Unpack stereotypes on cleanliness.

These conversations seemed harmless and amusing, but historically, the cultural conversation on cleanliness hasn’t been this casual. The notion of cleanliness has been wielded against immigrants, communities of color, and other marginalized groups to justify oppression and ostracization. Everyone is welcome to bathe however they choose, but not everyone has the privilege to talk about not bathing without the weight of racial implications.

TAKE ACTION

Consider: Where may you have heard these stereotypes before? What books, podcasts, TV shows, movies, etc. have you seen recently that perpetuate these today?
Contact manufacturers of beauty products to oppose tropes like Black skin being dirty, unattractive, or a problem to be corrected. Avoid products marketed using racist themes.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

Recently (and why, I do not know), a series of white celebrities shared their bathing habits with the press. Mila Kunis, Ashton Kutcher, and Kristen Bell said they only bathe their kids when they smell bad (People). Jake Gyllenhall noted that he finds bathing “less necessary” (Vanity Fair). Commenters were quick to note that these sentiments were shared by white celebrities, and non-white stars like Jason Momoa, Dwayne Johnson and Cardi B were quick to express their love for frequent showers and baths. These conversations seemed harmless and amusing, but historically, the cultural conversation on cleanliness hasn’t been this casual. The notion of cleanliness has been wielded against immigrants, communities of color, and other marginalized groups to justify oppression and ostracization. Everyone is welcome to bathe however they choose, but not everyone has the privilege to talk about not bathing without the weight of racial implications.

In the late 19th century, many Chinese and Japanese people immigrated to the U.S. and Canada for the gold rush, as did European immigrants. Asian immigrant labor labor was indispensable for the growth of infrastructure alongside the West Coast, but they were paid terribly compared to their white American counterparts (The Conversation).

As Chinese communities grew, white communities turned against them, fearing they would take their jobs and disrupt their quality of life. White people blamed Chinese workers for the growth of syphilis, leprosy, and smallpox. Though poverty, not race, correlates with the spread of diseases. Canada created a Royal Commission on Chinese Immigration and concluded that "Chinese quarters are the filthiest and most disgusting places in Victoria, overcrowded hotbeds of disease and vice, disseminating fever and polluting the air all around” though they knew this wasn’t accurate (The Conversation). This spurred violence like an 1871 massacre of Chinese workers in L.A.’s Chinatown that led to “the largest mass lynching in American history” (L.A. Weekly) as well as the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act in the U.S. and the 1885 Chinese Immigration Act in Canada. These were the first laws for both countries that excluded an entire ethnic group (AAPF).

To this day, the same hateful rhetoric fuels anti-Asian bias in response to the coronavirus.

“
The outbreak has had a decidedly dehumanizing effect, reigniting old strains of racism and xenophobia that frame Chinese people as uncivilized, barbaric “others” who bring with them dangerous, contagious diseases and an appetite for dogs, cats, and other animals outside the norms of Occidental diets.”

Jenny G. Zhang in Eater

Also, consider efforts to keep Black people and other people of color out of public swimming spaces. Among the racially charged reasons made up to promote segregation was the notion that non-white people were not clean. As a result, pools practiced segregation to maintain this perception of purity. Segregated pools would have swim days for people of color only, and pools would be cleaned before white patrons returned (National Geographic). In 1951, a Little League team came to a public pool to celebrate a championship win. One player, Al Bright, who was Black, was only allowed to be in the pool sitting on a raft under lifeguard supervision so he would not touch the water (NPR). Read more in a previous newsletter.

Mexicans and Mexican Americans were also discriminated against based on false notions of cleanliness. The U.S. perpetuated this stereotype against Mexican people to fuel displacement and unfair labor practices. This sentiment was responsible for justifying an Eisenhower-era campaign that deported as many as 1.3 million undocumented workers, the largest mass deportation in U.S. history (History). The LA Times recently reflected on its role in perpetuating anti-Mexican sentiment. One headline from 1919 read “Watch the dirty Mexican newspapers in this town [...] They ought to be suppressed” (LA Times).

This was also a critical point of the Mendez v. Westminster case in 1947. In 1945, a group of parents sued four school districts in Orange County, CA, for placing their children in “Mexican Schools,” which received far fewer resources than schools for white students. In their defense, school officials claimed Latino students were dirty and carried diseases that put white students at risk. The case went to the Supreme Court, which deemed segregation of Mexican American students unconstitutional and unlawful, ending segregation in all California schools (History).

Stereotypes of cleanliness fuel other forms of discrimination: antisemitism, anti-fatness, and discrimination against disabled people, the unhoused, and those with HIV/AIDS. These tropes center whiteness – specifically the whiteness of, wealthy, able-bodied, skinny, cisgender, heterosexual people – as the definition of purity and cleanliness. To dismantle racism we have to deconstruct this narrative.

Key Takeaways

Celebrities have been sharing their bathing habits publicly, sparking a conversation on the differences in bathing habits amongst different groups
The notion of cleanliness has been used throughout history to further oppress and discriminate against marginalized communities
Stereotypes that portray marginalized groups as dirty aim to uphold the idea of the purity and cleanliness of whiteness

Nicole Cardoza 7/22/21 Nicole Cardoza 7/22/21

Dismantle racial gatekeeping.

Bird-watching isn’t “about” race. A white friend group, book club, or startup probably isn’t “about” race, either. But if a social group or organization is overwhelmingly white, there’s likely to be an element of racial exclusion, even if unconscious or unintended. Bringing conversations about race into majority-white spaces isn’t a distraction because majority-white spaces are already “about” race.

TAKE ACTION

Actively dismantle racial gatekeeping in social networks, organizations, and workplaces through advocacy and tough conversations.
Understand how gatekeeping perpetuates racial inequality.
Consider: What can you do with your privilege/power to foster inclusion in the communities for the hobbies that matter most to you?

GET EDUCATED

By Andrew Lee (he/him)

The last year saw widely-publicized police murders, openly white supremacist militias, and widespread protests. The rebellions of 2020 were the largest protest movement in U.S. history (NYTimes). Mass movements compel people to pick sides, even those who never held a picket sign. This means there have been heated conversations about race and racism in unexpected places.

In June 2020, birder Christian Cooper asked a woman to leash her dog in an area of Central Park with songbirds. In response, she told police “there’s an African-American man threatening my life,” all on camera (YouTube). Black birders and ornithologists often feel suspicion from white nature-goers. One graduate student recounted efforts “to appear as least threatening as possible” to each white person he encounters in the field. Now, predominantly white birding organizations are making initial steps towards diversity and renaming birds named after white supremacists. “American birders have their own racial reckoning,” read the news (Washington Post).

Racial reckoning came for the knitters as well. Knitting entrepreneur Karen Templer apologized for comparing an upcoming trip to India to “colonizing Mars” (Fringe Association). The ensuing conversation gave people of color room to address racism in the knitting community, but not everyone was ready. The backlash, said Sukrita Maho, was “usually from white people who don’t understand why we’re ‘making it about race’” (Vox).

Some will object that their groups are exclusively Caucasian by chance. “It’s not their fault that people of color don’t want to knit, bird, work, or hang out with them!”

It’s true: people of color generally aren’t itching to spend time with white people who’d rather not spend time with them. The problem is when majority-white groups function as gatekeepers, cutting off opportunities for others.

For instance, people often learn to bird through birding organizations, and city-dwellers find birds in urban parks. If you’re racially profiled at the park and get weird looks at the meetings of the birding society, your new hobby may become unworkable.

This holds for employment as well. 70% of white people’s jobs are acquired through friends or family members. Informal networks of white people “hoard and distribute advantage among their family and friends, who tend to be mostly white” (The Atlantic). The result? Black college graduate unemployment rates are more than twice that of other graduates. Similarly, white trade school students receive job leads from white instructors, ensuring fewer Black students finding steady employment in their field (Work in Progress).

