiences, having long term effects. Can we call this inclusion? Is this full access to the dance? It is most certainly not a valued seat at the table of decision making. In this regard, we expect that students assimilate into the school culture and provide diversity. This does not, however imply pluralism and inclusion.  

This example is a fairly simple one. School districts and institutions of higher education recognize this pattern. One method of combatting this lack of inclusive climate has been discussions of equality. If we can guarantee equality, then we can have full inclusion. However, this logic is similarly flawed. Again, discussions of equality encourage and implicitly acknowledge a power relationship. By definition, equality is the state of being equal in status, rights, and opportunities. Equality is symbolic. However, the way in which equality has been applied is this – everyone receives an equal share. For those with privilege and access, it is frequently argued that advocating for equality is fair and just. After all, equality does not disrupt the status quo and does not require that the society change. Equality is blind. However, if one group is marginalized, does not equality also maintain the existing power structure?  

But the pursuit of social justice demands equity. Equity is not blind but sees both disadvantage and privilege and provides accordingly. Equity is defined as the state of being fair. In other words, while equality demands that people receive the same recourses or opportunities, equity is need based. The way I think of it is this – equality is about the power holder, divvying up resources equally. Equity is about the need. This distinction shifts the power relationship from those who have to those who need.  

As a society, as social justice workers, those of us concerned with social justice, have to decide what type of world we desire to live in. Do we want a world of equality, assimilation, and diversity? Or would we rather have a world of equity, pluralism, and inclusion? If we want the latter, we have an obligation to name it. It will admittedly require a greater level of work and commitment as we will then be charged with holding institutions and societies accountable. But this is the work and it is revolutionary.  

Atop A Looming Elephant

An Elephant in the Room: idiom: an obvious problem or difficult situation that people do not want to talk about.

On June 7, 1998 James Byrd Jr. accepted a ride from three men, Shawn Berry, Lawrence Russell Brewer, and John King, in Jasper Texas. One of the men, Shawn Berry, was familiar to Mr. Byrd, as they knew each other from town. It is likely that Mr. Byrd knew the other men as well, or had, at the very least, seen them, as the population of Jasper, Texas was far less than 10,000 persons. Brewer and King, however, were known “white supremacists.” Byrd accepted a ride from the three men, although it is unknown to where or for what purpose. The three men drove Mr. Byrd to a remote road, beat him, and subsequently chained his ankles to the back of a pickup truck, dragging him along an asphalt road for three miles. He was conscious for the entire ordeal until his head and arm were severed. The murderers continued to drive his headless body for an additional mile until they dumped his body as a segregated African American cemetery in town. His only offence was being black and accepting a ride from these men that night. The murderers, either knowingly or unknowingly, left evidence of the murder along the road; a lighter with a name on it, a wrench with initials on it, and a few other items. They were unmoved, driving to a barbeque after murdering a man who’d done no wrong, committed no crime, had caused no offense save being black in Texas.

This terrible occurrence was a reminder to some of most horrific public lynchings in the United States, including one that occurred in October 1934 in Greenwood, Florida. On October 18, 1934, Claude Neal was tortured, castrated, and hung after being accused of the rape and murder of a young white girl in Greenwood. Whether or not he committed the crime is unknown. And while heinous, Neal was not alone in his victimization. Years later, fourteen-year-old Emmitt Till was accused of speaking to and “disrespecting” Carolyn Bryant, a white woman in Mississippi. Till was mutilated, shot, and dumped in a river in 1955. Sadly, Bryant admitted in 2008 that her accusation was fabricated. Nevertheless, the men who murdered Till, Bryant’s abusive husband included, were acquitted of murder in September of 1955. These three examples do not serve as outliers, but instead are exemplars. It must be noted that more than 4,000 African Americans were lynched between 1877 and 1950. And while we rarely use those terms to describe the current model of racialized violence the feelings and purpose is still the same. The constant loop of the murders of people like Oscar Grant (2009), Trayvon Martin (2012), Eric Garner (2014), Philando Castille (2016), Laquan McDonald (2014), Rekia Boyd (2012), Sandra Bland (2015), and too many others to name since the end of reconstruction, all serve as modern examples of racialized violence. The role of lynching and racial violence cannot be ignored nor denied in the American consciousness, as they were used, and arguably are still used, to instill fear and maintain a sense of stability of the racial order. They were not used as a means of obtaining some sort of justice as much as they were used to remind individuals of their place. The racial violence that African Americans have always endured in the United States has rooted in the ideology of and is weaved into the very fabric of the nation.

