(Re)commit to your role.

Each new calendar year, many feel inspired to recommit to solving the causes and challenges we face. And for many, this year is no exception. 2021 may feel like a fresh start after a devastating year, and it’s important to channel those intentions into action. But I propose using the beginning of this year to gain awareness on how your investment can be most sustainable, because new year resolutions are more likely to be broken than executed. And movement work is no exception. My recommendation is to spend some time this week reflecting on your role in the work ahead.

Welcome back and Happy Tuesday! Today's post is a personal one for me. I was blessed to have some time off from this newsletter. Although we haven't missed a day since its start in June, this holiday we intentionally queued up reviews so we could rest. And the relief I felt was overwhelming. So I spent some time reflecting on how I can stay committed to this role in 2021. Part of that includes hiring a Managing Editor, who will help support the day-to-day operations. (Feel free to share!)

We rarely give ourselves time to reflect on our roles. What is our role to play, and how can we hold ourselves accountable to it? How can we show up more effectively? How can we stay sustainable? I offer this newsletter as an opportunity for you to do the same.

Thank you for all your support! You can financially contribute to sustain our work by making a one-time gift on our website or PayPal, or subscribe for $7/month on Patreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza).

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Define your role in the work ahead, using the points in the article below.
Discuss your role with a friend.
Identify a local mutual aid network or another community initiative. Research how your role may or may not be necessary to support their efforts.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

A role, to me, isn’t a job title. It’s a way of being that you choose to hold yourself accountable to, regardless of the challenges you face. This isn’t always easy, and it may mean facing and addressing discomfort along the way. But necessary work is rarely easeful.

And if we expect accountability from our community, we have to stay accountable to ourself, and the space we take up in the work. If we’re not willing to be in relationship with our role, how can we hold ourselves accountable in our communities? Understanding our individual contributions only strengthens the whole, and resources everyone collectively.

“Each person has a unique role to play to shift any situation – some might be in a good position to support the person harmed, whereas others might be in a better position to cultivate accountability with the person causing the harm. Some might have material resources to offer, others might organize community support, and still others might offer perspectives on the underlying roots of the violence. With more people, any situation can shift toward healing, accountability, and transformation.”

Ann Russo in Guest Post: Strategies for Cultivating Community Accountability by Ann Russo via Prison Culture

There are many ways to define your role, and I encourage you to look closely at the language used by local organizers and community leaders to guide you. But I appreciate this framework created by Deepa Iyer from Building Movement Project. Learn more about the map and definitions for each role (both PDFs linked are via the website).

Of course, you don’t have to follow a framework to identify your space. In fact, you may already have a definition, perhaps based on your occupation or volunteer efforts. Or maybe it’s not explicit, but a role you’ve already assumed in how you show up for your community. Either way, start by analyzing what you’re already doing. How have you contributed to this work? Where have you contributed: Politically? Socially? Economically? What has felt most generative to you? What has caused the most burnout?

Also, analyze your privilege. And think beyond racial privilege (although that may offer significant leverage in anti-racism work). Do you have the privilege of having a wide audience on social media? Seniority at your job? Are you the friend and family member people go to when they have questions? How does your social location influence your capacity to make an impact in each of these roles? How may it detract?

In addition to selecting a space to lead from, consider how you can “grow into” some of the other spaces that feel less familiar. The goal isn’t to become an expert in all things; that’s more likely to lead to fatigue and burnout than making an impact. But identifying micro ways to lean into these spaces may help you resource yourself as the work continues. It will also help you connect more deeply with others leading from that space and perhaps even add context when you’re looking to bring more people in with those skills.

For example, you might not be a healer, but you can identify ways to ensure you’re still healing as the work progresses. You might not consider yourself a visionary, but perhaps vision mapping is a powerful way to stay connected to your dreams.

Remember, you may find that your role evolves. You might find yourself with access to new power or privilege, or in a different community that calls for different skills. You might also evolve into another as your journey progresses. Welcome these shifts if they help you stay accountable to the work.

As you define your role, consider who else you can recruit to be a part of your efforts. Who are the storytellers around you, and what resources do they need to advocate for equity and solidarity? What experimenters do you know that apply their skills to the tasks at hand? And how can you lead from your strength to help activate them? If you’re struggling to identify where to start, consult your physical or virtual pod. Don’t have one, or unfamiliar with the term? Here’s a helpful overview – we’ll dive deeper in an article next week. Otherwise, you can start a dialogue with your coworkers, family members, or classmates!

We’ve got a whole new year ahead of us and much to be dismantled and reimagined. Although we can’t possibly prepare for the unexpected, we can certainly start with what we know – and who we know – and strive to make an impact, one day at a time.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Identifying your role in social justice work is critical to individual and collective accountability
Your role may already be defined for you, and you should analyze what feels generative and what is available to you based on your privilege and power
Use this commitment as an opportunity to invite others to join the work with you

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza

Nicole Cardoza 12/21/20 Nicole Cardoza 12/21/20

Have tough conversations.

The holidays can be both magical and fraught with interpersonal tension. And, with the compounded impact of all things 2020, these relationships may be even more strained. If you're heading into the holidays expecting some tough conversations, here are some resources to help you through. Remember, all of these are only suggestions; relationships are unique and complex, and these best practices might not be best for you. Share your thoughts on today's conversation in our digital community.

Happy Monday! And welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. Our community is heading into the holiday season, so over the next few days, we'll be curating some of the most impactful posts from the past six months to help you refresh and re-examine this work in all aspects of your life.

To help with that, we've officially launched our virtual community! This space is designed for you to connect with others, share resources, hold conversations around our newsletters, and sign up for events. All proceeds support our work. Flexible payment options are available. Patreon subscribers: check Patreon for an access link using your existing subscription.

I really hope to see you there! If you're more of an email reader, no worries. Nothing is changing here. As always, you can support our work by making a one-time gift on our website or PayPal, or subscribe for $7/month on Patreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza).

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Consider if you have the capacity to hold a conversation this holiday season.
Make your plan beforehand if you can, using the resources in the last section of the newsletter.
Reflect: how has someone called you into a tough conversation recently? What did you learn from it? What did you appreciate about it?

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

Call in, not call out.

Often, confrontation isn’t as effective as a nuanced conversation about a tricky topic. Consider leading a generative conversation by leading with your feelings, using “I” statements, and being vulnerable about your own journey with the topic(s) at hand. Please note: if calling someone out is a more direct and straightforward way to start the conversation and feels more generative to you, please do so.

Don’t wait for something to react to.

