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Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man

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Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man

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by Emmanuel Acho

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Research Insights: Black Girls' Experiences in Independent Schools

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Research Insights: Black Girls' Experiences in Independent Schools

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NAIS.org

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At a time when politics and race continue to divide the country, conversations around diversity, equity, and inclusion have taken on even greater importance at home and in our schools. Independent schools in particular have been wrestling with how to have such conversations as they relate to the makeup of their school communities and to the sense of belonging that students of color feel. Some schools have made progress in inclusion efforts for students with marginalized identities, but so many schools continue to face real challenges in creating school environments where all students feel at home.

There were 168,254 students of color enrolled in NAIS member schools in the 2018-2019 school year, according toNAIS's Data and Analysis for School Leadership. And as the latest US Census data continue to indicate, the US population is becoming more diverse. Given this, it's even more important that students feel accepted in their schools based on their race and ethnicity and also that their intersectional identities-gender, class, age, ability, sexual orientation, and religion-are fully acknowledged and embraced. The classroom should serve as a safe space for children and adolescents to express themselves, their heritage, and their stories without experiencing negative social, academic, or institutional stigmas.

Through our work-Jacobs' work over the past nine years and Jacobs' and Weber's collaborative work over the past two years at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education-along with the work of other academics in the diversity and education field, we've started to address the issue of inclusion through research, with a specific focus on the experiences of black girls in independent schools. Because of the intersectional nature of black girls' identities, we believe that a particular focus on their academic, social, and emotional experiences within the context of independent schools is an important contribution to the ongoing conversation about how independent schools can become more inclusive and equitable spaces.
Uncovering Experiences
In 2016, Jacobs wrote "Developing the 'Oppositional Gaze': Using Critical Media Pedagogy and Black Feminist Thought to Promote Black Girls' Identity Development," an article in The Journal of Negro Education, which explored how teachers often silence black girls in the classroom and how black girls choose to resist the expectation that they fulfill particular racialized gender norms of being quiet and unquestioningly follow the rules. Research conducted in 2015 at the African American Policy Forum (AAPF) and the Center for Intersectionality and Social Policy Studies, which Jacobs cites in her article, shows that when black girls disrupt this norm by speaking out or asserting their needs in class, disciplinary consequences often follow. In response to the AAPF report, researchers have started to develop theoretical frameworks for how to create classroom environments in which black girls can thrive.

Ruth Nicole Brown, a researcher at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, developed a framework highlighting the creative potential of black girlhood. A Framework for Black Girlhood centers on the notion that black girlhood should be celebrated through the memories and experiences of being young, black, and female and presents a place for sowing the seeds of activism. Brown suggests that black girls' personal stories should be heard, that their lived experiences should be valued, and that schools can and should create spaces for this storytelling.

How can independent schools create safe spaces in which all students of color can authentically share the representations of who they are in a way that can be celebrated? As a way to explore this question, Jacobs began examining the experiences of middle school black girls in independent schools as part of a pilot study in 2012. The girls shared how important it was to them to have an affinity space-with a trusted adult-where they could share their successes as well as their challenges in school. Another finding: They viewed this space as one for action, where they could strategically discuss how to make their needs known to the broader school community.

Building on these two findings, Jacobs conducted a broader study in 2015-2016. She created black girl affinity group spaces where she listened to the stories of black girls in grades nine to 12 who were students at two different independent schools in the mid-Atlantic region. On a weekly basis during lunch or an activity period, Jacobs met with 25 black girls: About one-third of the girls were "lifers," having attended their school since pre-K or kindergarten; one-third of the girls entered in middle school; and one-third entered in ninth grade. She also interviewed the girls one on one about their particular journey through their schools. Though the girls had been members of their school communities for different lengths of time, their experiences were strikingly similar. Surprisingly, the differences in the girls' experiences between being a black girl who attended a coed school versus an all-girls school were minimal. At the core of the research was the question, "what is it like to be a black girl in your school?"
What It's Like
From the weekly discussion group meetings and the one-on-one interviews with the girls, three key points emerged that provided a snapshot of black girls' experiences in their independent schools as well as the methods through which schools can support them.

Examining identity. For black girls in independent schools, the pressure to fit in to an elite predominantly white space also requires a particular navigation of one's identity and the consistent reinforcement of self-definition in the face of being defined by others' norms and expectations. Identity mapping can lead to opportunities for peers to see ways they are similar and different and to feel a sense of community. Some girls shared physical characteristics, interests, and personality traits. Others focused on who they were in relation to others-daughters, sisters, friends, and teammates.

Jacobs then brought in different forms of media for the girls to reflect on and analyze, such as the mini-documentaryA Girl Like Me, in which a 16-year-old girl of color conducts interviews with other teenage girls of color about their personal experiences with standards of beauty, friendships, and relationships through the lenses of race and gender. In response to the video, the girls discussed how they appreciated learning about others with experiences similar to their own and the importance of a girl their own age who was creating media to tell her story.

Awareness and storytelling. In the hectic schedule of school life, the opportunity for students to pause and reflect on their experiences within their school, particularly across grade levels, is limited. One girl suggested the weekly meetings were a place for mental and emotional release and affirmation. The level of comfort and support in the group contributed to the girls' growing sense of agency, and they began to bring in their own forms of media-videos about dating, spoken word poetry, and news clips about current events. They became each other's teachers, educating one another on how they navigated their school spaces as well as the broader society as black girls.

The girls shared experiences in which they felt they'd been viewed by white students and teachers as only being capable in athletics and not in academics, when they noticed that they were treated differently than their white peers in cases of discipline, and the fact that often learning about black people in the curriculum was limited to discussions of American slavery or the civil rights movement.

The need for safe spaces for critique and action. One group of girls led a professional development session for a group of teachers at their school titled "A Day in the Life." It included examples of daily microaggressions the girls had experienced and a list of concrete actions for how the teachers could be allies to black female students.

The girls saw the group as a place where they could lay their experiences on the table as data on where the work needed to be done to create change in their community and influence the school environment so that "the struggles that I go through now ... future black girls don't have to endure the same."
What's Next
As a follow-up to this study, Jacobs is currently conducting a study exploring the experiences of girls of color in all-girls schools. By conducting focus groups with adolescent girls of color, parents/caregivers, teachers, and administrators in four all-girls schools in the Midwest and mid-Atlantic regions of the US, Jacobs plans to further the conversation of how independent schools can continue to support the academic, social, and emotional needs of girls of color.

Independent Ideas Blog

Beyond Wellness: Building Resilience in Your Independent School Students

How one school started a program to support students' development and help them deal with challenges
Read the Post

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Research Insights: Black Girls' Experiences in Independent Schools

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At a time when politics and race continue to divide the country, conversations around diversity, equity, and inclusion have taken on even greater importance at home and in our schools. Independent schools in particular have been wrestling with how to have such conversations as they relate to the makeup of their school communities and to the sense of belonging that students of color feel.

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Podcast with Wesley Morris and Jenna Wortham

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We want to do More than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom

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We want to do More than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom

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by Bettina L. Love

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'Hey Guys', It's Time to Take Gendered Language Out of Your Vocabulary

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'Hey Guys', It's Time to Take Gendered Language Out of Your Vocabulary

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DiversityInc
Written by Olivia Riggio on November 23, 2020

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Greeting colleagues on a Zoom call with "Hey, guys!" or using terms like "chairman" or "congressman" to refer to occupations may seem innocuous, but experts say these types of gendered language - though usually spoken without intention to exclude or offend - still have the power to send messages that limit women and non-binary people.

With more people identifying outside of the male-female gender binary, and an increasing number of women earning higher education degrees and poised to enter the job market in the coming years, advocates believe terms that center around "maleness" are relics of the past worth phasing out. Even when accidental, these terms send detrimental subliminal messages about who belongs and who does not.

In business settings especially, this type of gendered language remains one of the key components of the male-centric culture that women and non-binary individuals are often forced to put up with. Lisa Kaplowitz, director of the Rutgers Business School Center for Women in Business ranks this type of exclusionary language as one of the main problems women working in male-dominated fields face, playing into the culture that perpetuates potentially life-altering issues such as the gender pay gap, assumptions about motherhood making women less focused on their careers and the systemic and long fight against denying leadership roles to women.

All of these problems have only exacerbated over the past year due to the pandemic, which has resulted in a record-breaking exodus of women from their careers according to McKinsey research. " One in four women are thinking about leaving the workforce," Kaplowitz said. "I think it's the impact of COVID and the division of unpaid labor at home, coupled with the presumption from senior leaders that they don't want meatier assignments or more high-profile work because they have to take care of the responsibilities at home." In times like these, changing language won't singlehandedly destroy misogyny, but according to Kaplowitz, it's one small action professionals can take to help normalize women's roles in a diverse array of occupations.

"If you say the word of that policeman, I don't hear myself in that word," she said. "Chairman? I don't hear myself. Now, if we say chairwoman, chairperson - I think all of that helps. It's not one thing that will make the greatest impact, it's a combination of all of these factors compounding themselves."