Three-quarters of white people only have white friends (Washington Post). Since most jobs are acquired through word-of-mouth, all-white social networks reproduce workplace racial exclusion. Fields from firefighting to ornithology to construction are almost entirely colonized and gatekept by white social networks (American Sociological Association).

If you find yourself in such spaces, the solution is not to recruit a token “diverse” member (Health, The Root). Tokenism is just another form of racism, since white supremacy already reduces people of color to our race or ethnicity. If you suspect you’re the token in your friend circle or club, it’s time to make new friends (Madame Noire).

Instead, use your privilege to confront your peers’ racist beliefs or practices, especially when it’s uncomfortable or hard. If you think a hypothetical new member, coworker, or acquaintance of color would be tokenized, excluded, or put under suspicion, you have a responsibility to confront these attitudes now. You can put yourself in spaces where it’s you who are the minority, though only if you are able to do so with humility, self-awareness, and respect. If it makes sense, encourage your workplace to hire through open and actively anti-racist recruitment, not just word-of-mouth (Talent Beyond Boundaries, CNBC, Recruiter).

As an Asian man, I know I will receive some opportunities others will not based purely on my race. I know that other opportunities will be closed off to me for the same reason, whether leads on apartments, favorable mentions to hiring managers, or invitations to social events. I know that this may influence my life outcomes, earnings, living conditions, and health even more than explicitly racist organizations or policies. And I know these represent a key way that racial hierarchies in the United States reproduce themselves generation after generation. Believing in anti-racism is simply not enough. We need to dismantle racial gatekeeping.

Key Takeaways

Mostly white hobbies like birding and knitting have experienced “racial reckonings” in the past year.
Though discussion of racism may be new in certain spaces, racially segregated networks, organizations, workplaces, and social circles are already “about race.”
Predominantly white social and professional networks play a key role in maintaining racial inequality.

Nicole Cardoza 7/8/21 Nicole Cardoza 7/8/21

Learn about the “one-drop rule”.

Coming from a biracial family, I think it’s really important to understand mixed-race people’s experiences. As the National Museum of African American History and Culture puts it, “creating one’s racial identity is a fluid and nonlinear process that varies for every person and group” (NMAAHC). But the Museum’s website correctly adds, “In a racialized society like the United States, everyone is assigned a racial identity whether they are aware of it or not.” We should question The Atlantic’s claim that mixed-race people will cause the categories of whiteness and non-whiteness to become less significant over time.

Happy Thursday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. Our collective perception of race evolves over time. But racism won't evolve itself into extinction. That's going to take persistent action, not passively waiting for change. Today, Andrew reflects on the history of the "one-drop rule" and how mixed-race identities aren't the benchmark for change.

Two new things!

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Our latest podcast with Lamar Shambley at Teens of Color Abroad highlights the role travel plays to bring us closer. Listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

Thank you for your support! This daily, free, independent newsletter is made possible by your support. Make a monthly donation to support our team.

– Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Understand white supremacy as an evolving but ongoing system of oppression.
Reject arguments that whiteness and racism will naturally fade over time.
Take action alongside communities of color to dismantle racism in all forms.

GET EDUCATED

By Andrew Lee (he/him)

Earlier this month, The Atlantic published “The Myth of a Majority-Minority America,” which critiqued the idea that most Americans will soon be people of color. According to the article, America will only become a majority-minority country if we count mixed-race individuals as exclusively non-white. This binary thinking draws on the legacy of the Jim Crow-era “one-drop rule,” say the authors, and is a repetition of historic fears about non-Anglo European immigration which, of course, proved to be unfounded.

“Speculating about whether America will have a white majority by the mid-21st century makes little sense, because the social meanings of white and nonwhite are rapidly shifting,” they write. “The sharp distinction between these categories will apply to many fewer Americans” (The Atlantic).

According to the one-drop rule, people were Black if they had any Black ancestry. This meant people whose ancestors were mostly white were still enslaved and, later, subject to Jim Crow discrimination. The legacy of the one-drop rule is why some people are Black despite being light-skinned enough to pass as white (PBS). Acknowledging that people with mixed ancestry can still be identified as white or as people of color doesn’t endorse this way of thinking, but rather acknowledges its continuing effect on contemporary views of race.

White Americans resisted Irish and Italian mass immigration on both racial and religious grounds. Irish and Italian people were at first thought of as non-white, racially inferior peoples. Mobs burned Catholic churches and immigrant neighborhoods because Catholics were thought to practice cannibalism and other barbarities (History). Sicilians were thought to be inherently criminal because of racial defects (NY Times). Of course, both Irish and Italian Americans are now easily identified as white people. What changed wasn’t their physical characteristics but their position within the construct of whiteness.

But this didn’t mean that the distinction between white and non-white was erased in the early twentieth century. On the contrary, the price of admission to whiteness was for Irish and Italian immigrant communities to join in the oppression of their Black neighbors. As Protestant mobs attacked Irish neighborhoods, Irish immigrants took part in attacking Black neighborhoods (Irish Times).

The borders of racial categories are malleable, contested, and change over time. But believing that demographic changes will inevitably cause the racial hierarchy to fade away ignores centuries of evidence to the contrary. It veers dangerously close to endorsing the view that all we need to do to combat racism is wait.

We need to understand the history and present of American racism to fight its devastating effects on communities of color. This doesn’t mean racism is inevitable or will persist forever, but we need to take action to interrogate anti-Blackness, xenophobia, and anti-Indigeneity and the beliefs, institutions, and practices that enable them instead of waiting for racism to disappear.

Key Takeaways

Some experts believe increasing numbers of mixed-race Americans will cause racial distinctions to fade away.
This ignores the fact that racial categories are evolving social constructs while racism is an enduring social structure.
Demographic changes won’t end racism, only concerted individual and collective action to increase the power of dispossessed people and communities of color.

2/25/2021 | Reject racial fetishization.

12/8/2020 | Learn how to apologize.

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Nicole Cardoza 3/26/21 Nicole Cardoza 3/26/21

Learn the definition of "woke.”

This past week, Tim Scott has come under criticism for admonishing “woke supremacy,” naming that the liberal movement is “as bad as white supremacy” (The Hill). The rise of the term “woke supremacy” indicates that the word “woke” has strayed far from its original intentions.

Happy Friday and welcome back. I’m taking a slightly different take on today’s newsletter to highlight the history behind the word woke and the harm in pitting calls for accountability against the violence of white supremacy culture. Because of that, the take action section offers a couple of urgent CTAs from communities across the U.S.

This newsletter is a free resource made possible by our supporters. We'd love you to consider making a monthly recurring donation on our website or Patreon. You can also give one-time on PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). Thank you for all your support!

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

A large unsheltered community at Echo Park Lake in Los Angeles, CA, is being displaced by law enforcement after building a safe and peaceful community. Use this toolkit to join the community, and follow the latest on the hashtag #EchoParkRiseUp.
Undocumented workers in NYC have gone on hunger strike to demand access to pandemic aid, which must be included in the state budget by April 1. Donate to support their efforts.
The Missouri State Legislature wants to make protesting in the streets a felony. Sign the petition to protect free speech.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

The term is often attributed to author William Melvin Kelley, who used the term in his 1962 New York Times essay about the appropriation of Black vernacular (often referred to as AAVE). But the idea of “staying awake” has been used to support social and political issues for hundreds of years. The term “stay woke” specifically was first used as part of a protest song by Blues musician Huddie Ledbetter called “Scottsboro Boys,” which a group of nine Black teenagers in Scottsboro, Arkansas, accused of raping two white women (Vox).