Most of the work regarding dismantling white supremacy happens as a reaction to a single incident. But for this work to be sustainable, we – especially those with privilege – need to get comfortable with the discomfort of this work proactively, not just as a reaction. Bring it up directly, perhaps by naming how a recent interaction made you feel.

There is no such thing as the “best” time.

Many people are hesitant to get into tough conversations during the holidays, a time that can feel precious and “distanced” from the tension of everyday life. But there’s rarely a “best” time for difficult conversations. Consider instead: how can I host this conversation in the most generative way at this moment? How can I start this conversation now to create more space for it in the future?

Center whiteness, not Blackness (or other marginalized identities).

When discussing race specifically (and in the lens of whiteness), many try to defend or validate marginalized communities. But it’s more critical to acknowledge the harm of whiteness itself. When the focus is deconstructing the harm of dominant culture, it gives those who identify tangible ways to analyze and change their actions. This is a critical act in itself; no community needs to be validated by another to “deserve” respect. We all deserve respect, and we need to adjust our actions and recognize our shortcomings to provide it.

Set consequences.

Hold your loved ones accountable. Ensure that you’re no longer tolerating their statements. Note how their continued racism will affect your relationship, and be prepared to stand firm. Remember that accountability is a practice of love, and so is setting boundaries for you and yours.

Lead by example.

Demonstrate the actions you’ve taken to dismantle white supremacy in your own life. Use examples of what you’ve learned and unlearned in your own education. Be vulnerable about where you’re still growing – because we all have space to improve! And note how else you’re moving forward.

Invite them to join in.

If you feel resourced, you can use this time to invite this person to join in – perhaps by reading a book together, having further discussions, etc. If that’s not available to you at the moment, you can offer to check in with them later to see how they’re progressing.

Resource yourself.

Tough conversations with loved ones are not easy. If you have the opportunity, make a self-care plan for before, during, and after. Beforehand, practice some deep breathing and grounding exercises. Remember to check in with your breath and body during the conversation. And, plan for some time to decompress afterward, whether that’s scheduling time to decompress with a friend or therapist, taking a long walk later, journaling, etc. It might also be helpful to write some talking points and goals beforehand to help you feel more comfortable.

Additional Resources

Want To Have Better Conversations About Racism With Your Parents? Here's How (NPR)
Let's Talk! Discussing race and other difficult topics with students. (Tolerance)
The Anti-Racist Educator
The Courage to Not Know (Brené Brown)
How White People Can Talk To Each Other About Disrupting Racism (DoSomething)
How White People Can Hold Each Other Accountable to Stop Institutional Racism (Teen Vogue)

RELATED ISSUES

10/8/2020 | Condemn QAnon.

11/15/2020 | Learn the key terminology.

12/8/2020 | Learn how to apologize.

7/14/2020 | Embrace your race privilege.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 12/9/20 Nicole Cardoza 12/9/20

Rethink transracial adoption.

Supreme Court confirmation hearings for Amy Coney Barrett publicized her large family, including two Haitian adoptees. In response, Dr. Ibram X. Kendi wrote that historically, white families used adoption to “civilize” “savage” Black children. “And whether this is Barrett or not,” he tweeted, there is “a belief that too many White people have: if they have or adopt a child of color, then they can’t be racist.” Conservatives were outraged at the “attack” on Barrett’s children, arguing that no one who invited children of color into her home could be racist (Newsweek).

Good morning (or afternoon or evening) and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. Today we're honored to have Andrew here to share his perspective on transracial adoption. This came up in questions when we wrote about Amy Coney Barrett back in October (see related issues section for context) and I'm glad we have a voice to share more with us today. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

Thank you for your generous support! Because of you, we can offer this newsletter free of charge and also pay our staff of writers and editors. Join in by making a one-time gift on ourwebsiteorPayPal, orsubscribe for $7/monthon Patreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). To subscribe, go toantiracismdaily.com.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Support the Adoptee Citizenship Act to ensure no internationally adopted person fails to receive US citizenship.
Follow Nodutdol, Raha Feminist Collective, About Face, and Code Pink to learn how to oppose US military intervention and exploitative practices that create orphans for the adoption system.
Help transracial adoptees build multiracial communities by reaching out across racial or cultural lines.
Recognize that white Americans benefit from military and economic practices that create adoptees. Follow @ROAR_Magazine, @inthesetimesmag, and @democracynow to learn more.

GET EDUCATED

By Andrew Lee (he/him)

But this isn’t just about one judge. While this summer’s protests brought racial injustice into the consciousness of many white people, some of them still believe that transracially adopting (that is, adopting across racial lines) a non-white child is the ultimate act of allyship.

This issue is personal for me because I’m a Korean person adopted into a largely white family. I think it’s important to question the idea that international, transracial adoption is a pure act of white allyship. This isn’t because I wish I stayed in an orphanage, or because I’m against multiracial families, or because I think that people who can’t or don’t want to have biological children should be prohibited from raising kids. However, like many other transracially, internationally adopted people, I’ve realized that there’s a lot more at stake in these adoptions than we first think.

About 200,000 Korean children like me have been adopted by families in the United States (NBC News). Scores of adoptees come from countries like Guatemala, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Thailand (Considering Adoption). The narrative is that our birth families don’t want us, so their adoptive parents do us a service by taking us in. In this story, birth families and countries are irresponsible, while adoptive families and the United States are charitable humanitarians.

There are a few problems with this. First, international adoption has been loosely regulated. In some countries, parents place their children in an orphanage temporarily when they can’t make ends meet, later returning to reclaim them (CNN, Firstpost). Some have found their child has been adopted to a different country in their absence. In other cases, adoptive parents fail to correctly register their kids for US citizenship (The Intercept). Their children find out years later that they’re actually undocumented immigrants subject to deportation to countries don’t remember (NBC News). The demand for adoptees is so strong that the welfare of actual adoptees can be an afterthought.

The second problem with the humanitarian view of adoption is that countries that send children to the United States are often poor as a result of the American government’s actions.

There’s a reason Americans don’t get adoptees from France or England. While South Korea isn’t a poor country today, adoption from the country started right after the Korean War, when it was one of the poorest (Brookings). During the war, American forces deforested nearly the entire peninsula with napalm (Truthout). Some women survived by having sexual relations with American occupying forces. Their mixed-race children were the first Korean American adoptees (USA Today).