As the primary way we communicate with others, the language we use can definitely make a difference, said Chris Bright (who uses pronouns interchangeably but preferred they/them for this article), director of public training at The Trevor Project, a nonprofit organization aimed at preventing suicide in LGBTQ youth. In an email interview, Bright said that gendered language not only excludes cisgender women from important aspects of day-to-day life, but also has the added component of causing distress to transgender and nonbinary people who may feel invalidated when they are misgendered.

"Throughout history, women have been excluded from language under the pretense that men should hold the power in society," Bright said. "This of course has continued even today with terms like 'you guys.' While that history is generally problematic, it takes on a whole different meaning for transgender and nonbinary folks. The use of gender-exclusive language not only reinforces harmful stereotypes, but it also runs the risk of misgendering or invalidating a person's gender identity."

Transgender and nonbinary people face numerous barriers in the workplace, including discrimination for their sexual identity, lack of discrimination protection through state laws and not being given access to uniforms, restrooms or other facilities that match their true identities. This type of painful discrimination is known as gender dysphoria (the feeling of discomfort or distress a person might feel when their identity doesn't match the gender they were assigned at birth) and can cause extreme mental health challenges, especially when paired with the rampant discrimination and violence against transgender individuals that exists in America today. Even pre-COVID-19, the challenges to transgender and nonbinary youth were so severe that a heartbreaking 54% of individuals had seriously considered suicide.

"[Gender dysphoria] can be further intensified when folks around you continually use gendered language to describe professions, people groups or hobbies." Bright said. "We can support our friends who experience dysphoria by changing the way we talk about gender, by removing assigned gender stereotypes from our language and by making it clear that we will always use terms that are inclusive and reflective of each individual's gender identity."

Although conversations about language are often dismissed as semantics, Bright noted that semantics do have power. "Of course, language is semantics, but why on Earth would we not be concerned with semantics?" they said. "The meaning of language is important. The fact that language changes over time is an important and powerful testament to the advancement of society. It's time for us to move beyond the narrow-minded and often patriarchal language of the past."

Kaplowitz agrees that changing habits based around language is a challenge but being conscious of it is the first step. Based on advice she'd heard from DiversityInc CEO Carolynn Johnson, Kaplowitz said she recommends giving everyone a bit of good grace for starters. If you start out at a place where you presume that intentions are good, then there are interventions you can use to help promote and instigate change. "Have a separate conversation with the person either right then or immediately afterward, privately, to talk about how their words can be interpreted," she said. "Then provide some suggested corrections on how to change them."

Greetings like, "Hey, everyone," "Hi, all," and "Good morning, folks" are easy, gender-neutral addresses that don't take much effort to adopt. Using terms like "chairperson" "congress member" and "business person" begin to remove assumptions about what kinds of people can fill certain roles. Being aware of the words you use and asking others to hold you accountable as well can help override old habits.

"Using gender-neutral language is a simple and effective way to foster inclusion, especially for transgender and nonbinary young people," Bright said. "It sends the message that all people are welcome."

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'Hey, guys,' It's Time to Take Gendered Language Out of Your Vocabulary - DiversityInc

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Greeting colleagues on a Zoom call with "Hey, guys!" or using terms like "chairman" or "congressman" to refer to occupations may seem innocuous, but experts say these types of gendered language - though usually spoken without intention to exclude or offend - still have the power to send messages that limit women and non-binary people.

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Kerry Washington | American Son | Official Trailer | Netflix

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by Tiffany Jewell

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MELISSA MAJCHRZAK/NBAE/GETTY IMAGES

When the police break your teammate's leg, you'd think it would wake you up a little.

When they arrest him on a New York street, throw him in jail for the night, and leave him with a season-ending injury, you'd think it would sink in. You'd think you'd know there was more to the story.

You'd think.

But nope.

I still remember my reaction when I first heard what happened to Thabo. It was 2015, late in the season. Thabo and I were teammates on the Hawks, and we'd flown into New York late after a game in Atlanta. When I woke up the next morning, our team group text was going nuts. Details were still hazy, but guys were saying, Thabo hurt his leg? During an arrest ? Wait - he spent the night in jail?! Everyone was pretty upset and confused.

Well, almost everyone. My response was..... different. I'm embarrassed to admit it.

Which is why I want to share it today.

Before I tell the rest of this story, let me just say real quick - Thabo wasn't some random teammate of mine, or some guy in the league who I knew a little bit. We'd become legitimate friends that year in our downtime. He was my go-to teammate to talk with about stuff beyond the basketball world. Politics, religion, culture, you name it - Thabo brought a perspective that wasn't typical of an NBA player. And it's easy to see why: Before we were teammates in Atlanta, the guy had played professional ball in France, Turkey and Italy. He spoke three languages! Thabo's mother was from Switzerland, and his father was from South Africa. They lived together in South Africa before Thabo was born, then left because of apartheid.

It didn't take long for me to figure out that Thabo was one of the most interesting people I'd ever been around. We respected each other. We were cool, you know? We had each other's backs.

Anyway - on the morning I found out that Thabo had been arrested, want to know what my first thought was? About my friend and teammate? My first thought was: What was Thabo doing out at a club on a back-to-back??

Yeah. Not, How's he doing? Not, What happened during the arrest?? Not, Something seems off with this story. Nothing like that. Before I knew the full story, and before I'd even had the chance to talk to Thabo..... I sort of blamed Thabo.

I thought, Well, if I'd been in Thabo's shoes, out at a club late at night, the police wouldn't have arrested me. Not unless I was doing something wrong.

Cringe.

It's not like it was a conscious thought. It was pure reflex - the first thing to pop into my head.

And I was worried about him, no doubt.

But still. Cringe.

A few months later, a jury found Thabo not guilty on all charges. He settled with the city over the NYPD's use of force against him. And then the story just sort of..... disappeared. It fell away from the news. Thabo had surgery and went through rehab. Pretty soon, another NBA season began - and we were back on the court again.

Life went on.

But I still couldn't shake my discomfort.

I mean, I hadn't been involved in the incident. I hadn't even been there. So why did I feel like I'd let my friend down?

Why did I feel like I'd let myself down?

A few weeks ago, something happened at a Jazz home game that brought back many of those old questions.

Maybe you saw it: We were playing against the Thunder, and Russell Westbrook and a fan in the crowd exchanged words during the game. I didn't actually see or hear what happened, and if you were following on TV or on Twitter, maybe you had a similar initial viewing of it. Then, after the game, one of our reporters asked me for my response to what had gone down between Russ and the fan. I told him I hadn't seen it - and added something like, But you know Russ. He gets into it with the crowd a lot.

Of course, the full story came out later that night. What actually happened was that a fan had said some really ugly things at close range to Russ. Russ had then responded. After the game, he'd said he felt the comments were racially charged.

The incident struck a nerve with our team.

In a closed-door meeting with the president of the Jazz the next day, my teammates shared stories of similar experiences they'd had - of feeling degraded in ways that went beyond acceptable heckling. One teammate talked about how his mom had called him right after the game, concerned for his safety in SLC. One teammate said the night felt like being "in a zoo." One of the guys in the meeting was Thabo - he's my teammate in Utah now. I looked over at him, and remembered his night in NYC.

Everyone was upset. I was upset - and embarrassed, too. But there was another emotion in the room that day, one that was harder to put a finger on. It was almost like..... disappointment, mixed with exhaustion. Guys were just sick and tired of it all.

This wasn't the first time they'd taken part in conversations about race in their NBA careers, and it wasn't the first time they'd had to address the hateful actions of others. And one big thing that got brought up a lot in the meeting was how incidents like this - they weren't only about the people directly involved. This wasn't only about Russ and some heckler. It was about more than that.

It was about what it means just to exist right now - as a person of color in a mostly white space.

It was about racism in America.

Before the meeting ended, I joined the team's demand for a swift response and a promise from the Jazz organization that it would address the concerns we had. I think my teammates and I all felt it was a step in the right direction.

But I don't think anyone felt satisfied.

There's an elephant in the room that I've been thinking about a lot over these last few weeks. It's the fact that, demographically, if we're being honest: I have more in common with the fans in the crowd at your average NBA game than I have with the players on the court.

And after the events in Salt Lake City last month, and as we've been discussing them since, I've really started to recognize the role those demographics play in my privilege. It's like - I may be Thabo's friend, or Ekpe's teammate, or Russ's colleague; I may work with those guys. And I absolutely 100% stand with them.

But I look like the other guy.

And whether I like it or not? I'm beginning to understand how that means something.

What I'm realizing is, no matter how passionately I commit to being an ally, and no matter how unwavering my support is for NBA and WNBA players of color..... I'm still in this conversation from the privileged perspective of opting in to it. Which of course means that on the flip side, I could just as easily opt out of it. Every day, I'm given that choice - I'm granted that privilege - based on the color of my skin.

In other words, I can say every right thing in the world: I can voice my solidarity with Russ after what happened in Utah. I can evolve my position on what happened to Thabo in New York. I can be that weird dude in Get Out bragging about how he'd have voted for Obama a third term. I can condemn every racist heckler I've ever known.

But I can also fade into the crowd, and my face can blend in with the faces of those hecklers, any time I want.