The word resonated with musician Georgia Anne Muldrow, who used it as her own personal mantra to stay motivated. Her definition of the term is as follows:

“

Woke is definitely a black experience — woke is if someone put a burlap sack on your head, knocked you out, and put you in a new location and then you come to and understand where you are ain’t home and the people around you ain’t your neighbors. They’re not acting in a neighborly fashion, they’re the ones who conked you on your head. You got kidnapped here and then you got punked out of your own language, everything. That’s woke — understanding what your ancestors went through. Just being in touch with the struggle that our people have gone through here and understanding we’ve been fighting since the very day we touched down here. There was no year where the fight wasn’t going down.

Georgia Anne Muldrow, in conversation with Elijah C. Watson for OkayPlayer

Muldrow wrote the word into her song “Master Teacher”, which was re-recorded by Erykah Badu, a Grammy-award-winning singer and songwriter, and released in 2008 (OkayPlayer). That track brought the term “stay woke” to the forefront of modern Black culture. “Stay woke” became a rallying cry for Black lives after the killing of Michael Brown in 2014, a reminder to watch out for police brutality. This specific use of the term defines its relevance to our current culture. Aja Romano wrote a detailed history about the word “woke,” including a comprehensive timeline, if you want to learn more (Vox).

And, as words tend to do in culture, the word “woke” was mainstream by 2016. Everyone – individuals, brands, talk shows, politicians, sports teams – started using the word broadly to align themselves with conscious values and ideas. As Sam Sanders notes in his article for NPR, this is a standard pattern for how words cycle through our culture (NPR). And AAVE is routinely adopted and misconstrued by mainstream communities. But a word that once carried significant cultural significance for the Black community got co-opted to display solidarity without any action attached to it. Woke went from something we did to something we only said.

“Words that begin with a very specific meaning, used by a very specific group of people, over time become shorthand for our politics, and eventually move from shorthand to linguistic weapon. Or in the case of woke, a linguistic eye-roll” (NPR).

As soon as the term found mainstream understanding, it also started to be wielded by conservatives as an attack. Nowadays, it’s more likely you hear about “wokeness,” “woke culture,” "woketopians," or “woke supremacy” condescendingly, usually as a way to dismiss liberal views of equity and inclusion as a “liberal agenda” or a form of “political correctness.” Suddenly, the word woke went from protecting marginalized folk to attacking them for standing up for their rights. This evolution of the term aligns with an incredibly polarized era. It’s no wonder that by October 2018, 80 percent of Americans believe that “political correctness is a problem in our country” (The Atlantic).

But woke supremacy is just a phrase. White supremacy is a culture. The word “woke” wouldn’t even exist if Black people had to stay vigilant to stay alive. Individuals, for example, wouldn’t express outrage over a journalist using the N-word if white supremacy hadn’t fostered a condition where discrimination against Black people hadn’t been normalized for generations. The conversation on racial stereotypes in some of Dr. Seuss’s books can’t happen if those racial depictions haven’t been weaponized against communities of color for decades.

Although some individuals have faced personal discomfort after being called out publicly for inappropriate actions, this so-called “woke supremacy” doesn’t have the capacity to create systemic harm. Don Lemon stated it far more plainly on CNN. “I’ve never seen a woke supremacist lynching anybody. Never saw a woke supremacist denying anybody access to housing or a job or education or voting rights. Never saw any woke supremacists enslaving anybody. Never saw any woke supremacists trying to keep people from marrying amongst different races. Where are the woke supremacists attacking police? Where are the woke supremacists hunting police officers in the halls of the Capitol and beating them with Blue Lives Matter signs” (Huffington Post)?

Ironically, centering “woke supremacy” alongside “white supremacy” only emphasizes the real issue. Some people are so focused on protecting white supremacy that they’re willing to manifest a new enemy to exercise its power against. As a result, there are coordinated attacks against “wokeness” that are actually more forceful applications of white supremacy culture. Schools are passing bills to ban the 1619 Project and conversations on racism and sexism from the curriculum and poll public university employees about their political identity. In FiveThirtyEight, Perry Bacon Jr. notes that this isn’t new; the right has leveled the same attacks against “‘outside agitators’” (civil rights activists in 1960s), the ‘politically correct’ (liberal college students in the 1980s and ’90s) and ‘activist judges’ (liberal judges in the 2000s).”

So, what do we do about it? First, we recognize that the argument is inherently flawed. We focus our attention back on systemic harm rather than political noise. In essence, we draw our attention back to the root of the word itself: the social and racial issues that threaten the safety of Black people and other marginalized groups. And instead of preparing for battle in a fictional war, we stay committed to the work. After all, actions are louder than words.

8/23/2020 | Support those incarcerated and impacted by COVID-19.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 2/25/21 Nicole Cardoza 2/25/21

Reject racial fetishization.

Of all the hospice patients in the United States, only 14% of enrollees are people of color (The National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine). While communities of color and low-income communities face the brunt of COVID-19, they also face a myriad of hurdles when navigating and accessing end-of-life care. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, people of color are up to 2.8 times more likely to die from the virus, underscoring the importance of end-of-life and hospice care for this population (CDC).

Happy Thursday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. Today, Sayaka outlines how racial fetishization often increases violence against people of color, particularly those in the LGBTQ+ community.

This newsletter is a free resource and that's made possible by our paying subscribers. Consider giving $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Work to bring awareness to the sexual violence perpetrated against people of color, particularly trans women of color by supporting the Trans Agenda for Liberation.
Express your support for the Survivors’ Access to Supportive Care Act, which will increase access to forensic nurses who provide comprehensive care to victims of sexual assault, by sending an email to your representatives. The act also increases support for tribal communities. RAINN (Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network) has a good template here to do so.
Reflect on your own current and past relationships and ask yourself why you are attracted to a person. Do misconceptions about race or ethnicity play a role?

GET EDUCATED

By Sayaka Matsuoka (she/her)

For as long as white supremacy has existed in the world, so too has the exotification and fetishization of people of color, particularly those who identify as women and femmes. Racial fetishization is the seeking out of a person or culture belonging to a specific race or ethnic group for sexual gratification. While some individuals may explain their attraction as a personal preference, historical research and context shows that choosing sexual partners specifically based on their race is problematic and rooted in white supremacy (Wear Your Voice Mag).

The fetishization and exotification of women of color dehumanizes the individuals that are targeted and denigrates them to objects that exist solely to fulfill the male gaze and appetite. It’s about taking a fully fledged, well rounded human and limiting them to one aspect of their being that they don't even have control over says Kevin Patterson, a polyamory activist and author. (Willamette Week).

In the United States, racial fetishization dates back to a time before the slave trade. White women often were seen as pure, innocent entities to be protected, while Black women were depicted as lustful and sinful (Thirteen). After migrating to African countries, white settlers objectified Black women and saw them as sexually promiscuous beings because of their attire or physical features (Jim Crow Museum). White owners often raped Black enslaved females referring to the women as their hypersexual property (Earlham Historical Journal).

During the early 1800s, women of color were displayed in carnival freak shows to showcase their “exotic” features. One such example was Sarah Bartmaan, a South African Khoikhoi woman who was exhibited while scantily clad. Wealthy white people were given the opportunity to prod and touch her if they paid extra (BBC). The mistreatment of Black women continued long after slavery was abolished. These days, the ramifications of this type of behavior can be seen in the criticism of Black female artists like Nicki Minaj, Cardi B, and Megan Thee Stallion who own their sexuality and use it in their work.

“We never address how cisheterosexual men’s sexuality facilitates some unhealthy practices that we’ve normalized and accepted,” writes Melissa Brown (Blackfeminisms.com). “Negative reactions to Cardi B result from how, historically, strippers were the objects rather than the subjects of the songs written from the vantage point of a male rapper’s voyeuristic and pornagraphic gaze.”