And while our collective consciousness become focused on these events when they happen and gain national attention, and maybe for a few weeks beyond, we seemingly have a short national attention span. The ability to see how all of this is linked from century to century and generation to generation seems to be missed. And when these occurrences happen, the conversation centers around, “how can this happen? Why are things getting worse?”  rather than, “What are the similarities?” and “how does this continue to happen?” Indeed, I’ve frequently asked myself, “How is Emmitt different than Trayvon?” However, the questions of similarities and legacy is washed away as something else catches our attention and we go back through the same cycle. The similarities and legacy looms like the elephant in the room.

We sometimes make mention of discrimination, racism, murder as though it is the elephant in the room. However, it goes far beyond that. And while it may indeed be true that racism, discrimination, and systemic oppression operates like the elephant, these are simply the outcomes and not the vehicle through which the society maintains homeostasis. These outcomes are not what keeps the society and the systems of oppression afloat. Which means that much of our attention is focused on the outcome and symptoms rather than the root cause. How silly would it be to hear the squeaky brakes in our cars and complain that the sound only happens because the volume on our stereo does not go high enough? In the same way, how silly is it to see these events and complain that it is only because “the white supremist” has been given a voice, as though they are not simply a symptom of a larger machine.   

What is this beast? And how is it so invisible? The beast is White Supremacy. It is time that we acknowledge that we do indeed ride on its back and that it is not a fringe movement. White supremacy is embedded into the very fabric of the nation; indeed, it is a tie that binds, that allows for social solidarity. But we rarely discuss white supremacy in this way because it has, in large part, been rendered invisible; not ignored, like the elephant in the room, but rendered invisible. It reminds me of a take on the popular Febreeze commercial, “America has a gotten used to the smell of racism and White Supremacy. Yep. America has gone nose blind. Social scientists need to stage an intervention.”  To be fair, it isn’t invisible, it isn’t without odor, but rather, again, we ride on the back of the beast. The beast of White Supremacy is the vehicle for educational disparities, academic gatekeeping, economic and occupational injustice, environmental injustice, political injustice, and gendered violence. We ride atop the looming beast, the elephant that fits in no room. It has carried us from century to century, from generation to generation. We are only subconsciously aware of the beast, acknowledging the beast only when it defecates, and the stench makes us take notice. Once we no longer smell it, we continue to ride. The march that occurred in Charlottesville in 2017 was such a dump. As was James Byrd, Jr. As were Freddie Grey and Trayvon Martin. Then and only then do we mention the beast upon which we ride. We do not, however, climb from its back; but instead become habituated and nose blind to the stench, and the beast continues to march on.

In the fall of 2017, a march was held in Charlottesville, North Carolina. It was billed as the “Unite the Right” rally, with the stated goal of protesting the removal of the statue of Robert E. Lee in a public park. Protesters included self-identified and self-proclaimed white supremacists, white nationalists, Neo-Nazis, and Neo Confederate and white militia groups. The marchers carried with them both political signs ins support of Donald Trump, as well as other nativist signs. They also carried rifles and confederate battle flags. The response by those in media as well as lay people, was to suggest that these were “white supremist groups” and individuals, emboldened by the perceived shift in the political climate.

This labeling was not a new phenomenon. In fact, this tends to be the trend; public displays of white supremacy are met with shock and surprise, as members of the groups who wear these labels proudly do so publicly. What is missing, however, in these discussions is how frequently these discussions happen. We act as though these are isolated events, individual occurrences, and not woven into the very fabric of the nation. These public displays of white supremacy are so much a part of the history of the United States that we cannot pinpoint a period of time in which these occurrences, this physical and legal violence against Black Americans, did not occur.

I remember just as the Charlottesville “Unite the Right” rally was happening, individuals who I follow on social media began to say things such as, “this is not America.” Given what I know of history, I was surprised by the incredibly ahistorical nature of such statements. This WAS and IS America. Denying that history and present offers a color-blind approach that is only possible BECAUSE we ride atop the looming beast; meaning, there is no elephant in the room that we ignore. This ahistorical analysis is only possible because we ride atop it’s back. In other words, it is not that we are ignoring the DISCOMFORT, avoiding a difficult conversation, crowded out by the elephant in the room. It is that we are comfortable within the vehicle, until it reminds us that the vehicle is a wild beast.  