I realize that now. And maybe in years past, just realizing something would've felt like progress. But it's NOT years past - it's today. And I know I have to do better. So I'm trying to push myself further.

I'm trying to ask myself what I should actually do.

How can I - as a white man, part of this systemic problem - become part of the solution when it comes to racism in my workplace? In my community? In this country?

These are the questions that I've been asking myself lately.

And I don't think I have all the answers yet - but here are the ones that are starting to ring the most true:

I have to continue to educate myself on the history of racism in America.

I have to listen. I'll say it again, because it's that important. I have to listen.

I have to support leaders who see racial justice as fundamental - as something that's at the heart of nearly every major issue in our country today. And I have to support policies that do the same.

I have to do my best to recognize when to get out of the way - in order to amplify the voices of marginalized groups that so often get lost.

But maybe more than anything?

I know that, as a white man, I have to hold my fellow white men accountable.

We all have to hold each other accountable.

And we all have to be accountable - period. Not just for our own actions, but also for the ways that our inaction can create a "safe" space for toxic behavior.

And I think the standard that we have to hold ourselves to, in this crucial moment..... it's higher than it's ever been. We have to be active. We have to be actively supporting the causes of those who've been marginalized - precisely because they've been marginalized.

Two concepts that I've been thinking about a lot lately are guilt and responsibility.

When it comes to racism in America, I think that guilt and responsibility tend to be seen as more or less the same thing. But I'm beginning to understand how there's a real difference.

As white people, are we guilty of the sins of our forefathers? No, I don't think so.

But are we responsible for them? Yes, I believe we are.

And I guess I've come to realize that when we talk about solutions to systemic racism - police reform, workplace diversity, affirmative action, better access to healthcare, even reparations? It's not about guilt. It's not about pointing fingers, or passing blame.

It's about responsibility. It's about understanding that when we've said the word "equality," for generations, what we've really meant is equality for a certain group of people. It's about understanding that when we've said the word "inequality," for generations, what we've really meant is slavery, and its aftermath - which is still being felt to this day. It's about understanding on a fundamental level that black people and white people, they still have it different in America. And that those differences come from an ugly history..... not some random divide.

And it's about understanding that Black Lives Matter, and movements like it, matter, because - well, let's face it: I probably would've been safe on the street that one night in New York. And Thabo wasn't. And I was safe on the court that one night in Utah. And Russell wasn't.

But as disgraceful as it is that we have to deal with racist hecklers in NBA arenas in 2019? The truth is, you could argue that that kind of racism is "easier" to deal with.

Because at least in those cases, the racism is loud and clear. There's no ambiguity - not in the act itself, and thankfully not in the response: we throw the guy out of the building, and then we ban him for life.

But in many ways the more dangerous form of racism isn't that loud and stupid kind. It isn't the kind that announces itself when it walks into the arena. It's the quiet and subtle kind. The kind that almost hides itself in plain view. It's the person who does and says all the "right" things in public: They're perfectly friendly when they meet a person of color. They're very polite. But in private? Well..... they sort of wish that everyone would stop making everything "about race" all the time.

It's the kind of racism that can seem almost invisible - which is one of the main reasons why it's allowed to persist.

And so, again, banning a guy like Russ's heckler? To me, that's the "easy" part. But if we're really going to make a difference as a league, as a community, and as a country on this issue..... it's like I said - I just think we need to push ourselves another step further.

First, by identifying that less visible, less obvious behavior as what it is: racism.

And then second, by denouncing that racism - actively, and at every level.

That's the bare minimum of where we have to get to, I think, if we're going to consider the NBA - or any workplace - as anything close to part of the solution in 2019.

I'll wrap this up in a minute - but first I have one last thought.

The NBA is over 75% players of color.

Seventy-five percent.

People of color, they built this league. They've grown this league. People of color have made this league into what it is today. And I guess I just wanted to say that if you can't find it in your heart to support them - now? And I mean actively support them?

If the best that you can do for their cause is to passively "tolerate" it? If that's the standard we're going to hold ourselves to - to blend in, and opt out?

Well, that's not good enough. It's not even close.

I know I'm in a strange position, as one of the more recognized white players in the NBA. It's a position that comes with a lot of..... interesting undertones. And it's a position that makes me a symbol for a lot of things, for a lot of people - often people who don't know anything about me. Usually, I just ignore them. But this doesn't feel like a "usually" moment.

This feels like a moment to draw a line in the sand.

I believe that what's happening to people of color in this country - right now, in 2019 - is wrong.

The fact that black Americans are more than five times as likely to be incarcerated as white Americans is wrong. The fact that black Americans are more than twice as likely to live in poverty as white Americans is wrong. The fact that black unemployment rates nationally are double that of overall unemployment rates is wrong. The fact that black imprisonment rates for drug charges are almost six times higher nationally than white imprisonment rates for drug charges is wrong. The fact that black Americans own approximately one-tenth of the wealth that white Americans own is wrong.

The fact that inequality is built so deeply into so many of our most trusted institutions is wrong.

And I believe it's the responsibility of anyone on the privileged end of those inequalities to help make things right.

So if you don't want to know anything about me, outside of basketball, then listen - I get it. But if you do want to know something? Know I believe that.

Know that about me.

If you're wearing my jersey at a game? Know that about me. If you're planning to buy my jersey for someone else...... know that about me. If you're following me on social media..... know that about me. If you're coming to Jazz games and rooting for me..... know that about me.

And if you're claiming my name, or likeness, for your own cause, in any way..... know that about me. Know that I believe this matters.

Thanks for reading.

Time for me to shut up and listen.

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MELISSA MAJCHRZAK/NBAE/GETTY IMAGES When the police break your teammate's leg, you'd think it would wake you up a little. When they arrest him on a New York street, throw him in jail for the night, and leave him with a season-ending injury, you'd think it would sink in.

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The United States of Anxiety: Episodes | WNYC Studios | Podcasts

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A show about the unfinished business of our history and its grip on our future. Live Sundays at 6PM on 93.9 FM and AM 820.

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The African Americans: Many Rivers to Cross

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The African Americans: Many Rivers to Cross

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The African Americans: Many Rivers to Cross
Preview: Season 1 | 2m 29s

Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates, Jr. recounts the full trajectory of African-American history in his groundbreaking six-part series premiering October 22, 2013. Written and presented by Professor Gates, the series explores the evolution of the African-American people, as well as the multiplicity of cultural institutions, politic strategies, and religious and social perspectives they developed.

Aired: 10/21/13

Rating: NR

Problems Playing Video? Report a Problem |

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The African Americans: Many Rivers to Cross | The African Americans: Many Rivers to Cross - Trailer

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The African Americans: Many Rivers to Cross Preview: Season 1 | 2m 29s Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates, Jr. recounts the full trajectory of African-American history in his groundbreaking six-part series premiering October 22, 2013.

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Pushout: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools

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Pushout: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools

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by Monique W. Morris

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When the topic of racism comes up, I often think of a billboard in the small town of Harrison, Arkansas.

It was a sign promoting a white supremacist radio station called White Pride Radio. The sign's message, emblazoned next to the picture of a cute-looking white girl with a cute-looking dog, read "It's not racist to [heart] your people."

My takeaway: Even white supremacists don't want to be called racist.

Which might explain why, for people dedicated to fighting racism, simply saying you're "not racist" doesn't feel like quite enough. To effectively defeat systemic racism - racism embedded as normal practice in institutions like education and law enforcement - you've got to be continually working towards equality for all races, striving to undo racism in your mind, your personal environment and the wider world.

In other words, you've got to be anti-racist.

You may know me as NPR's TV critic. But I've also spent years exploring how systemic racism affects media and society. I've written a book about it, called Race-Baiter, and built a TEDx talk around how to talk about race across racial lines. As a Black man who speaks often on these subjects, I find race, racism and anti-racism to be things people think they know but often don't - at least, not as well as they think they do.

As the world continues to sort through a racial and civil rights reckoning kicked off by police killings of Black people like George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, now more than ever, people want to know how to be anti-racist.

After talking to a few experts, I and the good folks at Life Kit have come up with a few suggestions.

Tip #1: Accept that we've all been raised in a society that elevates white culture over others. Being anti-racist will mean first challenging those notions inside yourself.

This was one of the most important takeaways from my conversation with Anneliese A. Singh, who just joined Tulane University as its first Associate Provost for Diversity and Faculty Development. She's also written a workbook on these issues called The Racial Healing Handbook.

"Everyone who lives in the United States kind of learns some form of anti-Black racism," Singh says. "I think we have to ask ourselves that question...How does anti-Black racism live within us?"

Singh calls white supremacy "white body supremacy," a term used by therapist Resmaa Menakem, as a way to emphasize how racism has a visceral, physical impact; elevating white bodies, and bringing trauma to non-white ones.

She suggests some people may even go through a process similar to the stages of grief - especially those who have privilege because of their white or light skin - when they uncover their unconscious bias and realize how extensively systemic racism affects their perspectives.

"I'm going to be in denial if I'm white or have light skin about how white supremacy works," she says. "[We'll move] through that denial into some anger...And then when we go into acceptance, I think then we can really leverage our lives to make a difference."