Afterwards, adoption of full-blooded Korean children like me followed, as efforts to economically outcompete the communist North came at the expense of setting up a welfare system for single mothers (The Korea Herald). Adoption from South Korea, wrote adoptee Maija E. Brown, created “a paternal attitude between Korea and the US where white Americans rescued Asian orphans, while concealing the US responsibility in the Korean War” (University of Minnesota). In the words of Ju-Jyun Park, adoption from South Korea is one of the ways in which “the war lives on as a material fact” (The New Inquiry).

The Democratic Republic of the Congo, another source of adoptees, has seen autocracy and war since the United States helped overthrow democratically elected Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba in the 1960s (Guardian). Today, conflict is driven by the reserves of valuable metals like coltan, essential to the production of computers and cellphones (Dissent). Just as in Korea, US policies created the conditions to ensure vulnerable children couldn’t be supported by society, and then swept in as these children’s “savior.”

Even domestic transracial adoptions have problematic aspects. How else could you describe a system that literally offers Black children at a “discount” rate compared to white children (NPR)? (For more on the complications that can arise with the domestic adoption industry, check out this report and this article.)

This is why a color-blind savior attitude towards adoption just doesn’t cut it. If you transracially adopt a child, recognize that systemic racism doesn’t disappear because you “don’t see race.” That child will need a multiracial community to provide the resources and resiliency to survive in a white supremacist society, skills that no white parents will be able to provide, no matter how good their intentions.

In the words of transracial Korean adoptee Jenn Hardin, racial justice means we have to “explore the dark history of Korean adoption, the parts that don’t fit the ‘save the orphans’ narrative that so many refer to because it’s all they know” (Medium). We should question the transfer of resources and children from poor countries to rich ones. We should rethink a system that deprives poor women of color in poor countries of the social support and reproductive care that would stop their countries’ orphanages from filling up with potential adoptees.

It’s time to rethink transracial adoption.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

About 200,000 Korean children have been adopted by families in the United States (NBC News). Adoption from the country started right after the Korean War.
The countries that send children to the United States are often poor as a result of US military and government actions. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, US policies created the conditions to ensure vulnerable children couldn’t be supported by society, and then swept in as these children’s “savior.”
A color-blind savior attitude towards adoption is not allyship. Systemic racism doesn’t disappear because you “don’t see race.” Transracially adopted children need a multiracial community to provide the resources and resiliency to survive in a white supremacist society, skills that white parents cannot provide, no matter how good their intentions.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 12/8/20 Nicole Cardoza 12/8/20

Learn how to apologize.

As we become more aware and attuned, we are bound to make mistakes – which means in various scenarios we may cause harm or be harmed. Our fear of this can force us to retreat from tough conversations or important moments of learning. But suppose we can equip ourselves with tools for navigating challenging situations. In that case, we can more effectively practice harm reduction if and when it occurs – and feel more confident when engaging in uncomfortable situations. This act may allow us to stay in relationship – not run and flee.

Happy Tuesday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily! I'm celebrating the small joys this week, so I'm looking forward to a nice cup of coffee and the sunshine the day will bring. Today we're diving into the act of apologizing and how essential it is to this work. It was inspired by rich conversation with our first cohort of our Anti-Racism for DEI course that wrapped this week. I'd love to hear how you're moving through apologies this year.

Thank you all for your generous support of our newsletter. Because of you, we can offer this newsletter free of charge and pay our staff of writers and editors. Join in by making a one-time gift on ourwebsiteorPayPal, orsubscribe for $7/monthon Patreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). To subscribe, go toantiracismdaily.com.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Reflect on the apologies you've experienced in your life. How did they feel? What resonated with you? What left you feeling unfulfilled?
Practice an apology by yourself some time today. You can apologize for something you've actually done to someone else, or apologize for how you might have treated yourself at some point.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

One of these tools is the act of apologizing. And apologizing isn’t embedded in U.S. culture. Generally, people in the U.S. are wary of admitting that they are wrong. A personal admission of guilt can lead to consequences – a loss of respect, friends, and community, and complicated emotions to process individually. A study found that, on average, politicians who apologized were more likely to lose support than gain it afterward, which some use as a rationale for why President Trump doesn’t apologize (NYTimes). Legally, apologies can be weaponized for punishment, which is why lawyers and insurance agents may recommend against it (The Daily Beast).

This perspective is quite different than how other countries embrace apologies as part of their culture, as explained in Harvard Business Review. And here, it seems our aversion to apologizing is part of our relationship with power. An offender will often choose not to apologize because they “maintain a greater sense of control and often feel better about themselves” (Scientific American). This perceived sense of power may feel like protection against external shame, blame, and consequence.

But it also blocks us from accountability – a critical skill needed when we’re doing this work. Not just when we engage in conversations on a one-on-one basis, but when we envision how we want communities to thrive. We can’t continue to rely on punitive practices when we work to change systems: like re-imagining public safety and collective care. And we can’t keep shaming our leaders for admitting mistakes until we are ultimately left with those too proud to do so.

Luckily, we can practice apologies on our own and bring them into our next conversation. And a wholesome apology is more than just saying, “I’m sorry.” There are many spaces for inspiration you can go to for apologies, including your own spiritual, religious, or cultural backgrounds. I have learned a lot from resources created by Mia Mingus and Brené Brown and recommend their work in full. Here are some important points I’ve learned:

Invest in self-reflection.

The apologies we’re focusing on aren’t the compulsive “OMG, I’m SO sorry” ones you might squawk out if you bump into someone on the street. We’re looking for thoughtful and sincere apologies, and those often take some deep self-refection. To complete the following steps, you must be willing to understand your role in what happened. That may include journaling and processing individually, talking with a friend, or learning from books, podcasts, etc. Start here so you can do your best moving forward. Learn more via Mia Mingus.

Note: Reflect on what is yours to own.

I think it’s worth including from my perspective as a Black woman born and raised in the U.S. Women, women of color particularly, are often burdened to take responsibility for the wrongdoings around them. I often find myself wanting to apologize for something that was done to me, not by me. I encourage all of us, but particularly those most marginalized, to reflect on whether or not that’s actually our burden to carry, especially if we’re the ones receiving the harm.

Say you’re sorry.

Naming that your sorry – without any “ifs, ands, or buts” is critical. Changing, or removing this phrase entirely, is a common way people try to eschew responsibility. Using phrases like “I’m sorry you felt that way” or “I didn’t realize you’re so sensitive” puts the focus on the other person’s feelings, not your actions. Phrases like these can be wielded to manipulate or even gaslight others, too, so you want to avoid that regardless of intention. Instead, stick to the action that you can apologize for, like, “I’m sorry I said what I said last night.” More on this from Brene Brown in conversation with Harriet Lerner.

Acknowledge the impact.