Racist fetishization permeates other aspects of society and extends across all women of color. Indigenous women are depicted as sexual beings to conquer. Statistics show that they are most likely to be sexually assaulted (End Rape on Campus). Latina women have also historically been hypersexualized in American media, which often makes heavy use of the actress’ accent—real or forced—to create a sense of the exotic.

“If I played a Latina, I always had to be too sexy and too easy. I hated that," explained actress Rita Morena (Latina.com).

A study found that of the hundred top-grossing films of 2016, only 3% of roles were occupied by Latinx people—and of that, one-fourth of the women cast either appeared nude or in sexy attire (USC Annenberg).

Like Black and Latina women, Asian women are hypersexualized as well, but in a different way. Historically, the media often portray East Asian women as being submissive and childlike. Examples can be seen in the novel and movie Memoirs of a Geisha and the Broadway show Madame Butterfly. Lately, the stereotype is further perpetuated by members of the alt-right who see East Asian women as the perfect partners because of their perceived submissiveness (NY Times). The idea stems from other harmful stereotypes about Asians like the model minority myth which pits Asians against Black and Brown individuals. Read our past article about the Model Minority Myth.

“Asian women are seen as naturally inclined to serve men sexually and are also thought of as slim, light-skinned and small, in adherence to Western norms of femininity,” Audrea Lim says in her article, “The Alt-Right’s Asian Fetish.”.

Such ideas follow in the footsteps of nineteenth century European male fixations on geishas and China dolls. The subjugation of East Asian women continued well into the twentieth century when American GIs visited countries like Japan, Korea and Vietnam where the local women and sex workers often were raped (Institute for Policy Studies).

The issues of fetishization are even more complicated for members of the LGBTQ+ community, particularly transgender individuals because it is directly correlated with a person’s curiosity of the other. The hypersexualization of trans people of color is compounded by the fact that they are part of another marginalized community. This can lead cisgender individuals who are curious about transgender bodies to objectify and perpetuate violence against them. A 2015 national survey of transgender people in the United States found that 47% of them are sexually assaulted at some point in their lifetime. Of those who were people of color responded with higher rates of assault (National Center for Transgender Equality).

Because the fetishization and exotification of women of color, including transgender women, is a dehumanizing mechanism that often leads to violence and acts of sexual assault, it is up to us all to fight these stereotypes when we see them. It is important to remind each other that women of color are not for consumption. They deserve respect on all levels, from the mind and soul to the body.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

The fetishization of people of color has existed in the United States for centuries and works to dehumanize individuals as objects for consumption by others.
Fetishization can harm individuals and lead to sexual violence.
Members of the LGBTQ+ community, particularly trans individuals, face higher rates of sexual violence and can also face additional layers of fetishization.

RELATED ISSUES

8/21/2020 | Let Black girls be girls.

11/24/2020 | Stop violence against Native women.

9/25/2020 | Decriminalize sex work.

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 11/15/20 Nicole Cardoza 11/15/20

Learn the key terminology.

If you’re active in social justice work (or have just been on the internet in the last 20 years), you’ve probably seen some of the terms, acronyms, and phrases used to describe ethnic and racial minorities in the US. You’ve probably used them too. Language has never been known to sit still, and so as our culture changes, the words change with it. More often than not, people are trying to hurry up and find the new “right” inoffensive words and move on without taking the time to learn the significance behind each term or, more importantly, learning when to use it (Vox).

Happy Sunday and welcome back. Thanks for being such an engaged, committed group of readers. Today, Charlie walks us through the terminology and definitions you read frequently in anti-racism work; terms that we use often in our newsletters! We're expanding key concepts we've discussed here into a glossary over the next few weeks, and these will be included. As you read, remember: definitions and how people relate to them are two different things. There is never just one answer or one perception, and how we each choose to identify ourselves is the correct answer, regardless of what the masses say. We must read, listen, and do our best to treat each other with kindness and respect.

This is the Anti-Racism Daily, a daily newsletter with tangible ways to dismantle racism and white supremacy. You can support our work by making a one-time contribution on ourwebsiteorPayPal, or giving monthly onPatreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). To subscribe, go toantiracismdaily.com.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Avoid using groupings like BIPOC if referring to specific ethnic or racial groups: If you mean Black, say Black.
Read this Vox comic by illustrator/writer Richard Blas for a visual explanation of the debates behind Latino/x/e.

GET EDUCATED

By Charlie Lahud-Zahner (he/him)

Recently, discussions about naming and the effectiveness of POC and BIPOC have been evolving (NPR). So, with this in mind, now is as good a time as ever to explore and learn the histories, meanings, and debates of the cultural vernacular.

POC

Today POC (person of color) can be a useful term because, unlike “non-white,” it defines Brown, Black, Indigenous, and Asian people as what they are, not what they aren’t (NPR). The term POC was initially developed by people of color themselves: Loretta Ross traces the term “women of color” to the 1977 National Women’s Conference in Houston when the phrase was used as a symbol of solidarity between different minority groups at the conference (Western States Center).

But some linguists and activists today worry that the original meaning has lost its teeth, now that POC is the fallback catchall word used by white people trying to be “not racist” (Vox). Many have also criticized how generally the term is used, as “person of color” fails to account that a Black woman’s experienced reality may be wholly different from that of an Asian or Latina woman (LA Times).

Some Americans remain confused by the differences between “of color” and “colored” and make the mistake of using them interchangeably (Chicago Tribune). The definition of “colored” has changed over time (NPR), but the predominant connotation of the word is a racial pejorative used toward Black Americans in the mid-20th century (PBS).

BIPOC

First mentioned on Twitter in 2013, the term BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) highlights the words “Black” and “Indigenous” in an attempt to acknowledge differences between Black and Indigenous people versus other people of color. Recognizing Indigenous identities as distinct reminds us that Indigenous Americans are not ethnic minorities or immigrants, they are this land’s original inhabitants (AICL). However, the term BIPOC still runs the risk of Black erasure, particularly in discussions of police violence (NY Times). Black Americans, especially Black men, are more likely to be killed by police than any other racial group, and more than twice as likely as white Americans (Washington Post). Hispanic children may be three times more likely than white children to have a parent in prison, but Black children are nine times as likely; Black women make up only 13% of the female US population, yet account for 30% of all females incarcerated (The Sentencing Project).To refer to Breonna Taylor and George Floyd as BIPOC glosses over the reality that the adversity Black Americans face is unique from any other racial group. Don’t use BIPOC if you mean Black or if you mean Indigenous; use BIPOC if you mean to include every identity in the acronym.

Latinx and Hispanic

The differences between Latinx and Hispanic can be really technical (NAS). But, for simplicity’s sake, the primary thing to know is that Hispanic more or less refers to descendants of Spanish speaking populations, while Latinx folk more or less refers to descendants of people from Latin America (ThoughtCo). However, for some individuals, identifying either as Latinx or Hispanic can be a matter of preference (Pew Research). Many have deferred to the term Latinx, as it distances itself from the colonial history of Spain in Latin America (Dictionary.com). (Side note: Neither Hispanic nor Latinx are racial categories – Latinx/Hispanic people can belong to any race.)

Latino, Latinx, Latine

Because Spanish is a gendered language, plural nouns that refer to groups including at least one male use the -o suffix. But critics have pointed to the -o in Latino and the rule of deferring to male pronouns as examples of embedded sexism in the Spanish language (Latina.com). Instead, they proposed the term Latinx, a way to acknowledge genders beyond the binary with the handy gender-neutral -x ending.