Tip #2: Learn the history of racism and anti-racism, especially in America, to educate yourself about the complexities of the issues you'll be confronting.

A glance at the 2020 bestseller lists reveals lots of great books on anti-racism, from Ibram X. Kendi's How to Be an Antiracistto Layla Saad's Me and White Supremacy and Robin DiAngelo's White Fragility.

Most of them note that, for white folks, anti-racism involves learning to accept that white people have a racial culture, too. I've said white supremacy's greatest advantage is that white racial culture in America is often treated like it's invisible; not directly talked about among white people, some of whom joke that they have no culture.

Singh says people of color can benefit from similar study and introspection, with a particular focus on identifying and challenging any ideas that may breed colorism or contempt for other non-white groups. She calls this dynamic of elevating whiteness among non-white people, "internalized whiteness."

One important note for white people: When people of color share their experiences with white supremacy, believe them.

"I can't tell you how many people I've seen who claim to be anti-racist and care about building anti-racist organizations," Singh says. "But when people of color speak, they're like, 'Oh, well, they're doing it wrong.' Or 'That's one (person's experience).' You have an opportunity in that moment to believe what that person is saying."

Tip #3: Seek out films and TV shows which will challenge your notions of race and culture and dive in deeply, learning to see anti-racism in new ways.

I'm probably biased, but I've always felt TV shows and films teach us how to dream about what is possible in society and what ought to be. (For example: I insist Morgan Freeman's performance as a Black American president in Deep Impact and Dennis Haysbert's turn as President David Palmer on 24 made it easier for some voters to imagine a Black POTUS when Barack Obama came around.)

So I wasn't that surprised when Justin Simien, creator of the Netflix drama Dear White People, told me viewership for his series jumped 600 percent after George Floyd's death sparked an international dialogue on anti-racism.

Dear White People centers on a group of non-white students at a mostly white, Ivy League college as they negotiate issues of identity, classism, anti-racism vs racism, homophobia and more. One poignant storyline features a young Black student, Reggie Green, who is nearly shot by a campus security guard at a party. Reggie then finds himself haunted by flashbacks of the traumatic event as well-meaning acquaintances attempt to check in on him.

Simien says the scenes with Reggie show, without lecturing the audience, how attempts to ask a Black person about racial trauma can sometimes backfire.

"The whole goal of it is for you to care so deeply about these [characters] that you don't realize you're being taught anything," he adds. "When you see that he had a gun pulled on him and he had this near-death experience, and now for the rest of the school year, everyone's coming up to him asking him, "Are you OK? Is there anything I can do?" You understand how that's not enough."

Simien suggests viewers pass up "feel good" TV shows and films showing indisputably virtuous Black people overcoming racism, often in the Jim Crow South, with help from well-meaning white people (in other words, skip screenings of The Help or .)

Well-made TV shows and films about anti-racism should be messier and much more provocative.

"You should feel challenged in some way by the piece because it's so subversive," Simien says. "[Racism is] ubiquitous and it's systemic and we can't see it...Racism lives in our collective blindspots. That's why it's so pernicious. So, there has to be a moment in the piece where you go, 'Oh! I didn't think about it like that.'"

The goal: to expose yourself to art that cuts through prejudices and stereotypes, allowing you to finally, fully see people of color.

"I had a friend put it this way," Simien says. "'We're inviting people to see us for the first time and it should break your heart that you haven't seen us yet'...That I have to interact with you through a character version of myself because I think you can't handle my daily truth. [That] should break your heart."

Tip #4: Find local organizations involved in anti-racism efforts - preferably led by people of color - and help uplift their voices and ideas.

This tip comes courtesy of Arisha Hatch, the Vice President and Chief of Campaigns at Color of Change - a civil rights organization founded in 2005 following Hurricane Katrina.

She says learning to uplift non-white voices - even those who may disagree with you - is important for white people seeking to be anti-racist.

"Part of being an ally and part of letting go of privilege is, I think, putting yourselves in situations where you may be uncomfortable," Hatch adds. "You may have a different idea, but...you're actively working to support organizers and activists who have been thinking about these systemic problems for generations."

Also, Hatch says to be an effective anti-racist, you must assess your own power - where are the spheres where you can have the most influence?

Beyond the obvious strategy of confronting family and friends who may be racist, consider this: When you sit down at a PTA meeting at your child's school, which parents do you speak with and get to know?

At work, are you considering how procedures or strategies may advantage whiteness, and are you helping to challenge them?

Are you spending money with businesses that are owned by non-white people?

If you or a relative has a rental property, are you seriously considering applications from non-white people?

These are ways you can make a difference in your own environment, where you have power. Remember, anti-racism is about pushing past knowing better and instead actively doing better.

One thing is clear: Pulling all of this off takes a lot of energy and can feel overwhelming. And it doesn't help that one way people perpetuate systemic racism in America is by encouraging others to accept the status quo and reject many anti-racist ideas as too extreme.

But there is no better feeling than really making progress on working to build a better world. And these tips offer great ideas for starting on a long and rewarding road.

Above all, Color of Change's Hatch suggests keeping one, optimistic thing in mind.

"This is what winning looks like and feels like," she says of the current drive toward racial equity in law enforcement, politics, corporate America and elsewhere. "The moral arc of history is on our side and we are getting closer and closer every day to a culture that actually embraces the beauty and creativity of Black people in our lives."
This podcast portion of this story was produced by Audrey Nguyen. We'd love to hear from you. Leave us a voicemail at 202-216-9823 with a greeting, your name, your phone number and a random life tip. It might appear in an upcoming episode. Or send us an email at LifeKit@npr.org.

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'Not Racist' Is Not Enough: Putting In The Work To Be Anti-Racist : Life Kit

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Even white supremacists don't like to be called racist. That's why, NPR's Eric Deggans says, "not racist" doesn't feel like quite enough. In this episode, he walks us through steps to being anti-racist - in other words, ways you can continually strive to undo racism in your world and within yourself.

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The Latinx podcast where hosts discuss politics, pop culture, and how to balance it all con calma!

Through Tamarindo, hosts Ana Sheila Victorino and Brenda Gonzalez use levity to inform, inspire, and impact our community. Join Brenda and Ana Sheila as they delve into discussions on identity, race, gender, representation, and life!

Tamarindo is part of Luz Collective, a digital home for Latinas by Latinas. Find us at http://luzcollective.com

The Latinx podcast where hosts discuss politics, pop culture, and how to balance it all con calma!

Through Tamarindo, hosts Ana Sheila Victorino and Brenda Gonzalez use levity to inform, inspire, and impact our community. Join Brenda and Ana Sheila as they delve into discussions on identity, race, gender, representation, and life!

Tamarindo is part of Luz Collective, a digital home for Latinas by Latinas. Find us at http://luzcollective.com

Just what I was looking for

I'm a Latinx millennial that had been looking for a podcast that covered topics such as politics, health and cultura. Brenda and Ana Sheila cover these topics with so much knowledge while adding some comedy into the mix. Tamarindo has everything I was looking for and more!

Listen to this podcast!

So illuminating. Love the ladies take on all the issues. So important to educate ourselves and hear from the Latinx and Black voices. If you live in LA (or anywhere) it's a must!

A must listen

Give Ana Sheila and Brenda a listen. As a Latina, it was a breath of fresh air to hear their perspectives. I feel connected to my culture when I listen. I laugh, I reflect, and I experience joy. You should definitely subscribe.

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‎The Latinx podcast where hosts discuss politics, pop culture, and how to balance it all con calma! Through Tamarindo, hosts Ana Sheila Victorino and Brenda Gonzalez use levity to inform, inspire, and impact our community. Join Brenda and Ana Sheila as they delve into discussions on identity, race,...

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Mudbound | Official Teaser [HD] | Netflix

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Walking with the Wind: A Memoir of the Movement

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Walking with the Wind: A Memoir of the Movement

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by John Lewis

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Everything around us has been designed -- even systems of inequality. Equity designer and TED Fellow Antionette Carroll explains how social justice is a design decision and argues that we all have the expertise, power and responsibility to intentionally create a more just society.

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See You Yesterday | Official Trailer [HD] | Netflix

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by Ijeoma Oluo

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Yesterday I was tagged in a post by an old high school friend asking me and a few others a very public, direct question about white privilege and racism. I feel compelled not only to publish his query, but also my response to it, as it may be a helpful discourse for more than just a few folks on Facebook.

Here's his post:

To all of my Black or mixed race FB friends, I must profess a blissful ignorance of this "White Privilege" of which I'm apparently guilty of possessing. By not being able to fully put myself in the shoes of someone from a background/race/religion/gender/nationality/body type that differs from my own makes me part of the problem, according to what I'm now hearing. Despite my treating everyone with respect and humor my entire life (as far as I know), I'm somehow complicit in the misfortune of others. I'm not saying I'm colorblind, but whatever racism/sexism/other -ism my life experience has instilled in me stays within me, and is not manifested in the way I treat others (which is not the case with far too many, I know).

So that I may be enlightened, can you please share with me some examples of institutional racism that have made an indelible mark upon you? If I am to understand this, I need people I know personally to show me how I'm missing what's going on. Personal examples only. I'm not trying to be insensitive, I only want to understand (but not from the media). I apologize if this comes off as crass or offends anyone.

