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Munroe on Instagram: "Racism is not a black people problem, it is a white culture issue. Sexism is not a female problem, it is an issue with male dominated culture. Classism is not a poor people problem, it is a capitalism issue. Homophobia and transphobia aren't queer people problems, they are issues with cis straight post-colonial society.

In order to push forward, we need to shift the perspective of oppression being the problem of those who experience it. We need to acknowledge that privilege exists as a spectrum and is an indicator for where the work needs to take place. Expecting marginalized folk to be the ones to deconstruct their own oppression is as good as saying "not my problem" and letting it happen, as it doesn't acknowledge where the problem is coming from. The definition of privilege is thinking that something isn't a problem because it isn't YOUR problem.

The best thing about being part of so many minority groups, is that I'm plugged into so many incredible communities to draw my strength, inspiration and perspective from. But we need allies doing the work also.

White people, hold your own community accountable. Straight and cisgender people hold your own community accountable and bear in mind that you are also a community. Not the standard. Once we start to decolonise society's mindset and decentralise white, straight, cis and male as the standard. Then we can begin to work towards an equal world. But until then, assert your privilege. #whiteprivilege

Image content @courtneyahndesign @wetheurban @emmadabiri @ll_mckinney"

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93K likes, 821 comments - munroebergdorf on May 22, 2020: "Racism is not a black people problem, it is a white culture issue. Sexism is not a female problem..."

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The latest episodes of police murdering Black people have my chest burning like a building set ablaze. My heart is hot, my stomach churns. My head filled with black smoke. I am exhausted.

My body is weak from seeing, hearing, reading and crying over people who look like my father and brothers getting choked out on video ... again. My body hurts not seeing anything happen when people who look like my mother or me are killed by violent White men. The silence when Black trans- men and women are killed by police violently bangs in my eardrum. I'm sore from the hashtags marking yet another Black death gone viral. Physically, emotionally, mentally, I'm hurt. Professionally I'm tired.

I work in education advocacy and I focus on the protection, advancement and dignity of Black children and Black life. Black death is a threat to everything I work and live for, so when it happens I can't help but relate what I see, experience and feel to my work. When anything goes down with Black people I think about education and schools and whether I am a part of something that is preserving Black life or failing it.

As I saw the system choke the life out of George Floyd I became enraged because I knew the focus would be on the systems that produced this end result and not the ones that groomed both George Floyd and the cop who killed him for that moment. That the conversations would be about prosecution and police training, but not changing the places that socialize Americans for White violence and Black death.

The system that killed George Floyd and the system that raised and educated the cop who killed him are the same. And in the same way that folks are tired of the viral Black death-protest-fake trial-acquittal-rinse and repeat cycle, I am tired of folks acting like there's no direct connection between the schools where White children sit and the street corners where they choke out Black life.

There's a George Floyd in every school where Black children learn. Black children are screamed at, berated, surveilled and searched in schools. Black children are slammed and dragged, kicked and prodded in classrooms. Black children are denied an education and disrespected because of their culture. Black children are groomed for containment. We've got children walking on tape with hands over their mouths like prisoners in training.

Black children are suspended, detained, "demerited" and isolated in schools for trivial things every day. And there's a killer cop sitting in every school where White children learn. They hear the litany of bad statistics and stereotypes about "scary" Black people in their classes and on the news. They gleefully soak in their White-washed history that downplays the holocaust of Indigenous, Native peoples and Africans in the Americas. They happily believe their all-White spaces exist as a matter of personal effort and willingly use violence against Black bodies to keep those spaces white.

Yet whenever we talk about what's wrong with the systems that train and socialize young minds to become violent and depraved adults who, say choose to choke people out as part of their jobs, all we ever hear is that Black children, Black families, Black communities, Black-NESS are "behind" and stuck in gaps. Conservatives, liberals and progressives alike grow their careers and feed their families off of myths about Black deficiency.

If you let them tell it, Black kids are in terrible shape while White children are doing gloriously. But how can White kids be doing okay when they're growing up to be police officers, district attorneys, mayors, judges, media, mothers, fathers and presidents who take away Black life and call it justified? As Black bodies drop like flies around us from physical, medical, economic, and material deprivation and violence at White hands, how can we in any of our minds or metrics conclude that the Whites are alright? What kind of warped standards are these?

Because let me tell you something ...

And any school or culture that produces children to grow up like this is failing.