Opponents of this new word (which has been popularly used since around 2015 (Mother Jones) and was added to Webster’s Dictionary in 2018) claim that the term is an example of “linguistic imperialism” (The Phoenix): an instance of English speakers in the United States imposing norms on Latin America. Now, Latine is the latest alternative introduced to the modern lexicon. Much like Latinx, Latine is a gender-neutral alternative, but has been adopted by some because the ending -e, unlike -x, occurs more naturally after a consonant in Spanish. The word is also a lot easier to say (mitú).

Chicano/x

In the early 20th century, it was not uncommon for Mexican-Americans to want to be categorized as white to gain civil rights and respectability (NCBI). This choice was (and still is) less about skin color and other racial characteristics but economic status and perception of social inequalities (Pew Research). For this reason, the Chicano Movement in the 1960s was distinctive; it celebrated a Mexican-American identity rooted in social activism and celebrated Indigenous and African heritage as opposed to white European descendants (History.com).

With all this being said, identity can get complicated. Despite sharing genetic material, the last name, and a similar melanin count, my dad and I identify differently. He considers himself more Hispanic than Latino(let alone Latinx/e) and would emphasize his regional identity (Veracruz) above his racial/ethnic identity. Alternatively, I prefer Latinx/e to Hispanic to try and commit to gender-neutral language and as a way to show a preference for Mexico’s Indigenous identity. I feel comfortable with BIPOC as a term of community, but if you asked Ricardo Lahud-Zahner about that word, he’d say, “What?”

Our differences exemplify how what we call ourselves is both a sensitive and powerful topic. So when trying to decide what to write or say, use the terms the person uses to self-identify. When in doubt, err on the side of specificity (APA). It might seem like a small thing, but just like learning gender pronouns (or even someone’s name), it’s worth it for us to understand these terms--and to learn what someone wants to be called.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

POC stands for “Person of Color.” BIPOC stands for Black, Indigenous, People of Color.
When used indiscriminately, acronyms like BIPOC and POC can ignore differences between Black, Indigenous, and other people of color.
There is not always a default “right” word when referring to ethnic/racial groups. Take the time to use the most appropriate term for the situation. Defer how a person self-identifies, and be specific.

RELATED ISSUES

9/18/2020 | Reject racial gaslighting.

8/28/2020 | Start seeing color.

7/14/2020 | Embrace your race privilege.

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

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

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 11/13/20 Nicole Cardoza 11/13/20

Use emoji respectfully.

Last week, the latest software update on iOS included over 100 new emoji, many of which aimed to make this form of digital communication more inclusive. The collection includes a slew of gender-inclusive symbols, like a male emoji holding babies, the Transgender Pride Flag, and genderfluid wedding emoji (Mashable). It also has a range of "disability-themed" emojis, including a new guide dog, an ear with a hearing aid, wheelchairs, a prosthetic arm, and a prosthetic leg. And, it allows users more options to apply skin color, particularly in emoji that show two or more people and the holding hands emoji 🤝 (Paper Magazine).

Happy Friday! If I could, I’d communicate online only using emoji. It’s short, simple, and to the point. I write about 6,000 words each week, so I could use the break. Besides, all this year, I’ve felt like 🥴– my most frequently used emoji at the moment. That’s much shorter than “overwhelmed, angry, frustrated, happy, exhausted, and kinda hungry?”

But, in all seriousness, emoji is part of our digital lexicon, which means it’s a part of our language. And whether it’s written prose or a poop emoji, language matters. Especially when it comes to race. Today we’re looking at why it’s essential to respect the racial and cultural significance of using emoji. If you haven’t already, I recommend reading our post on digital blackface for more context.

TAKE ACTION

Consider how you use emoji and other forms of visual communication online. How may it uphold racial stereotypes?
Have a conversation with a friend, colleague, brand, etc. who uses emoji out of context.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

Surprisingly, the diversity of emoji has come a long way in a relatively short period. Emoji are a modern interpretation of emoticons, a pictorial representation of facial expressions using characters typed on a digital device. These are part of Unicode, a standardized set of symbols used across nearly all modern computing systems (The Atlantic). Although emoji were popularized in 2010 with the rise of smartphones, it wasn’t until 2015 when users were allowed to toggle to chose from a set of five skin tones. Despite the push for racial and ethnic representation, these tones weren’t designed around specific people. Instead, Unicode used the “Fitzpatrick scale,” a framework developed in the ’70s to describe how different skin tones respond to ultraviolet light (Washington Post). Since then, emoji representation has grown quickly to represent a wide range of religions, countries, sexual orientation, etc.

And it’s important to note that even with this rapid pace of development, emoji still have a long way to go to be equitable. Miriam Sweeney, an assistant professor in the School of Library and Information Studies at the University of Alabama, emphasizes that many emoji still have European phenotypic features, even with darker skin (WBHM).

This rapid addition of skin color offers more representation and opportunities for self-expression. But it also brings our history of racism into a new communication format. But some people choose to use emoji that don’t reflect their actual racial identity. Researchers at the University of Edinburgh found that lighter-skinned people were less likely to use their own skin color than the default yellow (Daily Dot). And beyond this, in 2016, just months after skin color emoji launched, most people on Twitter were using darker skin emoji – even though the demographics of the platform would indicate otherwise (The Atlantic).

For many people of color, it feels like an act of digital blackface, a way for people to adopt the skin of someone else’s race and use that position for their gain – and/or to oppress Black people (Anti-Racism Daily). Because Blackness in particular is often used when people want to express exaggerated emotions, consider if you’re using stereotypes about race when shifting to different skin colors. More on this in Lauren Michele Jackson’s article on Teen Vogue.

Some white people will defend using darker-skinned emoji because they don’t want to make their whiteness so “visible,” particularly in these times. Read specific examples of this in The Atlantic and Refinery29. And although the intention is understandable, the impact doesn’t align. Considering that skin color diversity was something people of color specifically rallied to be seen and heard, it feels insincere to have white people use it to obscure their own identity. And remember that it’s a privilege for white people to distance themselves from their whiteness, considering that people of color are marginalized and homogenized based on their identity.

Besides, people often use emoji to bring some intimacy to an otherwise distanced form of engagement – especially those that use digital tools as their primary form of communication. If we’re not representing ourselves, then are we actually connecting?

"
People connect with emoji on a personal level—they use them to show their smiles and their hearts...it can be a pretty intimate connection, which is why people want to look at emoji and see the things that are meaningful in their lives.
Tyler Schnoebelen, founder of Idibon, a text analytics company, for WIRED

It’s important to respect emoji, even if one may think it’s “harmless.” Language matters. And emoji has become a distinct part of our lexicon – alongside gifs and Tiktoks and memes and the written word, ASL, and all the other ways we communicate. This work isn’t about just one instance, but the practices that create them. And we must analyze how we can use language, in all forms, to hurt or heal. When using emoji, use them to express yourself without relying on someone else’s culture or identity. As Samantha Kemp-Jackson, a parenting expert and writer, explains in NPR, "what are you trying to say that you can't say in the color of your own skin?"

Fun fact: you can adopt a Unicode certificate if you forever want to associate yourself or someone else with an emoji 👩🏾‍🏫

KEY TAKEAWAYS

The latest iOS update broadened the range of diversity available in emoji
Emoji are a part of our lexicon, and we should use them respectfully
Emoji can be used in a way that appropriates other cultures, identities, backgrounds and beliefs

8/28/2020 | Start seeing color.

7/14/2020 | Embrace your race privilege.

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

6/15/2020 | Diversify your media consumption.

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 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

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

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.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 8/25/20 Nicole Cardoza 8/25/20

Rally against racism in America’s art museums.