Here's my response:

Hi, Jason. First off, I hope you don't mind that I've quoted your post and made it part of mine. I think the heart of what you've asked of your friends of color is extremely important and I think my response needs much more space than as a reply on your feed. I truly thank you for wanting to understand what you are having a hard time understanding. Coincidentally, over the last few days I have been thinking about sharing some of the incidents of prejudice/racism I've experienced in my lifetime-in fact I just spoke with my sister Lesa about how to best do this yesterday-because I realized many of my friends-especially the white ones-have no idea what I've experienced/dealt with unless they were present (and aware) when it happened. There are two reasons for this: 1) because not only as a human being do I suppress the painful and uncomfortable in an effort to make it go away, I was also taught within my community (I was raised in the '70s and '80s-it's shifted somewhat now) and by society at large NOT to make a fuss, speak out, or rock the boat. To just "deal with it," lest more trouble follow (which, sadly, it often does); 2) fear of being questioned or dismissed with "Are you sure that's what you heard?" or "Are you sure that's what they meant?" and being angered and upset all over again by well-meaning-but-hurtful and essentially unsupportive responses.

White privilege in this situation is being able to move into a "nice" neighborhood and be accepted not harassed.

So, again, I'm glad you asked, because I really want to answer. But as I do, please know a few things first: 1) This is not even close to the whole list. I'm cherry-picking because none of us have all day; 2) I've been really lucky. Most of what I share below is mild compared to what others in my family and community have endured; 3) I'm going to go in chronological order so you might begin to glimpse the tonnage and why what many white folks might feel is a "where did all of this come from?" moment in society has been festering individually and collectively for the LIFETIME of pretty much every black or brown person living in America today, regardless of wealth or opportunity; 4) Some of what I share covers sexism, too-intersectionality is another term I'm sure you've heard and want to put quotes around, but it's a real thing too, just like white privilege. But you've requested a focus on personal experiences with racism, so here it goes:

1. When I was 3, my family moved into an upper-middle-class, all-white neighborhood. We had a big backyard, so my parents built a pool. Not the only pool on the block, but the only one neighborhood boys started throwing rocks into. White boys. One day my mom ID'd one as the boy from across the street, went to his house, told his mother, and, fortunately, his mother believed mine. My mom not only got an apology, but also had that boy jump in our pool and retrieve every single rock. No more rocks after that. Then mom even invited him to come over to swim sometime if he asked permission. Everyone became friends. This one has a happy ending because my mom was and is badass about matters like these, but I hope you can see that the white privilege in this situation is being able to move into a "nice" neighborhood and be accepted not harassed, made to feel unwelcome, or prone to acts of vandalism and hostility.

2. When my older sister was 5, a white boy named Mark called her a "nigger" after she beat him in a race at school. She didn't know what it meant, but in her gut she knew it was bad. This was the first time I'd seen my father the kind of angry that has nowhere to go. I somehow understood it was because not only had some boy verbally assaulted his daughter and had gotten away with it, it had way too early introduced her (and me) to that term and the reality of what it meant-that some white people would be cruel and careless with black people's feelings just because of our skin color. Or our achievement. If it's unclear in any way, the point here is if you've never had a defining moment in your childhood or your life where you realize your skin color alone makes other people hate you, you have white privilege.

I remember some white male classmates were pissed that a black classmate had gotten into UCLA while they didn't.

3. Sophomore year of high school. I had Mr. Melrose for Algebra 2. Some time within the first few weeks of class, he points out that I'm "the only spook" in the class. This was meant to be funny. It wasn't. So, I doubt it will surprise you I was relieved when he took medical leave after suffering a heart attack and was replaced by a sub for the rest of the semester. The point here is, if you've never been 'the only one' of your race in a class, at a party, on a job, etc. and/or it's been pointed out in a "playful" fashion by the authority figure in said situation, you have white privilege.

4. When we started getting our college acceptances senior year, I remember some white male classmates were pissed that a black classmate had gotten into UCLA while they didn't. They said that affirmative action had given him "their spot" and it wasn't fair. An actual friend of theirs. Who'd worked his ass off. The point here is, if you've never been on the receiving end of the assumption that when you've achieved something it's only because it was taken away from a white person who "deserved it," you have white privilege.

5. When I got accepted to Harvard (as a fellow AP student, you were witness to what an academic beast I was in high school, yes?), three separate times I encountered white strangers as I prepped for my maiden trip to Cambridge that rankle to this day. The first was the white doctor giving me a physical at Kaiser:

Me: "I need to send an immunization report to my college so I can matriculate."

Doctor: "Where are you going?"

Me: "Harvard."

Doctor: "You mean the one in Massachusetts?"

The second was in a store, looking for supplies I needed from Harvard's suggested "what to bring with you" list.

Store employee: "Where are you going?"

Me: "Harvard."

Store employee: "You mean the one in Massachusetts?"

The third was at UPS, shipping off boxes of said "what to bring" to Harvard. I was in line behind a white boy mailing boxes to Princeton and in front of a white woman sending her child's boxes to wherever.

Woman to the boy: "What college are you going to?" Boy: "Princeton."

Woman: "Congratulations!"

Woman to me: "Where are you sending your boxes?" Me: "Harvard."

Woman: "You mean the one in Massachusetts?"

I think: "No, bitch, the one downtown next to the liquor store." But I say, gesturing to my LABELED boxes: "Yes, the one in Massachusetts."

Then she says congratulations, but it's too fucking late. The point here is, if no one has ever questioned your intellectual capabilities or attendance at an elite institution based solely on your skin color, you have white privilege.

6. In my freshman college tutorial, our small group of 4-5 was assigned to read Thoreau, Emerson, Malcolm X, Joseph Conrad, Dreiser, etc. When it was the week to discuss The Autobiography of Malcolm X, one white boy boldly claimed he couldn't even get through it because he couldn't relate and didn't think he should be forced to read it. I don't remember the words I said, but I still remember the feeling-I think it's what doctors refer to as chandelier pain-as soon as a sensitive area on a patient is touched, they shoot through the roof-that's what I felt. I know I said something like my whole life I've had to read "things that don't have anything to do with me or that I relate to" but I find a way anyway because that's what learning is about-trying to understand other people's perspectives. The point here is-the canon of literature studied in the United States, as well as the majority of television and movies, have focused primarily on the works or achievements of white men. So, if you have never experienced or considered how damaging it is/was/could be to grow up without myriad role models and images in school that reflect you in your required reading material or in the mainstream media, you have white privilege.

7. All seniors at Harvard are invited to a fancy, seated group lunch with our respective dorm masters. (Yes, they were called "masters" up until this February, when they changed it to "faculty deans," but that's just a tasty little side dish to the main course of this remembrance). While we were being served by the Dunster House cafeteria staff-the black ladies from Haiti and Boston who ran the line daily (I still remember Jackie's kindness and warmth to this day)-Master Sally mused out loud how proud they must be to be serving the nation's best and brightest. I don't know if they heard her, but I did, and it made me uncomfortable and sick. The point here is, if you've never been blindsided when you are just trying to enjoy a meal by a well-paid faculty member's patronizing and racist assumptions about how grateful black people must feel to be in their presence, you have white privilege.

He was getting stopped by cops constantly because he was a black man in a luxury car.

8. While I was writing on a television show in my 30s, my new white male boss-who had only known me for a few days-had unbeknownst to me told another writer on staff he thought I was conceited, didn't know as much I thought I did, and didn't have the talent I thought I had. And what exactly had happened in those few days? I disagreed with a pitch where he suggested our lead female character carelessly leave a potholder on the stove, burning down her apartment. This character being a professional caterer. When what he said about me was revealed months later (by then he'd come to respect and rely on me), he apologized for prejudging me because I was a black woman. I told him he was ignorant and clearly had a lot to learn. It was a good talk because he was remorseful and open. But the point here is, if you've never been on the receiving end of a boss's prejudiced, uninformed "how dare she question my ideas" badmouthing based on solely on his ego and your race, you have white privilege.

9. On my very first date with my now husband, I climbed into his car and saw baby wipes on the passenger-side floor. He said he didn't have kids, they were just there to clean up messes in the car. I twisted to secure my seatbelt and saw a stuffed animal in the rear window. I gave him a look. He said, "I promise, I don't have kids. That's only there so I don't get stopped by the police." He then told me that when he drove home from work late at night, he was getting stopped by cops constantly because he was a black man in a luxury car and they assumed that either it was stolen or he was a drug dealer. When he told a cop friend about this, Warren was told to put a stuffed animal in the rear window because it would change "his profile" to that of a family man and he was much less likely to be stopped. The point here is, if you've never had to mask the fruits of your success with a floppy-eared, stuffed bunny rabbit so you won't get harassed by the cops on the way home from your gainful employment (or never had a first date start this way), you have white privilege.