We reference intention v. impact often in this newsletter because it’s an essential act of accountability (learn more here). And that’s no difference when it comes to apologizing. Instead of emphasizing that you “didn’t mean” or “never intended” to do something, name and acknowledge the impact. That can look like “I realize my behavior last night made you upset” or “I now understand that my actions are incredibly condescending. I appreciate how Franchesca Ramsey breaks this down in this video.

Change your behavior.

An apology is something we do, not something we say. And we carry it forward by changing our behavior to minimize opportunities for future harm. This action might be something you name in your apology, like “moving forward, I will not talk to you that way again.” It may also be something you commit to learning more about so you can grow, “I’m going to take a course so I can better understand how to engage properly.” But neither you, the recipient, or society gain anything until you put it into practice. This might be difficult, and burdensome, and tiring, and overwhelming – yet if you’re going to apologize, you have to be committed to this step. Learn more via Mia Mingus.

----

Remember that after you apologize, regardless of how well-rehearsed and well-practiced, you have to detach yourself from the outcome. No one owes you their forgiveness, no matter how deeply you may desire it. Respect the recipient’s boundaries and ensure your apology is consensual. And, note that an apology is not a replacement with other forms of accountability, like giving reparations or removing yourself from a position of power. But sometimes, an apology can be an excellent start to transforming our relationships – with ourselves, each other, and society as a whole. And we have to start somewhere.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Apologizing is a form of accountability.
U.S. culture tends to prioritize punishment over accountability. To disrupt these systems, we must disrupt how we relate to apologies.
Apologies can be well-crafted and practiced, but that still doesn't mean that they need to be accepted.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 10/30/20 Nicole Cardoza 10/30/20

Don't be racist this Halloween.

If the world couldn’t be spooky enough, this weekend is Halloween. Its origins date back to Samhain’s ancient Celtic festival when people would light bonfires and wear costumes to ward off ghosts (History) – although many other cultures worldwide have had practices that honor the dead. This practice has been adapted and evolved throughout history to what we see in modern-day culture in developed nations. But one sticking point has been the lackadaisical approach to costumes.

Welcome back and happy Friday. Growing up, Jasmine was my favorite Disney princess. Her skin was the closest to my shade (Disney didn't have a Black princess until 2009), she had a pet tiger (my favorite animal) and she had long, luscious hair, which I coveted as a child. I was thrilled to be her for Halloween in second-grade, and as Tiger Lily from Peter Pan a couple of years later. For both costumes, they were the only times I got to wear fake hair, and I remember feeling as pretty as the white girls I went to school with.

Now, I look back and see the layers of internalized racism I experienced as a Black girl in an all-white neighborhood, and the gross cultural appropriation of communities that I never got to learn about besides their glorified Disney stories on a TV screen. Although I certainly didn't mean any harm (nor did my family), I contributed to the whitewashing of marginalized communities – and minimized my own narrative in the process.

I think about this a lot each Halloween season, and this one is no different. I'm not sure what your plans are this weekend – I hope you're socially distancing – but nevertheless, it's a good time to reflect on how this holiday contributes to the narratives we discuss in the newsletter.

This is the Anti-Racism Daily, where we send one email each day to dismantle white supremacy. You can support our work by giving one-time or monthly on Patreon (you can also support via PayPal or Venmo @nicoleacardoza). If this email was forwarded to you, you could subscribe to antiracismdaily.com.

TAKE ACTION

Research your costume before making a decision.
Choose a Halloween costume from your past that was inappropriate. Spend this weekend learning the real history of the community it comes from.
If you have the power and privilege to do so, socially distance this weekend. Remember that COVID-19 disproportionately impacts those most vulnerable. Do NOT expose them because you need to dress up and act foolish.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

But one sticking point has been the lackadaisical approach to costumes. Nowadays, it seems that Halloween is the one day that people believe they can get away with wearing harmful and disparaging costumes of marginalized communities. 2020 is unique – we’re amid a racial reckoning, on the eve of a critical election, and limited in how we should celebrate because of a global pandemic. But that’s all the more reason to analyze how racial stereotypes are promoted through the festivities of the holiday.

Before we dive into costumes themselves, we need to stop asking what’s racist racist and what’s kinda racist. Racist is racist. And all of it upholds systemic oppression. But society has trained us to believe that there’s an acceptable form of racism. Most of the white supremacy that perpetuates systemic oppression is overlooked, and only the most violent and blatant forms are condemned. This is often depicted using an iceberg; a small percentage of racist and oppressive actions are visible “above the surface,” whereas most are underwater.

Image via Attn.

The topics seen above the line in this graphic are referred to as “overt white supremacy,” and what’s underneath is “covert white supremacy.” But here’s the thing: what lies under the surface actually forms a foundation for the overt forms of white supremacy to thrive. If I had some illustration skills, I’d think about this more as roots and a tree. That’s a more accurate depiction of how to take action: we can’t just cut down the tree itself but uproot the entire plant.

So let’s start with the basics – the overt, so to speak. Don’t wear blackface. Don’t dress as any racial or ethnic stereotypes (as Madeleine Aggeler says in Bustle, “dressing up as an entire people instead of a specific person is a bad idea”). Don’t appropriate any cultures or beliefs. And while we’re at it, don’t wear anything to make fun of someone with a physical or mental disability. Also, let’s not dress up for anyone known for their racist ideologies, okay? Because pretending to be a white supremacist is an act of white supremacy. So KKK, Nazis are a hard no. But so are colonizers – references to incarceration or immigration, or dressing as sports teams that uphold racial stereotypes.

"
Treating other people’s cultures as a costume is the entire problem. It’s a problem if you are making fun of that culture; it’s a problem if you think you are lauding that culture.
Elie Mystal for The Nation

And there are some costumes this year that aren’t overtly racist but are definitely racially charged. I’d give some deep thought to whether dressing up as law enforcement is appropriate, especially if you are a grown person and will be wearing a mask – you could easily be mistaken for the real thing and make others feel unsafe. Dressing up as coronavirus during a global pandemic, after 220,000+ people have lost their lives to it, is also very tactless. Consider the power and privilege that may influence the decision behind choosing one of these costumes.

Many people ask where the line is regarding cultural appropriation when it comes to costumes based on characters in the media. And here, it does become more challenging (although we have to keep in mind that the media itself isn't always a gold standard of cultural recognition). Characters like Moana or the Black Panther have distinct ties to marginalized communities but have also become popular culture through movies and merchandising. The notion of whether people can dress up as these characters are hotly contested (read more on Black Panther in the NYTimes). But it doesn’t always make it okay. When you wear the costume, are you conscious of the narrative beyond the Disney storyline that the character represents? And how are you in relationship with the community, not just the character? These are the questions I wish someone had asked me when I was wearing the costumes mentioned in my intro.