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Thank you to everyone who rallied for Jacob Blake yesterday. We'll continue to add updates to the story on our website. Since yesterday morning's publication, a GoFundMe for Jacob Blake and his family was created. There is also a change.org petition you can sign. Please continue to keep Jacob and his family in your thoughts and hearts.

Today Ebony is giving insight on the lack of representation and discrimination in the art world, which impacts people of color and other marginalized communities. We know how much representation matters. Art is necessary for honoring the past and imagining a new path forward. In both perspectives, we need to celebrate the cultures and identities of all of us – right here, right now.

As always, you can support our efforts by making a one-time contribution on our website, PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). You can also subscribe monthly on Patreon.

Thanks to everyone that's here doing the work with us.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

1. Sign the open protest letter to hold NYC institutions accountable.

2. Donate to Black Art Futures Fund, a collective of emerging philanthropists who seek to promote and strengthen the future of Black art

3. Use this guide to support Black-owned and Black-operated art galleries in your state

GET EDUCATED

By Ebony Bellamy

Back in June, an open protest letter was written by current and former employees of NYC museums, such as the Guggenheim Museum, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The letter, which was signed by over 200 people, urges museums to “rectify in-house racial disparities, review ‘terminations both voluntary and involuntary’ involving employees of color, and adopt a ‘zero-tolerance’ policy for ‘racially-charged’ statements by staff members” (HypeBeast) amongst other things.

And this isn’t the first time staff has brought attention to the deep-rooted racist practices at these cultural institutions. The most notable incident happened in 2019 at the Guggenheim Museum. Founded in 1939, the museum never had a Black curator single-handedly organize an exhibition based entirely on their research (HypeBeast). That changed when they hired Chaédria LaBouvier to curate the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibition.

As the first Black curator at the Guggenheim Museum, this should have been an incredible experience for LaBouvier. However, in a series of tweets, she revealed that working with Nancy Spector, who is the museum’s artistic director and chief curator, was the most racist professional experience of her life. Read Chaédria LaBouvier’s Twitter thread to learn more about her experience working at the Guggenheim Museum.

To combat this, the museum launched an investigation into LaBouvier’s experience and announced they approved a two-year initiative to expand diversity and end racism in their workplace. The Guggenheim Museum is one of the first major cultural institutions to propose such a plan (New York Times).

This plan features a number of measures including the establishment of paid internships for students from underrepresented and disadvantaged backgrounds and a partnership with historically Black colleges and universities to promote job opportunities (HypeBeast). The museum also plans on hiring a high-ranking manager to oversee diversity strategies, creating an industry-wide network for people of color working in the arts and forming a committee that will investigate the museum’s exhibitions and acquisitions “through the lens of equity and diversity” (New York Times).

But it’s going to be hard to enforce this plan when the museum’s targeted demographic doesn’t represent the cultural diversity of NYC. A 2018 study conducted by a marketing firm found that nearly 73 percent of the museum’s visitors identified as white, despite white people representing 43 percent of NYC’s overall population (New York Times). This lack of visitor representation might have to deal with the Guggenheim Museum not showcasing exhibitions that highlight artists from various marginalized groups. The writers of the diversity plan pointed out that “the museum has never held a solo exhibition of a Black artist, a woman artist of color, an Indigenous artist, or a trans-identified artist” (HypeBeast).

Although the Guggenheim Museum is taking a step in the right direction, many of its employees doubt the plan will create lasting change since a majority of the museum employees, who identify as people of color, were furloughed in April and therefore excluded from the development of the diversity plan (New York Times).

The mistreatment of employees of color extends further than New York. Last month, a group of former staff and board members at the Smithsonian National Museum of African Art wrote a letter accusing the leadership of promoting a culture of racism and ignoring complaints about discrimination and racial bias (Washington Post). Within the letter, they state that “more than 10 former or current Black employees have reported or experienced incidents of racial bias, hostile verbal attacks, retaliation, terminations, microaggressions and degrading comments” (HuffPost) and these incidents occurred over the last five years.

“We write to inform you that we will no longer tolerate your blatant disrespect and egregious acts of white violence toward Black/Brown employees that reflect the oppressive tactics to keep Black/Brown employees maintained and subordinated.”

Authors of the open protest letter to NYC museums

With a predominately white staff and no curator of color, the Smithsonian National Museum of African Art, like other museums, has become a breeding ground for systemic racism. According to a former employee, right before they left their position at the Smithsonian, of more than 40 staff members, only five full-time positions were held by Black people (HuffPost). It was also reported that Black staff members were fired with no explanation and mangers often created obstacles that inhibited Black employees from doing their jobs but granted white employees, who didn’t exceed at their job, new responsibilities, promotions, and various growth opportunities (HuffPost). And this toxic culture continued despite the museum being led by three Black directors from 2008 to 2020.

Employee diversity is a well-known problem in America’s museums. A 2015 survey, conducted by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, found that 84 percent of the country's museum staff, which includes curators, educators, conservators, and upper-level administrators, were white. While four percent were Black, six percent were Asian Americans and zero percent identified as Native Hawaiians and Native Americans (NPR). This survey also revealed that women made up about 60 percent of a museum’s staff and people of color were more likely to have positions in security, human resources, facilities, and finance (NPR).

Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon to have white individuals oversee art collections from a different ethnic group. In 2018, the Brooklyn Museum appointed a white woman to oversee the museum’s African art collection and the Art Institute of Chicago hired a white man to supervise its Chinese art collection (NPR). With a lack of diversity in museums, underrepresented groups are rarely the ones in charge of overseeing art from their cultural and ethnic background.

To address the lack of diversity, museums need to own up to their racist culture. They need to fire the members of leadership who have bullied, harassed, and discriminated against non-white employees. And issue a sincere apology to the people of color in their institutions who’ve felt belittled and inferior while working there.

The Black Lives Matter movement has inspired people of color to speak up against all forms of discrimination and racism. Now, they have the power to put pressure on cultural institutions to change the way they operate. As people of color at museums continue to speak out, we can support them by letting those museums know they need to seriously re-evaluate what diversity and equality mean at their workplace.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Most museums have predominately white staff members and don’t have people of color as curators.
Employees of color are frequently victims of race-based discrimination, verbal attacks, unjustified terminations, microaggressions, and degrading comments.
Only four percent of museum staff members are Black while six percent are Asian Americans and zero percent identified as Native Hawaiians and Native Americans.
People of color are more likely to have positions in security, human resources, facilities, and finance at museums.
White staff members regularly oversee art from underrepresented racial groups.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/14/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/14/20

Embrace your race privilege.

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Happy Tuesday,

I read dozens of responses to these emails each day. So many of you are asking thoughtful, sincere questions in response to topics because you're understanding how much power you hold in your communities, workplaces, and families to change conversations for good. And many are also realizing the deep, emotional toll of being in this practice each day.

As we commit to being active anti-racists in our communities, we must first embrace what comes with our privilege, especially the racial privilege we may have. I briefly covered this topic in the first email I ever sent for the Anti-Racist Daily (41 days ago! Feels like a lifetime). And I'll keep coming back to it. I believe all of us should. We must continuously locate ourselves, or, recognize where we are in this fight and what strengths we can leverage from our position.

If you identify as non-white and have a story to share, send us a message. And as always, you can make a one-time contribution on PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or contribute monthly on Patreon.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

1. Use this worksheet* to understand your race privilege. 10mins

2. Reflect by answering the following questions (alone or in a group).
How does your race affect you when you...

go to vote?
get your annual checkup?
interview for a job?
buy a new car?

GET EDUCATED

What is race privilege?

Privilege is, simply put, “a set of unearned benefits given to people who fit into a specific social group” (Everyday Feminism). There's a lot of different types of privilege, including privilege based on gender, sexual identity, able-bodiedness, academic background, and socio-economic status. But today, we're focusing on race privilege, which centers our racial identity.