10. Six years ago, I started a Facebook page that has grown into a website called Good Black News because I was shocked to find there were no sites dedicated solely to publishing the positive things black people do. (And let me explain here how biased the coverage of mainstream media is in case you don't already have a clue-as I curate, I can't tell you how often I have to swap out a story's photo to make it as positive as the content. Photos published of black folks in mainstream media are very often sullen- or angry-looking. Even when it's a positive story! I also have to alter headlines constantly to 1) include a person's name and not have it just be "Black Man Wins Settlement" or "Carnegie Hall Gets 1st Black Board Member," or 2) rephrase it from a subtle subjugator like "ABC taps Viola Davis as Series Lead" to "Viola Davis Lands Lead on ABC Show" as is done for, say, Jennifer Aniston or Steven Spielberg. I also receive a fair amount of highly offensive racist trolling. I don't even respond. I block and delete ASAP. The point here is, if you've never had to rewrite stories and headlines or swap photos while being trolled by racists when all you're trying to do on a daily basis is promote positivity and share stories of hope and achievement and justice, you have white privilege.

Trust me, nobody is mad at you for being white. Nobody.

OK, Jason, there's more, but I'm exhausted. And my kids need dinner. Remembering and reliving many of these moments has been a strain and a drain (and, again, this ain't even the half or the worst of it). But I hope my experiences shed some light for you on how institutional and personal racism have affected the entire life of a friend of yours to whom you've only been respectful and kind. I hope what I've shared makes you realize it's not just strangers, but people you know and care for who have suffered and are suffering because we are excluded from the privilege you have not to be judged, questioned, or assaulted in any way because of your race.

As to you "being part of the problem," trust me, nobody is mad at you for being white. Nobody. Just like nobody should be mad at me for being black. Or female. Or whatever. But what IS being asked of you is to acknowledge that white privilege DOES exist and not only to treat people of races that differ from yours "with respect and humor," but also to stand up for fair treatment and justice, not to let "jokes" or "off-color" comments by friends, co-workers, or family slide by without challenge, and to continually make an effort to put yourself in someone else's shoes, so we may all cherish and respect our unique and special contributions to society as much as we do our common ground.

With much love and respect,

Lori

This article was originally published by Good Black News. It has been edited for YES! Magazine.

Read more of on White privilege and racial justice:
10 Examples That Prove White Privilege Exists in Every Aspect Imaginable The Language of Antiracism Leveraging White Privilege for Racial Justice
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My White Friend Asked Me on Facebook to Explain White Privilege. I Decided to Be Honest - YES! Magazine

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He wanted to know how institutional racism has made an impact on my life. I'm glad he asked, because I was ready to answer.

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Episode One: The Book of Statuses (Published 2020)

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From Serial and The New York Times: “Nice White Parents” looks at the 60-year relationship between white parents and the public school down the block.

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Talking with White Children about George Floyd from Independent School Magazine

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Talking with White Children about George Floyd from Independent School Magazine

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Following the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May, many white people have been asking me, "What is the right thing to say to my white children about George Floyd?"

There is no one right thing to say, of course. But, for those who ask, I share my approach to talking with my own white children about race and racism. If we do this thoughtfully and steadily-which is to say daily or weekly-our children won't end up grasping at troubling stereotypes every time a conflict arises. Instead, they will have a much clearer picture of the systemic causes of racism-and understand that George Floyd's murder took place in the context of such systems of division, injustice, and discrimination.

Laying the Foundation
I frequently talk with parents about how to talk to white children about race, often using " What White Children Need to Know about Race," an Independent School magazine article I wrote with Eleonora Bartoli, as a starting point. Many white adults were raised, as I was, to be colorblind; thinking that it's rude to talk about race, that it's impolite to notice racial difference, that there is no reason for white people to talk about racism. Others were raised with overt racism from their parents and, not wanting to replicate their own socialization, have no idea what to say to their children. Both of these experiences of racial socialization render us without instinct for how to talk about race in a way that helps our children learn how to be anti-racist. Often we are just quiet or we wait for them to bring it up. But what we don't realize-until they get older-is that our silence leaves space for others to teach our children what to believe about race.

Racial socialization scholars Wade Boykin and Forrest Toms say that what you do "consistently, persistently, and in an enduring manner" is your manner of socialization. If you avoid conversations about race and racism most of the time and address it only during times of conflict or once a year when you go seeHidden Figures, then silence about race and racism is your mode of racial socialization. Talking about race on a regular basis-in an anti-racist way-even if it is imperfect, is how to racially socialize your children to be racially literate and anti-racist. Racial socialization is about engaging, engaging, and continuing to engage--even when it seems like they're not listening, even when you're not sure what to say.

The children we are raising today are members of a multiracial 21st century society in which racial competency is required. Our children cannot navigate and dismantle racism in themselves, their relationships, and their communities if they cannot talk about race.

How to Start
I don't think it's ever too early to start naming skin color and recognizing critical media analysis in the books we read and the movies we watch. At young ages-from birth-we can bring up skin color and racial identity as a normal part of conversation and of life. Young kids need words to describe the people around them, and skin color can be part of that. My colleague Deidre Ashton compares it to sex ed. Before age 5, we really just give them the correct names for body parts and a few basic rules (i.e. "They are called privates because they are for you-not for anybody else.") As they get older, they are ready to hear more nuance around sex, and it goes more smoothly if they're already comfortable with using the names for body parts and understanding some of the basic rules.

It's also important as kids get older to help them differentiate between racist talk and racial talk, a concept that comes from anthropologists Michael Omi and Howard Winant. Some kids will accuse people ofracist talk, simply for mentioning the colors brown and white, even outside the context of skin. I still remember being a camp counselor at 18 years old and asking kids if they want "brown bread" or "white bread." One white 12 year old camper said, "You're racist! You're making us choose between brown and white!" The bread incident was not racist or racial. We were talking about bread. But kids-especially middle schoolers-know how to raise the temperature of the room by throwing around the "r-word." And it doesn't help them get clear about what kind of talk is racist or how to confront it when they encounter it. Racist talk is talk that perpetuates racism and racial stereotypes. Racial talk is talk that enables us to talk about the ways that race is a part of ourselves, our identities, our communities, and ultimately to talk about racism in a way that helps us to work against it.

I have tried with my 9-year old daughter and with my 7-year-old son to lay the foundation, the vocabulary, and the comfort of talking about race. We've talked often about race, racial categories, and the fact that everyone has a race. We've talked about the fact that we're white. I've shared information from books that I read. I've tried to insert history into what my daughter learns at school so that she won't see the racism of today as disconnected from the founding of our country. I find that the more my daughter is capable of understanding abstract thought, the more likely she is to question what I say. This is good; if kids were to just absorb our "teachings" unquestioningly, we would not be raising critical thinkers. As they age, we need to co-construct the conversation even more alongside them, welcoming their thoughts and sharing our own ideas, knowing that sometimes our ideas will be rejected.

This fall my daughter and I had a fight when two police officers came into her classroom to read books to the fourth graders. I was quiet when she told me this on our walk home from school. She expected a response, and she knew what I was thinking: "Why don't you respond? You think it's a bad thing, don't you! You don't know these police officers. They were kind! What if we needed them to come to our house in an emergency? You can't judge them just because they're police." She had her whole argument planned out before I even opened my mouth.

I agreed with her and affirmed her righteous indignation. But I also added that it's not individual police officers I distrust; it's how much power they have within our system. And I said, "I really believe the police officers would keep us safe if we needed them. And I always felt safe with police when I was growing up. But I also believe that if they went to the home of one of our black friends, that safety would not be guaranteed. And so I question whether it's smart to set up school programs in which your black friends are taught to trust police without any other discussion." She was furious. She didn't want to hear it. After more back and forth, my son-who hates conflict-threw himself on the flames of our conversation: "Blame me, OK? Just blame me!" he shouted. She and I laughed at his reaction, and we let it go.

The Current Context
I didn't initially intend to tell my kids about George Floyd. We have talked about police brutality a lot in their short lives, and I haven't always felt right about it. I remember when my daughter was 3 telling our rabbi during the prayers for healing that she wanted to pray for all of the black men killed by police. That day stands out because one of the families in the service was multiracial-and it occurred to me in that moment, that the parents might not want their 3-year-old black son to hear about police brutality against black men from a white family at a Shabbat service. I realized that what for me felt like critical anti-racism education could, in fact, feel like an unexpected assault to their child. All of our kids need to learn about police brutality eventually-in no small part so that they can keep themselves and their friends safe-but we also don't want them to be terrified at a young age by facts that they cannot process. At 3 or even 6, a child cannot keep threat (particularly threat targeted on their own group) in its proper proportion. So while my daughter and I would continue to discuss race and racism at home, I started being more careful about how and when I shared details of police brutality and murder during those early years. I didn't want her to continue to amplify that message in our multiracial community before she and her peers could fully understand it. I also didn't want it to seem like a natural part of life. When she learned about it, I wanted her to be outraged.

Two days after George Floyd's murder, my daughter asked me, "Who was George Floyd?" She had seen his name come up on a news site as she opened her schoolwork. When she asked, I stopped what I was doing, looked her in the eyes, and told her who George Floyd was and what had been done to him. I used plain language, and I answered her follow-up questions. After acquiring all the details she was prepared to ask about, she stared back at the computer and started to cry. "That's so sad," she repeated over and over.