As we become aware of this beast, it is imperative that we decide as a society to change vehicles. It is imperative that we climb down from its back. It is imperative that when modern lynchings and public displays of racialized violence occurs that we call it by its name – not an isolated fringe group of white supremacists, but rather examples of how present White Supremacy is an institution within the society. We will only have racial equity and parity when THAT conversation happens. Otherwise, will be forever discussion the symptoms and not the cause.

Please Don't Tolerate Me

I'm dating now and it's a great relationship. He tolerates me. Well, tolerates me about as much as I tolerate my children. I sure hope they are grateful.

What feelings might be invoked while reading the above statement? Pity? Disgust? “What-kind-of-parent-tolerates-their-kid” feelings? Are you wondering what kind of parent simply tolerates their children, or what kind of person would remain in a relationship in which they are tolerated and not valued? Are you thinking, "Wow. You and your children deserve better." I think about how it sounds to change the scenario every time I hear people advancing an argument for tolerance for members of our society who experience marginalization.

When I speak, in general, my audience tends to be people who describe themselves as progressive. However, sometimes in these conversations with self-described Progressives, the conversation turns to hopes of tolerance. I’ll be honest. It sometimes catches me off guard. Language always matters, and I, within my world of privilege sometimes and a lack of privilege at other times, never want to be “tolerated.”

There has historically been an emphasis of tolerance with the word often being used as a tag line, something to be taught. But when we consider what it means and personalize it to ourselves and personal relationships, it is clear that “tolerance” simply does not go far enough with creating a just world.

Another way of thinking about this is to consider tolerating pain. Indeed, the experiences of marginalization and disadvantage are painful, as debilitating as physical pain. One statement that I frequently make in trainings is, "we tolerate a toothache. Maybe. But, I tell you, if I have a toothache, I am committed to getting rid of it." In the same vein, I don't expect my partner to tolerate me but to be committed to me. If I only tolerated my children, they would have far fewer tools at their disposal. I am committed to ensuring that they have access to all the social, economic, and emotional capital that I have at my disposal. That’s not tolerance. That is commitment.

Consider this: how do we feel when we know that we are being tolerated? Indeed, we can FEEL when we are tolerated and not valued - when there is no commitment. It has an impact on our esteem, an impact on our ability to use our voice, even an impact on our posture. When we are valued and held in high regard, it literally effects the way we hold our bodies. Take for example research on implicit bias and stereotype threat. Stereotype threat is the “immediate and situational predicament” in which people are, or feel themselves to be, at risk of conforming to stereotypes about their social group (Steele and Aronson, 1995). The impact of the stereotype threat on learning and performance is visceral and powerful, as stereotype threats and stereotype vulnerability have been shown to drive down performance on standardized tests and other tasks when students perceive negative stereotypes to be present. The original explanation was this: when experiencing the stress of present negative stereotypes, students become anxious. That anxiety then has an impact on and decreases the performance of the working memory (Steele and Aronson, 1995). The working memory, or the part of the memory that is concerned with immediate conscious perceptual and linguistic processing, is a necessary part of the learning process. Stress can diminish the capacity of the working memory, as attention is focused on the stressor. In this context, the stressor is the awareness of an existing prejudgment. It is necessary for information to be held temporarily in the working, or short-term memory. If the short term and working memories are impaired, it never moves over to the long-term memory, where learned material is retained. Therefore, regardless of the ability of the student, performance is tied to the social context. Additionally, if students perceive discrimination of a marginalized group of which they are a member, their ability to perform declines. Reminding students of their marginalized status within the social context compounds the issue and drives down the performances even more. 

Even as this is the case, it is not likely that teachers are intentionally responding to students in a way to demonstrate (purposely) their biases. A good number of the teachers are practicing tolerance and see themselves as good, kind hearted, saviors of some sort. Nevertheless, they are not committed to ensuring the success of these students, who are well aware of the institutional biases that exist within the classroom. And even as they are aware, an emphasis on tolerance denies those same students a voice in that systemically marginalizing space. Implicit biases are unaffected by tolerance and students are well aware. This is a clear demonstration of how “tolerance” can impact performance.

When we advocate for tolerance we absolve those with privilege of doing the work to ensure equity. When we advocate for tolerance we say that we tolerate difference rather than see value in it. This maintains a structure of inequity as those with the privilege and power to make systemic changes are absolved of any responsibility to DO anything. At the same time, we know from extensive research that celebrating and acknowledging difference in the classroom and in the workplace leads to more productivity, creativity, and increased performance, as all voices are heard. In our communities, recognizing and acknowledging difference decreases fear of “the other” rather than increasing it.  