Generally speaking, if you’re going to do the work to plan your costume, a quick internet search on how it will be perceived should be a part of your planning. But what often gets lost in these conversations is what more to do. And I think Halloween weekend can also stand for a time where we commit to learning more about the communities that are appropriated during this time. This can be incredibly powerful with children; understanding various communities’ history builds empathy, which is often a more lasting connection than discipline. Halloween isn’t about trick-or-treating if it doesn’t treat us equitably.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Halloween is culturally a time where many people wear costumes that include blackface and/or cultural appropriation, in addition to other oppressive and/or racially charged attire
Whether overt or covert, all forms of white supremacy are harmful, and contribute to the racist world we live in today
We need to move past dressing as characters to recognizing the unique cultures and identities of those we wish to impersona

RELATED ISSUES

10/26/2020 | Support diversity in animated films.

7/22/2020 | Don't Americanize other cultures.

7/16/2020 | Respect AAVE.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 10/22/20 Nicole Cardoza 10/22/20

Stop tone policing.

Tone policing is generally defined as “a conversational tactic that dismisses the ideas being communicated when they are perceived to be delivered in an angry, frustrated, sad, fearful, or otherwise emotionally charged manner” (Dictionary). It can be used by anyone against anyone else, but we see it leveraged often against someone when they discuss the harm that has happened to them, and usually by the ones that created the harm.

Hello again and happy Thursday (I double-checked this time, it's actually Thursday).

I introduced the topic of tone policing in last Saturday's Study Hall, which got a love of responses (and a lot of love, thank you all for making this a safe and supportive learning environment). I realized then that we hadn't really dived into it here yet, and that it's an important part of dismantling interpersonal racism. We've touched on several other related topics in previous newsletters, but today I'm teasing it out in full. If you're a new reader, I highly encourage reading the related posts for more context!

Thank you to everyone that's chipped in to support our work. If you'd like, you can give one time on our website, PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). Or, subscribe monthly or annually on Patreon. I really appreciate it.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Don’t tone police. Instead, use the opportunity as a time for self-reflection.
Name tone policing when you see it happen against marginalized communities.
Create a culture where you work / live where expressing difficult emotions is normalized.
If you identify as a person of color: Consider how tone policing might show up in your relationship with yourself. How can you reclaim space for your emotions today?

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

It’s also something that thrives in the digital space. Because people tend to be more defensive and meaner online than they would in person (KQED), conversations in 2020 are primarily happening online. It’s no surprise to see tone policing pop up so frequently.

Tone policing is one of many ways that dominant culture “polices” people of color (read more in a previous newsletter). It is often used – whether subconsciously or intentionally – to put this person “back in their place.” It doesn’t just attempt to discredit what the person is saying. It implies that they are not worthy of the time and attention until they play by the rules of the oppressor. And these rules are rooted in sexist and racist ideals of how marginalized people are “supposed to act” in society today.

For people of color, particularly Black people, these rules are referred to by “respectability politics.” The term was coined by Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham in her book Righteous Discontent, which outlined the Black women’s movement in the Black Baptists church (Harvard). It explains how Black people were told that if they could prove that they can overcome the “wild savages” tropes white people enforced about their identity, they may deserve equal rights (The Undefeated).

This notion is invalid on many fronts: first, it operates off the false assumptions that white people shared to reinforce ideas of slavery and discrimination. More on this in a previous newsletter. But it’s also a rule that always works in the oppressor’s favor. What this may look like depends on the viewer, not the subject. And does this imply that every white person is the depiction of perfection all the time? How is it that white men can be angry, but Black men, according to respectability politics, cannot? Most urgently, why does respect need to be earned instead of granted based on our collective humanness?

Racial tone policing is a form of microaggressions that people of color experience often (read more on microagressions in a previous newsletter). Comments like “I just don’t understand why you’re so angry all the time,” or “people would listen to you if you were a bit more polite,” are common forms of tone policing. Black people will be referred to as “aggressive,” which attempts to justify control or dominance. More straightforward, many people will say, “I don’t like your tone,” which is usually used in a foreboding way. You better not keep going, or else…

"
The underlying tone in many of these well-meaning messages is that, even in speaking about my experiences with racism, microaggressions, and discrimination, there is a right way and a wrong way to share. I am told that if I modify my message to be more palatable to the masses, my message will be better received. This demonstrates that people will dismiss your experiences unless it fits in the box of how they want to receive it.
Dr. Janice Gassam Asare, author and founder, for Business Insider.

But it can also be straight-up aggression – people will take more violent action because they believe that someone’s tone is putting them at risk. Consider the Amy Cooper story. The initial video showed that she called the police on Christian Cooper for “threatening” him when he clearly wasn’t. But further investigations found that she actually called the police a second time, indicating that Cooper had “tried to assault her” (NYTimes). She went beyond using words to police his “tone” to bringing in actual police with a clear intent to cause harm. Without the video, which has gained over 45 million views, we may never have known what happened to Christian Cooper. His “tone,” paired with a history of racism in law enforcement, could have cost him his freedom – or even his life.

Racial tone policing is especially toxic in the feminist space. Tone policing is often inflicted upon women by men, like, for example, when calling out toxic masculinity. Perhaps it’s why white women are often quick to apply the same harm against women of color. And echoing the “rules of the oppressor” point from before, why can’t women of color express their own sentiments of anger and frustration in a patriarchal system? Academic, writer and lecturer Rachel Cargle explains this well in her article on white supremacy in feminism:

"
When women of color begin to cry out about their pain, frustration, and utter outrage with the system that is continuing to allow our men to be murdered, our babies to be disregarded, and our livelihood to be dismissed, we are often met with white women who tell us perhaps we should “say things a little nicer” if we want to be respected and heard.

Rachel Cargle in Harper’s Bazaar.

Often, these external signals can start to influence how people of color express themselves in the future. This is a form of internalized racism, or a “personal conscious or subconscious acceptance of the racist view of dominant society” (TAARM). For me personally, this looks like me being too afraid to share my feelings because I don’t want to come off as aggressive or blaming myself for not thinking about my words more carefully when someone labels me as “angry.” As you can imagine, this often leads to me diminishing my own voice, often to protect myself from perceived harm from people around me. There was a point in my life where I would have never started this newsletter. More psychologists call for practitioners to address the adverse effects of internalized racism, along with external racism, due to the subtle differences (Society of Clinical Psychology).