She continued to ask questions and express her sadness the rest of the afternoon. She needed to continue to process it. She wanted me to say that George Floyd's family would be vindicated, that they would get money from the government, that the police officer would go to jail, that at least Floyd's children would have the opportunity to slap the police officer. I agreed that all of that is what should happen, but I was honest about the fact that I don't know if it is whatwill happen. That made her cry harder. I tried to sit with her in her grief and talk it through, just as I would if a family member had died.

She went back to our conversation about police coming to her school, and she asked, "Is this why you said we shouldn't trust police who come to our school?" I found myself waffling, suddenly trying to reassure her that not all police officers are such heartless murderers, that many have taken a knee in the protests, that they many want safety and protection for everybody. I told her yes, but there are lots of police who don't do this. "But they allcould do this," she said.

"Yes."

In grief and in anger, we co-constructed this situation yet again, with her asking me not to go easy on police. Throughout the whole interaction, I felt in awe of her capacity to access sadness at injustice, sadness at the death of somebody she didn't know. It is that emotional connection that I want to continue to cultivate and support--in her and others. I have heard parents question whether they should let their white children cry about racism because of the fear that they will be fragile. White tears in the context of fragility are to be avoided when white people use crying to avoid engaging, to avoid culpability, to shut down conversations on racism, or to focus those conversations on themselves and their own pain. But I believe that white people need to cry about racism-long and hard. We need to cry and feel the sadness. At the appropriate age, our children need to cry about it, too. Crying about racism is part of learning about racism. And what better place to do it than in the context of a loving and supportive family, where the crying helps to create connection to the focus, rather than distract from the focus?

Building Blocks
There was a silent presence in this conversation-my son. Throughout my conversation with my daughter, he listened. He didn't say much. I think he took in what he was capable of, and if he'd been emotionally ready to join the conversation, I believe he would have. But he stayed on the outside, and I think that's OK for now. He does have a foundation for thinking critically about police.

When he was five, he became very interested in the police. He had the fire station Lego set, and he wanted the police station Lego set. He also had seen the police station in our community where they keep all of the police cars, and he wanted to visit. I didn't buy him the police Legos, but I did agree to drive him to a parking lot near the station where he could look at the squad cars in the parking lot.

The whole time we were driving, I was thinking about how this excursion would be different if we were black. Would I even feel comfortable driving him to the police station? And what message would I want to send him about police? I didn't want to shame him for being interested in police, and I didn't want to give him the impression that all police are bad or untrustworthy. But I wanted him to know that police make mistakes and have bias like all of the rest of us, and that their authority to use violence makes them especially dangerous to people they have bias against. We sat together in the car, next to the parking lot of the police station, and looked at the patrol cars for a while. I've learned that if I'm going to critique something my child is interested in, I should engage in it first, understand his interest. Simply leaping to a negative critique of something that excites him would make him feel ashamed-and it could distance him from whatever I'd say next.

After we left the parking lot, I asked, "Do you know that police officers sometimes make mistakes?" He was intrigued. I said, "Yeah, sometimes they accuse people with brown skin of doing something wrong when they didn't do anything wrong." He said, "That's mean! Why do they do that?" I said, "Well sometimes in movies and TV shows they make it seem like brown people are criminals, and police officers get those ideas in their heads. But did you know that brown people don't commit more crimes than white people?"

He sucked his thumb quietly for a bit. I could tell he was thinking about it. I didn't really know what to say. I didn't know if this was right or wrong, but I knew I had to say something. Author and sociologist James Loewen says one of the main problems with how we teach American history in K-12 history textbooks is the "heroification" that we engage in regarding our leaders throughout history. The problem with this hero storyline is that it makes it difficult, if not impossible, to deal with either the truth of history or with the flaws of our modern-day leaders. I knew I had to say something so that my son could remember that police officers are not perfect. So I said, "Then what ends up happening is everybody's time is wasted. And everyone's money is wasted, and people actually becomeless safe, because the police are often stopping the wrong people." He pulled his thumb out of his mouth and said, "That's silly."

That was it. I felt like he understood a little bit more than he had before, and that was all he could handle right then. It was also, frankly, all I could handle in the moment.

Foundation-building with kids is not something you do once and then it's done. You lay the foundation day in and day out over the course of one year, and then the next year you realize with dismay that every cell in their brain and heart has regenerated in the interim, and they remember nothing. This is why the daily and weekly connections are so important. Foundation-building is like making baklava-it takes at least 15 carefully laid and buttered layers of phyllo dough to get even a quarter inch of pastry.

Anti-Racism Action
Learning about racism is-and should be-deeply disorienting. Given what we teach our children about how they should act and how the world should be, racism is deeply contradictory to the essential values that many parents hold. The more children learn about it, the more they look at us and ask, "Why aren't you doing something about this?" Adults learn to live with a discordant reality-the way the world should be and the way that it is-in a manner that is developmentally impossible for children. The confusion our children express as a result of this discord can feel like judgment and irrationality. It can also be frustrating to hear because they are right; we should be doing more. Precisely because they are unable to hold this discord, children need to see action and take action so that their sadness can turn outward into change, rather than inward into helplessness and depression. What they need from us is support, love, truth, and strategies for action that can make them feel they can effect change. We also need to take action ourselves. We need to look at our own spheres of influence and do what we can to shift the systems we are a part of towards racial equity. Talking to our children about racism cannot be our only action.

I told my daughter that we could write on our driveway in chalk, "I stand with George Floyd." She said, "But then police will come and put their knees onour necks." I said, "I don't think so. I think police in our community will see that and say, 'I wish those police officers hadn't done that because now they are making people scared of all of us.'" She is thinking about it. I am not invested in the action she takes because I am taking my own actions. But as her parent, I want to help empower her, help her to process. Whatever she does-whether she chooses to protest or not, whether she writes a letter, whether she says a prayer, whether she publicly declares support, it's not about vindicating my own success as an anti-racist parent or demonstrating our woke-ness as a family. It's about helping her process her emotions, and helping her feel like she can do something in the face of despair.

It can be overwhelming to realize we need to be "consistent, persistent, and enduring" in our efforts as parents to help our children learn anti-racism. But at the same time, it means that we have second chances. We can come back to the conversation. It's not about one big conversation when they turn 13; it's about many tiny one-minute or five-minute conversations every day or every few days for their entire lives. In the meantime, as our children see us chart our own steps toward action, they will be able to more carefully calibrate the actual--vs. feared--risks of speaking out, so that they can begin to calculate their own steps today and every day.

Blending Models and Technology: How Might We Do Education Better?

With weeks of remote learning under our belts, it might be time to reimagine what we ask of ourselves and our students.
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ONLINE EXCLUSIVE: Talking With White Children About George Floyd

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Following the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May, many white people have been asking me, "What is the right thing to say to my white children about George Floyd?" There is no one right thing to say, of course.

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Dwinita Mosby Tyler: Want a more just world? Be an unlikely ally

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A more equal world starts with you. Citing a formative moment from her own life, equity advocate Dwinita Mosby Tyler highlights why showing up and fighting for others who face injustices beyond your own lived experience leads to a fairer, more just future for all.

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Ever since the recent Black Lives Matter protests, leaders have called for a national conversation on race.

Race is a thorny topic, and for people seeking to understand others' racism - or their own - it can be difficult to know where to turn.

So please consider this a safe space where you can pose questions you may hesitate to ask elsewhere. To help answer them, we've reached out to scholars and other experts on race. Send us your questions - there's a place to do that at the bottom of this page - and we'll try to answer those, too.

Our purpose here is not to chide, preach or settle historical scores. We're all in this together. And we all have questions. Here are some of yours.

We'll keep updating this by answering more of your questions as they come in.

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Ever since the recent Black Lives Matter protests, leaders have called for a national conversation on race. Race is a thorny topic, and for people seeking to understand others' racism - or their own - it can be difficult to know where to turn.

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and the Future of Our Schools

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Abolitionist Teaching and the Future of Our Schools

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Teaching About Race, Racism and Police Violence

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In 2014, the deaths of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Eric Garner in New York City, Tamir Rice in Cleveland and too many others caused waves of nationwide protest and appeals for stronger protections against police brutality. These events—along with the lack of accountability for the police officers wh…

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A school administrator recently asked for my perspective on a conversation he'd had with a parent. The parent seemed frustrated about an uncomfortable interaction about race that occurred between his white child and a child of color. While expressing dismay that this encounter had happened at the school, the parent declared, "Race has no place in school." The administrator knew this parent to be bright, successful, and caring-and also knew that this parent was not alone in this belief. We talked about how common this sentiment is, how hard these conversations are to navigate, and finally, our desire to move schools past the discomfort that often comes when issues of race arise.