These unearned benefits aren't just perks. Privilege comes with power, specifically "unearned power conferred systematically," a term coined by anti-racist activist Peggy McIntosh (read her full essay, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack, in this PDF). This means that people with privilege tend to have inherent power simply because. The worksheet in today's action was designed to help build this perspective based on McIntosh' work.

A more modern take on unpacking white privilege went viral in June on Tiktok. Kenya Bundy created a list of 12 statements of experiences she's had as a Black woman, including "being called a racial slur, being denied service because of the color of your skin, and having to teach your child how not to be killed when dealing with the police" (Insider). Listeners can raise their hands and follow along, putting a finger down if each statement applies – a simple points-based system. Try it for yourself on Tiktok.

What is white privilege?

White privilege is especially important to understand because, in addition to everything written above, people with white privilege are also granted the "power of normal". Our society (U.S.) is built around whiteness as the default. Tolerance.org, a platform that creates resources for educators to help them lead a diverse, democratic future, has some great examples of how this shows up in everyday life (Tolerance).

A super easy one: What skin tone pops into your head when you read the words "flesh-colored"? Most colors that are called nude and flesh by brands are light-skinned. In fact, it took ALL THE WAY UNTIL MAY 2020, a whole 135 years, for Crayola to create a series of crayons that represented a broad set of skin tones (Lifehacker).

But the greatest privilege that white people experience, according to Ibram X. Kendi, is the privilege of life itself (The Atlantic), a privilege made so acutely aware as we watch police brutality and COVID-19 highlight the inequities people in the United States – and around the world – experience because of race.

We need to remember that white privilege didn't happen by accident. These benefits are the product of a system that's built on white supremacy. White privilege wouldn't exist if we didn't live in a world that has been systemically marginalizing people of other races. You can see this play out in other forms of privilege, too. The privileges associated with being a cisgender man wouldn't be possible without a long history of patriarchy and sexism. So because we have created a society that aims to normalize white people in positions of power, we also normalize violence against other groups.

As you move through today's exercise, notice how these scenarios don't just demonstrate power, but power in relationship to whiteness, the normalized and default expectation.

“White privilege is an absence of the consequences of racism. An absence of structural discrimination, an absence of your race being viewed as a problem first and foremost”.

― Reni Eddo-Lodge, Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race

Privilege is intersectional.

There are many more factors that define our privilege than just race. And I know that today's exercise looking at race privilege alone omits other critical factors like socio-economic status, gender and sexual identity, able-bodiedness, academic background, and other critical parts of our social location that make up who we are. We discussed intersectionality in more depth in our article about elevating the voices of Black women and Black trans lives in the Black Lives Matter movement. All of the components of our unique identities define how we show up in this movement.

But that doesn't mean that your intersectionality excuses you from acknowledging and embracing your white privilege. Even if you grew up poor, or are marginalized by your sexual orientation, you still have white privilege if you identify as white. That racial privilege still gives you relative power to help dismantle racism, and can likely support you in advocating for the health and safety of other communities you're a part of, too.

Embracing privilege means living with the discomfort.

This section is particularly for our white readers who benefit from white privilege. With this privilege comes the responsibility not just to leverage this power, but move through the emotions that come with it. Unpacking privilege and its contributions to centuries of harm is not easeful work, but necessary. And remember that these difficult emotions can prevent you from being a more active part of the dismantling work.

White fragility, for example, looks at how quickly people that benefit from white privilege can become defensive or angry when privilege is challenged (KQED). And white guilt and white shame, two other difficult emotions that can arise when processing white supremacy and the violence it upholds, can be dehabilitating (this PDF on white guilt offers a comprehensive overview). It's why investing in self-care, along with anti-racism training and workshops, on both an individual and community level is so critical to helping this work move forward.

Also, understand the concept of "white exceptionalism," which anti-racism author and educator Layla F. Saad explains in her recent interview with NPR. This is an unhealthy practice where people who identify as white aim to label themselves as "one of the good ones," in attempts to shield themselves from their participation in the system. People who practice white exceptionalism have to believe that they're one of the good ones, but, according to Saad, there is no bad or good. "This isn't about your inherent goodness as a person. We're talking about the ways you're unaware of causing harm to other people. Because you're not aware" (NPR).

And searching to be good or bad is a privilege in itself. It's a practice of centering how the perpetrator is perceived, as opposed to the outcome for the individuals harmed. Consider this as you ask questions on interpersonal racism, like microaggressions and cultural appropriation. Are you asking these questions to shield yourself from being seen as racist? Or, are you asking these questions with the intention of understanding, listening and learn, and make space for others? Are you using your questions a way to process your emotions, and if so, how else can you process them?

Remember that you are not alone as you unpack your racial privilege – especially when you actively bring others into this conversation. Gather your friends and family who have similar racial privilege as you to move forward, together. This work needs all of us.

*Worksheet from the Tri-County Domestic & Sexual Violence Intervention Network Anti-Oppression Training for Trainers. Created by Carol Cheney, Jeannie LaFrance, and Terrie Quinteros in 2006.

“You do have to acknowledge the advantages you receive personally as a white person, but the work is about understanding and changing systems. You have to understand that every system in the United States was created structurally and legally to serve white people, and you have to take personal responsibility for changing a system that treats you better than everyone else”.

― Joseph Barndt, PISAB trainer and author of Understanding and Dismantling Racism: The Twenty-First Century Challenge to White America, in SELF

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Understanding our privilege helps us further understand how we can move anti-racism work forward
White privilege doesn't erase other aspects of our intersectional identities
Unpacking white privilege is emotional and necessary work

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/13/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/13/20

Respect the roots of Black hair.

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Happy Monday!

Today's email is the first in our series on cultural appropriation – another potent question and inquiry in the newsletter responses. It's a broad topic that can't be fully expressed in just one newsletter (or maybe even 100). But as you read them, ask yourself: who is allowed to celebrate the culture of marginalized people in our society? What does stealing culture for coolness look like, vs. honoring it with reverence?

Ebony's comprehensive overview on natural hair is a good place for this conversation to start. And a good continuation from last week's newsletter – if you dove into the links, you'll see that comments about hair tend to be a common microaggression that non-white people experience.

If you identify as non-white and have a story to share, send us a message. And as always, you can make a one-time contribution on PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or contribute monthly on Patreon.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

1. Sign the CROWN Act Petition to encourage states to ban hair discrimination in workplaces and schools.

2. Reflect: Have you experienced hair discrimination before? If not, how would you feel if you were sent home from work because of a hairstyle that has cultural ties to your racial identity?

GET EDUCATED

By Ebony Bellamy

Cultural appropriation and hair discrimination

Within the last 10 to 15 years, cultural appropriation has become a term we can’t avoid hearing. Whether it’s Vanessa Hudgens being called out for wearing box braids (Allure) or a fashion designer sending mainly white models down the runaway in cornrowed, lace front wigs (Essence), more and more people are adapting aspects of Black culture, especially when it comes to hair, without understanding the history behind these hairstyles or respecting the people who created them.

What exactly is cultural appropriation? Cultural appropriation can be defined as, “the adoption or co-opting, usually without acknowledgment, of cultural identity markers associated with or originating in minority communities by people or communities with relatively privileged status” (Dictionary). This term is normally used when Westerners of all races adopt aspects of Eastern culture into their own or when non-POC use elements of a marginalized group’s culture to be trendy.

A repeat offender of cultural appropriation is Kim Kardashian West – who has, on numerous occasions, worn Fulani braids (Teen Vogue) and referred to them as “Bo Derek braids.” Bo Derek, a white woman, wore this hairstyle in the 1979 film “10” (IMDB), and in 1980 People Magazine credited Derek for making them a “cross-cultural craze.” But, what People Magazine and Bo Derek failed to do was understand the history behind this hairstyle.