White children are left unchecked and unbothered in their schools, homes and communities to join, advance and protect systems that take away Black life. We never talk about this moral and human failing in White culture as something that needs to get fixed now. Instead, we pour millions of dollars into discussions, conferences, professional development, curriculum and consultancies that talk about fixing Black people. And I'm tired.

I'm tired of White people reveling in their state-sanctioned depravity, snuffing out Black life with no consequences and then having the nerve to tell Black children that they are "behind" and need to work harder.

I'm tired of White people telling Black kids that they need to be held "accountable," yet killer cops go free when they take Black life and White teachers go free when they miseducate Black kids.

I'm tired of White people taking their violent culture, standards and metrics into Black spaces and telling Black children that they don't measure up. Because who is really failing here?

Where's the urgency for school reform for White kids being indoctrinated in Black death and protected from the consequences?

Where are the government-sponsored reports looking into how White mothers are raising culturally deprived children who think Black death is okay?

Where are the national conferences, white papers and policy positions on the pathology of Whiteness in schools and how it leaves White children behind as adults?

Why isn't Bill Gates throwing billions into school programs teaching White kids how not to grow up racist and choke out Black life?

The federal government needs to commission studies on White neighborhoods that produce and insulate anti-Black physical, economic and political violence. City councils and state legislatures should redline those places and determine them to be "high risk" and unfit for life. School reformers need to lobby, plot and plan on how to disrupt school systems that produce, protect and reward White violence.

Go get Walmart and the Koch brothers to fund tens of thousands of recent White college graduates trained in anti-racism and dispatch them to the disadvantaged all-White school districts across the country full of future killer cops. Take your six weeks of training and be an anti-racist teacher in classrooms full of families that hoard resources, separate their school districts and fund the police to keep their knees on Black necks.

Simply, this time after you take off your Black Lives Matter t-shirt and recycle your protest signs, don't go back into Black spaces with your usual bullshit. This time if you really want to make a difference in Black lives-and not have to protest this shit again -go reform white kids.

Because that's where the problem is-with White children being raised from infancy to violate Black bodies with no remorse or accountability. That cop didn't just learn how to snuff out George Floyd's life in a police training or on the job. He spent a lifetime preparing for that moment with his parents and family, teachers, coaches, neighborhoods and churches.

Eventually, the fires will burn out and the aftermath of the latest uprisings will clear. The heat in my chest may subside a little, but the grief will still be there for the next time. And unfortunately, there will be a next time because I've seen this episode before. We all have. Today we scream for justice but on Monday we'll call for better police training and a guilty verdict that will only leave the system-all the systems-intact. And we'll feel better about ourselves as we return to business as usual, preparing children for White violence and Black death, again.

I'm tired.

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If You Really Want to Make a Difference in Black Lives, Change How You Teach White Kids

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The latest episodes of police murdering Black people have my chest burning like a building set ablaze. My heart is hot, my stomach churns. My head filled with black smoke. I am exhausted. My body is weak from seeing, hearing, reading and crying over people who look like my father and brothers getting choked out on video ...

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I was leaving a corporate office building after a full day of leading workshops on how to talk about race thoughtfully and deliberately. The audience for each session had been similar to the dozens I had faced before. There was an overrepresentation of employees of color, an underrepresentation of white employees. The participants of color tended to make eye contact with me and nod - I even heard a few "Amens" - but were never the first to raise their hands with questions or comments. Meanwhile, there was always a white man eager to share his thoughts on race. In these sessions I typically rely on silent feedback from participants of color to make sure I am on the right track, while trying to moderate the loud centering of whiteness.

In the hallway an Asian American woman locked eyes with me and mouthed: "Thank you." A black man squeezed my shoulder and muttered: "Girl, if you only knew." A black woman stopped me, looked around cautiously to make sure no one was within earshot, and then said: "You spoke the truth. I wish I could have shared my story so you'd know how true. But this was not the place."

This was not the place. Despite the care I take in these sessions to center people of color, to keep them safe, this still was not the place. Once again, what might have been a discussion about the real, quantifiable harm being done to people of color had been subsumed by a discussion about the feelings of white people, the expectations of white people, the needs of white people.

As I stood there, gazing off into the memory of hundreds of stifled conversations about race, I was brought to attention by a white woman. She was not nervously looking around to see who might be listening. She didn't ask if I had time to talk, though I was standing at the door.

"Your session was really nice," she started. "You said a lot of good things that will be useful to a lot of people."

She paused briefly: "But the thing is, nothing you talked about today is going to help me make more black friends."