To be fair, I myself am not exempt. I recognize that I have privilege - I am able bodied, I am cisgendered, I identify as heterosexual. With these privileges, I have a responsibility to advocate WITH and work alongside those who are marginalized by these demographic categories. I don't simply tolerate. I work to learn. I listen. I acknowledge that I do not know and that I have not arrived at the end of my journey in Allyship, or the Good Ship Ally, as I like to call it. And with every opportunity, I work.

We don’t tolerate our loved ones. We are committed to their success and their survival. Tolerance of our loved one denotes annoyance, a feeling of "if I must..." Similarly, we don't tolerate toothaches... we could, but that's painful. The pain of disadvantage and marginalization is not a malady of those who are marginalized, but it is a malady affecting the entire society. We have several toothaches in need of repair. Why tolerate a toothache when we can be committed to getting rid of it? And not with bandaid solution. But instead. Let's get to the root of it. 

Please don’t tolerate me. Be committed to building a more equitable world for us all.

Unpacking Boxes

One task that I find simultaneously exciting and dreadful is moving. In full disclosure, I intend to engage in this activity fairly soon, and while I look forward to being in a new space with great anticipation, the process is a grueling one that I do not anticipate. The idea of being surrounded by clutter is not appealing, the process of unpacking is quite literally a painful one, and yet the idea of progress is necessary and exhilarating. And so, we move. We unpack. We hurt our backs with the heavy lifting. We stretch ourselves beyond what is usually comfortable. Once unpacked, treasures are found, things are in its rightful place, and there is comfort. There is also a feeling of accomplishment and awe at the beauty and clarity to be found. We stand in a once packed and cluttered space, where there was barely any room to move around without bumping a shin or a hip or stubbing a toe, now in a room that is clear and well put together.

As a sociologist and public speaker, I frequently use language that illustrates movement toward equality. One phrase that I frequently use is, “Let’s unpack this.” Most often, what I mean when I say this is, “Let’s consider the deeper meaning here. Let’s make the invisible visible.” Indeed, when things are in boxes, while we have an awareness that they are there, they are invisible. Unpacking makes those treasures (and sometimes the rubbish) visible and we are able to do with it what we will.

A few months ago, I was in a training discussing equity and diversity and some individuals were visibly and audibly uncomfortable. There were groans and eye rolls, and one individual said to me that talking about such issues was divisive, as he leaned back, arms folded with a scowl on his face. There was resistance, and avoidance of eye contact, and anger. It occurred to me that these faces, these sighs, these groans are the same reactions to moving and unpacking. It occurred to me that this is exactly what literal moving and progress looks like in the early stages. I was reminded of how powerful this connection was for me. The use of that language, unpacking, had real significance in this context of social justice and equity. What I wanted to do in my training was encourage participants to change or, at the very least, consider their address, and acknowledge the existence of the boxes. It was their choice to either unpack the boxes that they had piled in their current address, or move to a more comfortable space, unpacked and with freedom of movement. In that moment, I was legitimately reminded of the relationship between the discomfort and moving and the discomfort of moving forward, both happening on a psychological and physical level. Progress is never comfortable.

Imagine being in a new room in your new, spacious home. This room is filled to the brim with boxes. After all, you have just removed everything from one home to another, and so our room is filled to the brim of all of the things that we have had for years. In a literal sense, we might have trinkets, or gifts from our mothers, or books from our educational experiences, or things that we have collected as we have experienced life. But these are the same items in our figurative boxes; things like knowledge and belief systems gained from our families, ideas from our educational experiences, personal experiences that we may sometimes generalize and hold on to for sentimental value and safe keeping.  But, whether we mean this in a literal sense or figurative sense, the room is filled to the brim with boxes, and the boxes are labeled; “kitchen,” “living room,” “bedroom 1,” “bedroom 2”… or boxes labeled, “race,” “gender,” “sexuality,” “religion,” “social class,” “ability/disability,” – just a room full of boxes. Unpacking these boxes is not fun, but I must assure you that it is necessary. Can you imagine moving into a new home and never unpacking the boxes labeled, “kitchen”? No plates, no glasses, no cutlery, no dish rags, no cooking utensils, no pots or pans. Just a box in a room that we refuse to touch.