What’s most heartbreaking to me is that tone policing can strip people of their emotions. Oftentimes, people experience a form of tone policing when they are experiencing difficult emotions. And if there’s a time that we deserve grace, I believe it’s then – when we feel vulnerable and exposed, overwhelmed or frustrated, afraid or fearful. People who wield tone policing as a weapon are insinuating that their discomfort is more important than others’ distress. They are often in a position of relative power and privilege, granting them more safety inherently.

Remember that the histories and narratives of people of color do not need to be packaged for white consumption to be valid. Stories of pain or heartbreak, overcoming adversity or joy, do not need to be packaged in a way that feels approachable or useful to anyone, regardless of race. Attention on racial issues is accelerated when someone inflicts violence against a Black body on video, shared and reposted for the world to see. Not through peaceful marches, published books and works of art, thoughtful critique on television shows, or when calls for accountability are sent following protocol at a company. So what is more important – the pain people experience or the pain dominant culture experiences when they’re forced to witness it?

And if their tone challenges you, use it as an opportunity for self-reflection. What is their language challenging inside me? Where is my emotional response to this coming from? If I feel this way, how must this other person feel at this moment? This is not another burden for people of color to carry, but yours to reckon with. Regardless of what you do, get out of the way: liberation will not wait for any approval.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Tone policing is generally defined as “a conversational tactic that dismisses the ideas being communicated when they are perceived to be delivered in an angry, frustrated, sad, fearful, or otherwise emotionally charged manner” (Dictionary).
Tone policing is one of many ways that dominant culture “polices” people of color. It is often used – whether subconsciously or intentionally – to put this person “back in their place.”
The histories and narratives of people of color do not need to be packaged for white consumption to be valid.

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Nicole Cardoza 9/18/20 Nicole Cardoza 9/18/20

Reject racial gaslighting.

It's Friday! And we're introducing a new term to the newsletter: racial gaslighting.

This plays a major part in the systemic medical violence we've unpacked over the past week. And it's playing out in politics. When people and systems minimize the pain and trauma that people of color experience, they shield themselves from accountability and allow that harm to continue. Jami offers some specific examples of how this plays out in various spaces, and particularly how it impacts women of color.

Tomorrow is Saturday, where we host our weekly Study Hall. Reply to this email with any questions or insights from the content we covered this past week and I'll do my best to get to them!

Thank you for all your support! You can give one-time on our website, PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or subscribe for $5/mo on our Patreon.

– Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Watch how you and your friends/colleagues respond to the experiences of people of color. Consider how they may be gaslighting based on their comments, and inform them on why their approach is harmful.
If you’re considering two sides to a story, make sure you think about the power dynamics between the parties (in race, gender, age, position, etc.)
Don’t support businesses or organizations that deny or undermine the experiences of people of color.
Consider how racial gaslighting may play a part of the rhetoric of the upcoming election.

GET EDUCATED

By Jami Nakamura Lin (she/her)

In March, Margot Gage Witvliet developed coronavirus symptoms after a trip to Europe. Four months later, many of those symptoms still remain, putting her in the camp of what are known as “long-haulers”--coronavirus patients whose symptoms persist for months, deviating from the typically understood trajectory of the illness (read more about her experience at The Conversation). The experience of long-haulers is finally receiving more attention, but for many sufferers, it’s too little, too late.

“Employers have told long-haulers that they couldn’t possibly be sick for that long. Friends and family members accused them of being lazy. Doctors refused to believe they had COVID-19… This ‘medical gaslighting,’ whereby physiological suffering is downplayed as a psychological problem such as stress or anxiety, is especially bad for women, and even worse for women of color,” writes Ed Yong in his thorough examination of long-haulers, whose numbers could potentially be in the hundreds of thousands (The Atlantic).

Most of our popular understanding of the term gaslighting is within the context of abusive relationships, as that is the context of the term’s origin (BBC). Gaslighting is a psychological method of manipulation used to deny the victim’s experience and make them question their reality, judgment, and sanity (Britannica). The goal is to make the victim dependent on the deceiver.

But gaslighting can also happen on a structural level. Instead of an individual abuser, the gaslighter is an abusive system denying the reality of entire groups and communities in order to perpetuate power imbalances. “Gaslighting is a structural phenomenon… It is a technique of violence that produces asymmetric harms for different populations,” writes Elena Ruiz, a professor of philosophy and American Indian and Indigenous Studies (PhilArchive).

Women as a whole are often targets of gaslighting (read the American Sociological Review for how gaslighting relates to gender-based stereotypes and inequality), and articles warning women about gaslighting techniques abound. Less is said in popular media about racial gaslighting, which specifically refers to “the political, social, economic and cultural process that perpetuates and normalizes a white supremacist reality through pathologizing those who resist” (Politics, Groups, and Identities Journal). Racial gaslighting says: the system is not broken, you are broken.

These are things that most readers versed in anti-racism work will already know (that the system blames people of color instead of itself), but looking at them as forms of gaslighting can help understand how such psychological manipulation is intertwined at the individual and structural levels. Interpersonal gaslighting (within relationships) is usually successful because of systemic gaslighting because the relationship is “rooted in social inequalities” (American Sociological Association). The framework can help us understand how white supremacy remains entrenched in our society.

Such racial gaslighting appears in many different areas. An academic study on a police force in Hamilton, Ontario, found that the way the police explained away their ID and carding tactics was a form of gaslighting. In their media appearances, the police used “obfuscation techniques” (lies, misrepresentations) to undermine local people of color, who had been arguing that the police’s carding techniques were discriminatory. They used gaslighting to deny their own structural racism (SAGE Publishing).

In the field of medicine, gaslighting happens when health professionals minimize, ignore, or disbelieve patients’ symptoms and experiences (Health). Examples of this include doctors blaming physical symptoms on mental illness without justification, or providers refusing to request follow-up tests because they don’t believe their patients. Medical gaslighting is especially pernicious because of the inherent power differential between doctors and their patients, even before adding in the intersections of gender and race. Doctors have been socialized to take female patients (NY Times) and patients of color less seriously, and medical professionals still hold many racial biases (National Institute of Health). While practitioners usually participate in medical gaslighting without meaning to harm their patients, individual intent doesn’t mitigate the systemic impact. Their disregard has dire health outcomes, as explained in our recent newsletters on Black maternal health and Black mental health.

“Missteps and misunderstandings, even by well-seasoned medical professionals, are human, but medical gaslighting is not. Normal test results in patients with chronic pain, unexplained sensitivities to the world, or fatigue should provoke more investigation, rather than a weak handoff.”