Many days after our conversation, I couldn't get that phrase "race has no place in school," out of my head. It's not that the statement surprised me-in my 25 years as a social justice educator I had heard similar statementsmany times. It lingered because it seemed to encapsulate a barrier that I had bumped into throughout my career. A barrier that I believe we must finally push through. Reminded of Demand the Impossible!: A Radical Manifesto, in which author Bill Ayers encourages educators to ask "what if?"-a humble question that has the potential to "blow open the spectrum of acceptable possibilities." I started to wonder what would happen if we could actually make a place for race in our schools. What if we embraced the notion that schools are the perfect place to talk about race because, in actuality, race is always present in our schools, race matters in every aspect of our lives, and if we are truly committed to educating future leaders, students must understand the impact of race and specifically the consequences of systemic racism?
Race Matters
While I disagree with this parent's belief that the topic of race has no place in school, I can completely empathize with why he said it. I imagine that this parent, like me, and most other white people of our generation, was raised to believe that it's not polite to talk about race. Most likely, he was told, as I was, that at one time people were judged by the color of their skin but now, we are all equal and so "seeing" race is wrong. And that when we do, we are in fact promoting racism. In short, as sociologist Eduardo Bonilla-Silva says, we were raised to be colorblind. I'm convinced that the socialization we received about the need to be colorblind did us a terrible disservice. In their Summer 2014 Independent School magazine article, "What White Children Need to Know About Race," Ali Michael and Eleonora Bartoli describe how the silence about race throughout our childhoods, which was intended to teach us that race shouldn't matter, instead, led us to believe that race doesn't matter.

What if this parent-and the entire school community-had a deep understanding of the profound ways that race matters? What if the research about racial outcome disparities was common knowledge and we all understood that the discrimination that accompanies the identity category of race impacts where we live, our access to quality education, healthy food, or clean air. That it impacts whether we are more likely to be called back for an interview or arrested. That it has shaped the amount of wealth our families have been able to accumulate and pass on to us. And, perhaps most critically, that it shapes our health, the birth weight of our babies, and even our life expectancy.
In School Every Day
Even if I agreed that race has no place in school, not talking about it doesn't make it go away. Race is in every classroom and in every interaction in our schools. It is present even when there is not a single person of color in a room. I understand this can be a hard concept to grasp. As someone who grew up rarely thinking about race and the impact it had on me, it took me awhile to recognize the ways I have been shaped by my racial identity. I am still working to understand the ways that my race-as well as my class, gender, and other identities-walk into the room with me and show up in my decisions, my interactions, and aspirations. I am still learning to recognize the ways that the experiences of my students both on and off campus differ based on their race. And although I may not always see them, I work to remind myself that the dynamics of race, class, gender, and so on are constantly present in school, whether I choose to acknowledge them.

More than 20 years of extensive research outlined by Mahzari Banaji and Anthony Greenwald inBlindspot: Hidden Bias of Good People makes it clear that no matter how well intentioned we may believe ourselves to be, we are impacted by implicit racial bias. The research shows that 75 percent of Americans have an automatic white preference and that preference can show up in discriminatory behavior even among people who believe they are not at all influenced by racial identity.

What if we could all learn to approach the concept of racial identity through a lens of courage and curiosity so that we could come to understand the ways our identity- and subsequently our worldview-has been shaped by race and racism? We know adolescents are grappling with understanding who they are in the world, so what if we provided positive and productive opportunities for students to think deeply about all aspects of their identity, including their racial identity? What kinds of insights could a positive racial identity provide? How much more aware of themselves and the world around them could they become?
Learning to Talk About It
Because race is always present and racism has a powerful impact on each of us, we must be able to talk about it. But because a belief in the value of colorblindness has led us to think that talking about race is racist, and because we have so ardently avoided the conversation, my generation has never developed the skills to do it well. I desperately want our students to have the skills that my generation lacks. It appears that our students do, too. In a 2014 MTV survey on millennials and race, a national representative study of 14- to 24-yearolds, 73 percent said they would like to be able to talk openly about racial bias and felt that doing so could help reduce prejudice. Unfortunately, only 20 percent felt comfortable having those conversations, and 79 percent worried that being unprepared to address the issue might make the situation worse. Our youth recognizes the need to acquire these skills, so why shouldn't we teach them?

What if, instead of avoiding these hard conversations, we learned how to have them, practiced them and became proficient? What if every member of a school community felt comfortable participating in discussions about race and racism? For that matter, what if they were able to actively engage in conversations about gender, class, religion, or any of the other critical aspects of identity that might come up during a class discussion, a club meeting or a lunchtime conversation? What kind of learning environment would that create? How much more confident might our students feel to tackle the problems in our society head on?

Toward a Systemic Analysis
The recent increase in overt displays of white supremacy has reminded us that racism is alive and well. And while most people agree that such explicit racism has no place in a just society, we must also recognize that the implicit forms of white supremacy are more pervasive, go largely unchallenged, and arguably, do much more to perpetuate systemic racism. Subscribing to a colorblind ideology leads most Americans to think about racism primarily as individual bias and discrimination without recognizing its larger systemic nature. Our students must learn that while individual prejudice is a part of racism, it is simply one piece of a much larger, complex, interlocking system of inequality that is also deeply embedded in our institutions and the cultural ideology of our society.

When students don't have a systemic analysis-including an understanding of past and current institutional discrimination- they rely on racial stereotypes to explain disparities in things such as unemployment rates, incarceration rates, wealth accumulation, and deadly encounters with police. If we don't provide information about institutional racial discrimination, the pervasive myth of the United States as a meritocracy in which all people have equitable access and opportunity, leads students to blame people of color for the inequality they experience. This only exacerbates problems and impedes our progress toward racial equity.

Just as our schools are recognizing that traditional modes of learning are not sufficient to meet the needs of students who will lead in a 21st century economy, it's time to recognize that traditional pedagogy concerning race no longer meets the needs of our students. So as we work to incorporate design thinking, project-based learning, and other innovative approaches into our curriculum, what if we also were to retool our curriculum to incorporate a systemic analysis of racism and other aspects of systemic inequality?

School courses that deal with racism can present students with the kinds of cognitive conflicts, contradictions and dissonance that are important for the development of more complex, structural thinking. What if we shifted from a focus on "diversity and inclusion" toward a focus on understanding systemic oppression? And, what if we no longer relegated learning about racism to the annual Martin Luther King Day observance, and instead grounded it in classrooms where the scholarly work of oppression theory took a place beside other social science theory? What if all of our students were equipped with an understanding of the conceptual frameworks of racism so that informed and nuanced discussions about systemic inequality became a common part of our economics, history, civics, literature, and science courses? How could enhanced critical analysis skills further prepare them for college and beyond? What other aspects of society could become visible to them through an informed and critical lens?
The Power to Change Society
Built into the mission statement of most of our schools is the noble goal of producing students who will take action to make the world a better place by reducing inequality. Many of our schools provide important opportunities for students to learn about the ways that social movements and activism have shaped change.

What if we widened our scope and coupled those efforts with helping students, through a systemic analysis, study the ways that public policy and institutional decisions have created and sustain inequality. What if they understood the ways that racial ideology justifies inequality making it appear natural? What if they understood that it is not naturally occurring but is human-made-and therefore can be un-made? What if our students truly knew thatthey had the power to re-make our society?

I started learning about race much too late in life. If the next generation is to successfully address these issues, they must fully understand the complexity of racism and the impact it has on each of us. Our schools have the responsibility to proactively help our students understand systemic racism, develop a positive racial identity, and acquire skills to talk about and actively work toward racial equity. I can empathize with the feeling that race has no place in school-and I completely disagree with it. It is time for a radical re-envisioning of how we approach the topic in our schools. As Bill Ayers reminds us, "When 'what if?' is taken up collectively, it can be forged into a powerful tool with the potential to crack open the given world and provide previously unthinkable alternatives." It is time to push through this barrier and embrace the chance to move all of us forward together.

Course of Action
To help students navigate issues of racism and other forms of inequality, in 2009 The Ethel Walker School (CT) instituted a required social justice seminar for ninth graders. The eight-week course is part of a yearlong seminar series that all ninth-grade students take. The credited course has two primary objectives: provide opportunities for students to acquire the skills and confidence to actively engage with peers about issues of race, class, and gender; and achieve a foundational understanding of racism, sexism and classism as systems of oppression.

Enthusiasm for the course during its initial year resulted in the development of an active social justice student organization and the creation of a popular elective course titled "Inequality in the United States" for juniors and seniors.

Both courses move beyond a focus on prejudice and are based on the scholarly literature of oppression theory. The curriculum encourages students to grapple with the contradictions of structural inequality in a society that claims to be a meritocracy--providing opportunities to strengthen both critical thinking and dialogue skills. Because all ninth-grade students participate in the seminar, a common language and knowledge base is available campuswide as students approach difficult conversations about racism and other forms of inequality.

Independent Ideas Blog

Teaching Writing in a Remote Classroom: Meeting the Emotional Needs of Students

Virtual settings offer opportunities for educators to integrate social-emotional learning strategies into their writing pedagogies.
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We Need to Talk: The Case for Making a Place for Race in Schools

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A school administrator recently asked for my perspective on a conversation he'd had with a parent. The parent seemed frustrated about an uncomfortable interaction about race that occurred between his white child and a child of color. While expressing dismay that this encounter had happened at the school, the parent declared, "Race has no place in school."

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Kate Stoltzfus

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We create practical, timely, affordable professional learning to help educators and instructional leaders provide students with a modern, equitable, and quality education.