Sadly, a good many of us have learned to move within and navigate our spaces without ever unpacking the boxes. We sometimes never even acknowledge that they are there. Meanwhile, we have the tools available to handle real life situations if we would simply unpack the box. In a figurative sense, we might even suggest, “Yes, these are my boxes filled with my beliefs, stereotypes, experiences, and things I just ‘know.’ Yes, I know I probably could unpack them, but this is just the way my home is set up. I don’t WANT to unpack them, because that would make me uncomfortable temporarily. So, no. Leave me and my boxes alone.”

For some of us, however, we are afraid of opening our boxes for fear of what belongs to us. Some of our belongings are painful to look at. We fear that if exposed, we must admit that some things that we hold on to is rubbish or not socially acceptable. So rather than opening the box, rather than discussing, we keep the boxes tightly sealed; sometimes for the fear of embarrassment of socially unacceptable beliefs, or sometimes because those things are so painful to admit that we even attempt to hide them from ourselves.

Indeed, we must feel safe to open our boxes. There is a need for self-preservation that sometimes prevents us from progress; as stated, progress is painful. We need to be sure that the people that we share the contents of our boxes with will be allies and will hold our belongings gently, with care, and safekeeping. When in trainings and classes, I recognize that often people will share with tablemates or in private rather than unpacking before an entire group. That version of unpacking is valid, and it is valuable, and is in keeping with the theme of self-preservation. We don’t want people to mock our belongings, from the old, tattered things that we’ve carried with us all our lives, to the random knick knacks that we have picked up along the way, to the newer things that we just grab on impulse without considering the implications. All of these things are in boxes and we must feel safe to unpack them.

Nevertheless, progress demands that we push through the discomfort of unpacking. Undeniably, moving from one space to another comes with some reservation (“Maybe I shouldn’t unpack this…”), regret (“I should have just stayed in my old, cramped, studio apartment…I should have just left these things in boxes because now, look at all of the work I need to do…”), some guilt (“Why do I do such things to myself? I really don’t need this much space…”). And yet, we have moved and cannot be fully comfortable, nor fulfilled while the boxes are packed. We cannot navigate our homes freely with literal boxes stacked, nor can we navigate the world freely with our figurative boxes packed. We either tiptoe around gingerly while still bumping things, or we must remain in one place to avoid being bruised.

But imagine the freedom of having things in their appropriate place. The freedom that comes with having cutlery and pans in the kitchen at our disposal, and the freedom of getting rid of long held stereotypes to have a larger and useful social network, personal relationships, and workplace productivity. Imagine unpacking the figurative boxes to become allies to members of marginalized groups and changing our world. Simply imagine the freedom.

To be quite clear, however, this is not to say that once we are unpacked that we will be completely comfortable. We have not yet arrived. There may be times that we must readjust or move things around. There may be times when we need to shine things up, and dust, and clean pots and pans that we have dirtied. We may have to acknowledge that some of the things that we brought with us into our new space is rubbish, it doesn't fit the decor, and is better left in the dumpster. Some ideas and stereotypes, some of our belongings, we simply must do away with. Others items might need to be replaced, or at the very least, re-tuned, to fit. And unfortunately, sometimes we may even need to move again to a brighter, even more spacious space.

But that’s just it. We cannot work with the things we own until we unpack them. What this means in a figurative sense is that we cannot confront the -isms until we “unpack them” and make them visible. Then, we can be free to navigate the world without consistent bumps and bruises. It is freeing. It is equity. It is allyship.

Now, in the words of the great John Lennon, “You may say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday that you will join us. And the world will be as one.”

Let’s unpack. I’m ready to help.

Traditional Knowledge as a Barrier to Advocacy; Moving beyond the barriers to address the Color Line

I teach courses in the social sciences. In these courses we spend the first few sessions discussing how we conduct scientific research and how we come by that thing that we call "knowledge." There are a few basis of knowledge:

·         traditional knowledge - things that we know because it's always been a certain way

·         knowledge based on authority – things that we know based on what someone told us

·         fact based knowledge – things that we know because it is fact based and based on empirical evidence.