Dr. Anne Maitland for Op Med

A 2016 study by patient safety experts suggests that medical error is the third-leading cause of death in America, resulting in over 250,000 deaths per year (Johns Hopkins). But medical error is not nearly as widely researched as other causes of deaths, and we don’t know how many deaths per year can be attributed to medical gaslighting.

What we do know is that medical gaslighting especially affects patients of color. One doctor described the stereotypes patients of color with myalgic encephalomyelitis (a mostly invisible illness with symptoms similar to those of COVID long-haulers) faced: Black and South Asian patients were suspected of faking their symptoms to avoid work, while East Asian patients’ symptoms were thought to be the result of working too much (ME Action). In other words, their actual medical conditions were dismissed and attributed instead to racist stereotypes.

Think about the words of Canadian policy expert Emily Riddle: “To be an Indigenous woman in this country is to intimately understand both interpersonal and systemic gaslighting… Any Indigenous woman who questions anyone who demeans her or a system that perpetuates violence against her is bound to be called difficult.” (The Globe and Mail). To effectively combat the effects of systemic gaslighting in our own thinking, we need to question not just what we believe, but who we believe.

Key Takeaways

A whistleblower filed a complaint against ICE for “medical neglect" at the detention camp she worked at, including mass hysterectomies without detainees' content
Forced sterilization was a state-sanctioned practice, often funded by the federal government, that disproportionately impacted women and women of color during the 19th century
Forced sterilizations procedures are sexist, xenophobic, racist, and ableist, and often homophobic
Unwanted sterilizations are still happening today

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Nicole Cardoza 9/8/20 Nicole Cardoza 9/8/20

Reject the model minority myth.

Happy Tuesday, everyone! In today's Anti-Racism Daily, Jami unpacks the "model minority myth" and its lasting impact on the racism and discrimination marginalized groups experience.

And remember, this is a work in protest. Especially when everything feels overwhelming and hopeless. Each action we take brings us one step further to the equitable future we all deserve. Keep going ✊🏾.

Thank you all for your contributions. To support our work, you can give one-time on our website, PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or subscribe for $5/mo on our Patreon.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Unpack who you consider “Asian American.” If you think things like “there are so many Asian Americans at this college,” what kinds of Asian Americans are you actually talking about?
Take time to learn more about the history of Asian Americans in your community, particularly refugees and the recently immigrated.
Resist media rhetoric that portrays recent protests as destructive and violent, instead of as actions in response to the destructive, violent anti-Black practices in our policing and government.

GET EDUCATED

By Jami Nakamura Lin

After our recent article on affirmative action (Anti-Racism Daily), several readers were curious about the myth of the model minority. As an Asian American, this myth has followed me all my life; I was exposed to its pervasive narrative long before I ever heard the term. As a child, I heard flippant “of course you did well on this test— you’re Asian!” comments from friends at school, and dismissive comments about other people of color from elderly relatives at home, who believed that since we had made it, everyone else should have, too.

But these types of remarks reflect just the surface of the myth. The core of the model minority myth is the idea that Asian Americans were “able to rise to ‘honorary white’ status through assimilation, hard work and intelligence… [the myth is used] to put down and dismiss other communities of color; especially Black folks and Black political resistance,” explains the Asian Pacific American Labor Alliance (APALA). The term “model minority” was coined by white journalist William Pettersen in a 1966 article called “Success Story, Japanese-American Style” (New York Times Magazine). He praised Japanese Americans for their triumph over adversity while explicitly comparing them with what he called the “problem minorities,” by which he meant first and foremost Black Americans.

Pettersen’s article did not appear out of a vacuum, but amidst major events that were shaping the face of America. In 1965 Congress passed the Immigration and Nationality Act, which replaced a restrictive national-origins quota with one that prioritized family members and the highly educated (House of Representatives Archive). This act replaced the immigration laws of 1917 and 1924, which had banned virtually all immigration from Asia (Densho). An unintended outcome of the 1965 law was a dramatic increase in immigration from non-European countries—especially Asian ones (History). (I can see how these laws have shaped my own family’s journey: my Japanese and Okinawan great-grandparents moved to America during the decades prior to the laws’ implementation, while my Taiwanese father and his family came in 1971, six years after the passage of the Immigration and Nationality Act).

Secondly, the model minority myth appeared during the 1960s civil rights movement. “Numerous politicians and academics and the mainstream media contrasted Chinese with African Americans,” writes historian Ellen D. Wu (LA Times). “They found it expedient to invoke Chinese “culture” to counter the demands of civil rights and black power activists for substantive change.” These people believed that East Asians’ success meant that it should be possible for Black Americans to achieve success without dismantling the system. There’s no racism, the myth tries to sweetly convince: anyone can succeed in America, as long as you’re compliant and hard-working. It elides the differences in the experiences in communities of color, and particularly the trauma, disenfranchisement, and dehumanization that Black people have faced in this country since 1619 when the first slave ship arrived (The 1619 Project).

Another problematic outcome of the myth is that it also presents Asian America as a homogenous monolith, ignoring the wide diversity within. In 2017, the poverty rate among Japanese Americans (the group Pettersen originally called the “model minority”) was 3.8%, the lowest of all Asian ethnicities, while the rate among Burmese Americans was 28.4% (AAPI Data). But the model minority myth centers East Asians and the wealthiest Asian Americans, while rendering the rest—North, West, South, and Southeast Asians, struggling Asian Americans—invisible. We ignore the communities and the cultures that were colonized and that were most affected by our interference in the Vietnam War and the Secret War (LA Times).

The myth can be hard to denounce, partially because some Asian Americans (particularly wealthy East Asians, who benefit the most) wholeheartedly buy into it. And why not? The myth presents us as being responsible for our own success, as being people who fought against adversity and won. This can ring true to us, for as descendants of recent immigrants (or immigrants ourselves), we often do remember the struggle and discrimination we’ve faced. But we cannot allow ourselves to have tunnel vision at our own experience while ignoring the differences between our own experiences and those of Black Americans. The myth can be seductive, making us feel like we earned everything, deserve everything, which leads to us aligning ourselves with whiteness instead of being in solidarity with other people of color. Today, this is most visible in wealthy East Asians’ lawsuits against affirmative action, steps that align them with whiteness instead of in solidarity with other people of color (as Allen Chang outlines in his thorough article at Vox).