I was reminded of one of the very first panels on race I had participated in. A black man in Seattle had been pepper-sprayed by a security guard for doing nothing more than walking through a shopping center. It had been caught on camera. A group of black writers and activists, myself included, were onstage in front of a majority-white Seattle audience, talking about the incident. Fellow panelist Charles Mudede, a brilliant writer, film-maker and economic theorist, addressed the economic mechanisms at work: this security guard had been told that his job was to protect his employers' ability to make a profit. He had been told that his job was to keep customers who had money to spend happy and safe. And every day he was fed cultural messages about who had money and who didn't. Who was violent and who wasn't. Charles argued that the security guard had been doing his job. In a white supremacist capitalist system, this is what doing your job looked like.

Just once I want to speak to a room of white people who know they are there because they are the problem

Well, at least he was trying to argue that point. Because halfway through, a white woman stood up and interrupted him.

"Look, I'm sure you know a lot about all this stuff," she said, hands on hips. "But I didn't come here for an economics lesson. I came here because I feel bad about what happened to this man and I want to know what to do."

That room, apparently, wasn't the place either. According to this woman, this talk was not, or should not have been, about the feelings of the man who was pepper-sprayed, or those of the broader black community, which had just been delivered even more evidence of how unsafe we are in our own city. She felt bad and wanted to stop feeling bad. And she expected us to provide that to her.

At a university last month, where I was discussing the whitewashing of publishing and the need for more unfiltered narratives by people of color, a white man insisted that there was no way we were going to be understood by white people if we couldn't make ourselves more accessible. When I asked him if all of the elements of white culture that people of color have to familiarize themselves with just to get through the day are ever modified to suit us, he shrugged and looked down at his notebook. At a workshop I led last week a white woman wondered if perhaps people of color in America are too sensitive about race. How was she going to be able to learn if we were always getting so upset at her questions?

I've experienced similar interruptions and dismissals more times than I can count. Even when my name is on the poster, none of these places seem like the right places in which to talk about what I and so many people of color need to talk about. So often the white attendees have decided for themselves what will be discussed, what they will hear, what they will learn. And it is their space. All spaces are.

One day, in frustration, I posted this social media status:

"If your anti-racism work prioritizes the 'growth' and 'enlightenment' of white America over the safety, dignity and humanity of people of color - it's not anti-racism work. It's white supremacy."

Is a little white supremacy leaked into our anti-racism work better than no anti-racism work at all?

One of the very first responses I received from a white commenter was: "OK, but isn't it better than nothing?"

Is it? Is a little erasure better than a lot of erasure? Is a little white supremacy leaked into our anti-racism work better than no anti-racism work at all? Every time I stand in front of an audience to address racial oppression in America, I know that I am facing a lot of white people who are in the room to feel less bad about racial discrimination and violence in the news, to score points, to let everyone know that they are not like the others, to make black friends. I know that I am speaking to a lot of white people who are certain they are not the problem because they are there.

Just once I want to speak to a room of white people who know they are there because they are the problem. Who know they are there to begin the work of seeing where they have been complicit and harmful so that they can start doing better. Because white supremacy is their construct, a construct they have benefited from, and deconstructing white supremacy is their duty.

Myself and many of the attendees of color often leave these talks feeling tired and disheartened, but I still show up and speak. I show up in the hopes that maybe, possibly, this talk will be the one that finally breaks through, or will bring me a step closer to the one that will. I show up and speak for people of color who can't speak freely, so that they might feel seen and heard. I speak because there are people of color in the room who need to hear that they shouldn't have to carry the burden of racial oppression, while those who benefit from that same oppression expect anti-racism efforts to meet their needs first. After my most recent talk, a black woman slipped me a note in which she had written that she would never be able to speak openly about the ways that racism was impacting her life, not without risking reprisals from white peers. "I will heal at home in silence," she concluded.

Is it better than nothing? Or is the fact that in 2019 I still have to ask myself that question every day most harmful of all?

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Confronting racism is not about the needs and feelings of white people | Ijeoma Oluo

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Too often whites at discussions on race decide for themselves what will be discussed, what they will hear, what they will learn. And it is their space. All spaces are

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‘The sooner, the better’: Why young boys need to be taught about consent

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An expert says when it comes to preventing sexual assault, the focus is too often on victims’ behaviour rather than changing the attitudes of young men, who statistically represent the majority of perpetrators.

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Decolonising the Curriculum | Melz Owusu | TEDxUniversityofLeeds