To explain the difference, I frequently offer up this example:

A young man was cooking Sunday dinner. His mother had recently passed and it was her tradition and her mother's before her to cook a meal for her family every Sunday. This young man wanted to keep the tradition alive. He invited his siblings, and aunts, and uncles, and nieces and nephews to enjoy this soul food dinner made from scratch - and love. So he went to work; Cornish hens, dressing, sweet potatoes, baked macaroni and cheese, cornbread, speckled butter beans and crowder peas had the entire home smelling like a southern heaven. As he cooked, however, one of his older relatives walked into the kitchen and observed him sawing off exactly one inch of a ham bone. As he struggled, she scoffed, "why are you doing that, son?" He proudly looked up, "well, auntie! I'm making big mama's recipe for these beans. Didn't you know? She'd always cut off one inch of the ham bone. One inch. That way, the juices from the bone flows right in and flavors these beans just right! Just you wait, Auntie!" His aunt chuckled, "boy! Who taught you that?" He replied proudly, "this is how mama did it! And big mama taught her!" His aunt shook her head, "son! Big Mama did it that way because she only has one pot! She cut the bone because it would not otherwise fit into the pot. The juice is flowing no differently!"

All this while, for two generations, family members were engaging in an action based on traditional knowledge, when the action was actually rooted in a historical need. How much of our actions around race, genders, sexualities and orientations, religions, age, and other such classifiers rooted in traditional and authority rather than on fact based evidence? How does that shape our relationships with power? How does it inform our agency and ability to act in a fair, objective manner?

In this work I spend a great deal of time thinking about, researching, and discussing forms of institutional discrimination, institutional racism, and institutional sexism. All of these discussions are rooted in history and a legacy of discrimination. In one class, several years ago, as I discussed gender, a young student became visibly agitated. Unable to hold it anymore, he blurted out, "But why change it? It’s been like this forever! Sure, it’s not perfect, but what is?!" My challenge to him was this, "but don’t we have a responsibility to make something better once we recognize the imperfections?"

 It's just that simple really. What if we move beyond traditional knowledge and traditional ways of doing things? What if we move beyond traditional ways of treating others? What if we start acknowledging that we recognize differences in race, ethnicity, class, gender? What if we stop saying I don’t see race, but instead say, "I see you and recognize a difference in lived experience, but can still value that experience." In truth, once we can acknowledge that we recognize difference, what would it look like if we began to discuss institutional inclusion? Institutional commitment to having all voices heard? Institutional commitment to engaging in conversation? Institutional commitment to agency? I'm a fan of flipping it- a fan of speaking from a strength based, agency centered approach. This is empowerment.

In 1903 Dubois wrote about the problem of the color line – America’s race problem. In his writings, he suggested that racial problems in America did not belong to the powerless, but instead rested with those who have power. For DuBois then, the problem of the color line belonged to white Americans who benefited from centuries of legal and ideological separation and the servitude of people of color.  Frequently, when we speak of institutional discrimination, we suggest that those with power lack agency to change institutions. In other words, we suggest that the problem of the color line belongs to people of color, and that white Americans cannot fully engage in the conversation of change. That is false. It is not that people with power cannot change the institutions that foster oppression. Instead, we absolve those with power of the responsibility to change oppressive institutions. It is my belief that those with power begin to see themselves as powerless to change systems that have been rooted in traditional oppression for centuries when we hold discussions of power and privilege that do not provide for a path forward – a path to advocacy and allyship. I hear it often as I discuss privilege. Students, whose race happen to be white, voice such objections as, “But it’s not my fault,” or “discussions of race make me feel guilty,” or, “but we can’t change history, so let’s just move past it!” Systems of oppression can make those on both sides of the color line feel powerless even as the function of oppressive institutions is to create a power imbalance in favor of one group over another. However, the focus and approach of discussions about oppression and power should be strength and empowerment based, recognizing that:

1.  While racial categories are social, the consequences of the color line are real;

2.  Relying on historical divisions as a base of knowledge is misleading, and frequently renders members of the society powerless;

3.  This approach absolves those who have benefited from systems of oppression of any responsibly to act as advocates and allies in the present;

4.  Shifting the conversation would empower those who experience guilt of the past to move beyond it to an action phase.

For me, that is the ultimate goal. How do we use knowledge to move beyond the current space? What is clear is that the current approach to addressing discrimination does not seem to be effective. Therefore, my challenge is that we change the approach. I urge that we have conversations about the ways in which history brought us to where we are today, the ways in which history and tradition built systems of oppression, and the ways in which research, science, and dialogue can help us to improve and see the color line differently. Maybe then, we won’t spend so much time sawing at the ham-bone because we will be enjoying the richness of our company.