While most people today don’t throw around the terms “model minority” or “problem minority,” the stereotypes behind the myth are still pervasive today, seeping into our culture in insidious ways. When the media decries the recent “violent protests,” besides ignoring the role of the police as instigators (NY Times), they further the narrative that if Black people just protested in the right way, they would achieve their goals. History has proven otherwise. We cannot believe this rhetoric. We cannot use the supposed success of Asian Americans to lay blame at the feet of Black Americans instead of at the towering, crushing heel of systemic racism.

key takeaways

Critical race theory is a school of thought that analyzes how racism persists in social and political systems
The Trump administration aims to remove diversity trainings that use critical race theory, which impacts the federal government and conversations on race as a whole
Trump has fueled racism and divisiveness to maintain and gain power.

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Nicole Cardoza 8/28/20 Nicole Cardoza 8/28/20

Start seeing color.

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It's Friday and I hope you're all taking good care of yourselves. Today we're focusing on a phrase I've seen floating around in discussions of the events of the week past. I find the history and psychology behind the term illuminating, so I hope today's post encourages you to understand the phrase itself and why people tend to retreat to it in conversations on race.

Tomorrow is Study Hall, our weekly email that addresses questions and insights shared by the community on the key topics we've discussed so far. This one is going to be rich, and if you have anything you'd like to add, reply to this email to share. I know the reply email address looks suspect, but I promise you I'll get to it. It saves your responses to Mailchimp, the platform we use to send these emails, so they're easy to sort and respond. Our general inbox is a bit overwhelmed with trolls, so I'll be slow to respond as I sort through.

As always, your support is greatly appreciated. You can give one-time on our website, PayPal or via Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). Or, subscribe monthly to our Patreon to contribute regularly.

Nicole

ps – if we haven't met, you can learn more about me, the Anti-Racism Daily and what we stand for in this video.

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TAKE ACTION

Write down the ten people you most trust to guide your decision-making. Then notice their ages, races, genders, education levels, religions, etc. Become aware of missing perspectives and reach out to people who can help you to connect with potential new confidants.

This action is from this Tufts article, referenced in the text below.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza

When discussing racism and current events with others, you may hear someone say, “I don’t see color.” This term may have good intentions, but as we discussed, there’s a difference between intent and impact (Anti-Racism Daily). Oftentimes, the concept is rooted in the idea that beyond our racial/ethnic background and other parts of our identity, we are all human. We have more in common than our differences. And we deserve a world that supports all of us equally. We should never be treated differently by our skin color, and if we teach our children that, we would live in a better world.

That all sounds like a lovely dream, but it’s certainly not our reality. We live in a society right now that is incredibly unequal. And to imply that we are all the same dismisses the pain and suffering that marginalized people experience. This is an example of racial “colorblindness”, or, “the idea that ignoring or overlooking racial and ethnic differences promotes racial harmony” (Teaching Tolerance).

This idea has been shaped over time throughout history. After any period of civic unrest, political leaders urge us to embrace what’s born anew from civil strife and look forward to the future as if this utopia already exists (Washington Post). Instead of holding ourselves accountable for historical racial injustices, it’s easier to pretend that they don’t exist. We’ve seen that play out with our current president, who emphasized that there were “bad people” “on both sides” during the Charlottesville in 2019 (USA Today), and white people are also getting killed by police (NYTimes).

And these practices become incredibly harmful when they become part of everyday life. When we disregard how one’s racial/ethnic identity affects their lived experience, we tend to do the opposite of what some may intend. In this way, we can’t recognize how pervasive and persistent racism is in our society, and how frequently people of color experience violence and harm. This goes beyond the prominent violence we read about on the news, but how our skin color leads to side-eyes on the street, microaggressions at the workplace, or discrimination when applying for a job.

"
Saying you’re color blind means you can't address racism in all its tentacled infrastructure — because you can't address what you aren't willing to see.

Autumn McDonald for KQED

When these systemic injustices aren’t addressed, it’s easy to place personal responsibility on individuals that are victimized by a much broader system, individuals with less privilege and power to change the circumstances in which they operate. It also lets anyone that reinforces white supremacy off the hook – particularly the onlooker. This is exacerbated by the individualism that the United States is built on; the notion that we can all “pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.” It’s also how the conversation moves away from police brutality against Black people, for example, to judging whether the person that was shot “deserved it,” or blaming them for not “staying quiet” and “doing the right thing.”

And although some people can choose not to “see color,” people of color don’t have the privilege to decide how others view them based on their skin color. When someone says they don’t see color, they may also may not be able to see exactly the racism and discrimination people of color experience on a regular basis.

"
I protest because I’m tired of the white privilege that protects cops who are murderers. I am exhausted that white people fail to recognize their privileges and the ramifications of those privileges. I protest because I live in a society where I don’t have the luxury to say, “I don’t see color,” because my color is the most visible thing about me.

Zahabu Gentille Rukera (Gege), student, for Syracuse University’s Daily Orange

When we view the unique challenges that people of color face in our society, it’s also easy to recognize white privilege. In fact, several sociologists discovered that as people who identify as white continued to gain awareness about racial and ethnic disparities, they were able to change their own relationship to their white identity, moving from maintaining the status quo to dismantling the systems that oppress non-white individuals (The Atlantic).

One more thing to remember about all this: racial colorblindness is actually impossible. Sociologist and cognitive psychologists emphasize that unconscious racial bias is deeply rooted in our society and shapes our perception, no matter how well-intentioned we are (Time). To be clear, there’s a difference between the biases themselves and acting on them. But they still exist.

You may have used this statement but never intended to communicate any of these assumptions. This isn’t a challenge against your values, but the language – and as we’ve discussed, language matters (Anti-Racism Daily). Instead, use the opportunity to say what you mean. Give voice to the challenges people of color face so others can learn and take action. Researchers emphasize that having conversations about race is the first step to further understanding and eases the anxieties that can come up in future conversations (Tufts).

And stay in inquiry about what you might use those words to protect yourself from. Is it fear of judgment? Or shame about the past? Sometimes, the best choice is to move from defensiveness to inquiry and do more listening to understand. Whatever you do, leave the words “I don’t see color behind.” Unless, of course, if you cannot see the colors red, blue, or green.

key takeaways

"I don't see color" is a statement that may be well-intentioned, but is counter-productive to dismantling white supremacy
Racial colorblindness prevents people from recognizing implicit biases and the harm communities of color face
Our history has shaped our perception of racial colorblindness with false promises

7/14/2020 | Embrace your race privilege.

7/13/2020 | Respect the roots of Black hair.

7/10/2020 | Understand the role of cancel culture.

7/9/2020 | Acknowledge the harm of microaggressions.

7/7/2020 | Honor the biracial / multiracial experience.

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