Fulani braids originate with the Fulani or Fula people who are from West Africa. Hair played a significant role in African culture and society then and was used to identify someone’s social status, religion, age, marital status, and the clan they belonged to (Africa.com). Hairstyles were even passed down from generation to generation.

When African women were brought to America during the slave trade, their heads were shaved as a way to strip them of their identity, humanity, and culture (Essence). Once in the states, the complex, ornate braids they used to wear had to evolve into simple, easy to manage styles. These new braids became more functional and even developed a new level of importance.

Enslaved people used their braids as a form of communication to relay messages about freedom without their masters’ knowledge. “People would use braids as a map to freedom,” explained Lori L. Tharps, an associate professor at Temple University and the co-author of Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America. For example, the number of plaits an enslaved person wore would indicate “how many roads people needed to walk or where to meet someone to escape bondage” (Essence).

When enslaved people gained their freedom on June 19th, 1865, women started abandoning their braids and cornrows and preferred straightening their hair to appeal to society’s standard of beauty. And for several decades, straightened hair became the norm for Black women in American society (PBS).

“A braid was a sign of unsophistication, a downgrade of [a Black woman’s] image”.

Lori L. Tharps, associate professor of journalism at Temple University and the coauthor of Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America, for Essence

The way Black women viewed their hair changed in the 1960s when the Black Power Movement gained momentum. This movement encouraged Black people to embrace their African roots and culture. And over the last 60 years, Black hair has become a symbol of self-love and perseverance which is why Black people get upset when non-POC wear hairstyles that have deep roots in Africa. It hurts to see non-POC wear hairstyles because women such as Kim Kardashian West and Kylie Jenner wear them to be trendy and don’t understand the cultural history behind them. Read Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America to learn more about the history of Black hair.

Why is it harmful?

When non-Black women wear braids and cornrows, they’re unknowingly removing the cultural significance behind them and misrepresenting how people should view Black women when they wear similar hairstyles (Essence).

And despite the fact that white people culturally appropriate Black hairstyles, Black people themselves are still judged, criticized, and shamed for reclaiming their own cultural identity. Black hair has created harmful stereotypes that have caused people to make inaccurate assumptions about what they deem “acceptable.

Students have been sent home because their hair doesn’t fit into the school’s “hair” policy (CNN). Chasity Jones had a job offer revoked after refusing to get rid of her locs (Teen Vogue). Black children are growing up thinking their natural hair will never be enough. When they’re being reprimanded by school officials and watching their white counterparts have the freedom to express themselves with their hair, they’re subconsciously being taught white is better.

Ever since Black people were brought to this country, they’ve been facing discrimination based on aspects of themselves the average person would never be asked to change. This is why the introduction of the CROWN Act in 2019 was so monumental. This initiative aims to end hair discrimination in a country that continues to rip Black people of their cultural identities, urging states to pass laws that make hair discrimination illegal. Six states – California, New York, New Jersey, Virginia, Colorado and Washington – have signed on so far (Glamour).

“The passage of the CROWN Act in New York State makes a clear statement that we value black people and will not tolerate policies that attack their dignity,” New York Assemblywoman Tremaine Wright, who worked to have the CROWN Act passed in New York told Teen Vogue, “I hope that young women see this and understand that their hair in its natural state is beautiful and should they choose to wear their hair naturally they should not be subjected to discrimination. I want young women to celebrate their autonomy, self-determination, and natural beauty.”

The 2020 Oscar-winning animated short Hair Love, which features a Black father learning how to style his daughter’s hair, kickstarted another natural hair movement and hopefully, this inspires society to embrace natural hair. Natural hair is beautiful and until Black people are able to wear their hair how they like, we shouldn’t praise non-Black people for wearing the same hairstyles or give them credit for making it “trendy.”

Instead, let’s respect Black hair for its roots in Black and African culture and identity.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Cultural appropriation is the practice of co-opting cultural identity markers that come from marginalized communities
Cultural appropriation of Black hairstyles is especially harmful, considering how many Black people experience hair discrimination to this day
Expression of Black hairstyles has deep roots to our history, during and before enslavement in America
We must end hair discrimination so that Black people can wear their hair without repercussions

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/10/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/10/20

Understand the role of cancel culture.

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It's Friday!

Today's email is canceled, like everything and everyone else this year (kidding). But cancel culture is having a moment in the press this week, and I think it's important to note the role it's played in the movement over the past few weeks – and how it mirrors social movements of the past.

There's been so many thoughtful responses to newsletters this week. I'll be writing a recap and answering some questions in tomorrow's newsletter, so don't forget to send in your thoughts by replying to this email. Separately, if you identify as non-white and have a story to share in an upcoming newsletter, send us a message.

And as always, you can make a one-time contribution on PayPal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or contribute monthly on Patreon to help us grow.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

1. Consider the steps you would take to hold a public figure accountable for a racist action. How would you gain their attention? How would you measure success?

2. Reflect: How have others held you accountable in the past? How would you prefer to be held accountable in the future? How would you want to be held accountable as a public figure?

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza

Trump said enough this week for a whole spin-off series of the Anti-Racism Daily, but one comment in particular stood out to me. It was when he addressed the nation on Fourth of July weekend about a "growing danger that threatens every blessing our ancestors fought so hard for". Was it COVID-19? Systemic racism? His consistent bans against immigration? The desecration of Native lands?

No. It was "cancel culture" (NPR).

There's been countless examples of people getting "cancelled" lately because of racist allegations, from racist white women caught on camera, to Youtube personalities, journalists and CEOs, and everyone in between (Fast Company). But cancel culture, or a public call for withdrawing from a public figure (or company) that's doing something harmful (usually via social media) isn't new. It was popularized in the mid 2010's by Black Twitter (Vox).

In a way, canceling someone is akin to a boycott; a public call-to-action not to participate with an individual. Anne Charity Hudley, the chair of linguistics of African America for the University of California Santa Barbara, reflected on this in a fantastic long-form article on cancel culture in Vox from 2019 (Vox). So from that perspective, cancel culture has even deeper roots. Hudley emphasizes that cancel culture is "a survival skill as old as the Southern black use of the boycott". We know that boycotts were not just a comprehensive part of the Civil Rights Movement (Anti-Racism Daily), but persist in other movements, too, including the #MeToo movement (Dictionary), the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement in Palestine (Middle East Monitor) and the Delano grape strike (History). And since in today's time, cancel culture is usually fueled online, the boycott becomes actionable from anywhere – allowing a much wider audience to join in, and perhaps a more swift takedown.

Naturally, as tensions rose this past month, instances of canceling did too. In a way, it felt like the digital equivalent of the physical protests. Online canceling likely gained rapid attention for the simple fact that more people are at home and plugged into social media than ever before (Business Insider). Also, in an article for Blavity, writer Anjana Susarla emphasizes that these types of controversy are exactly what social media algorithms love, so they naturally gain traction and visibility (Blavity).

Over the past few years (and especially now), many people have said that cancel culture has "gone too far". In fact, last week an open letter signed by over 150 artists and intellectuals was circulated, warning that cancel culture is eliminating the opportunity for free speech and civil discourse (NYTimes). Last fall, former President Barack Obama encouraged people to get past the idea of always being "politically woke" and remember that all people have flaws (CNN). Another popular argument against cancel culture is around its perceived effectiveness. Although celebrities are often canceled for racist, sexist, ableist, etc. actions, they rarely experience significant setbacks in their careers a result (Vox). Blavity goes so far to say that "canceling is a privilege (among many others) of the rich."

“When they throw around terms like “cancel culture” to silence me instead of reckoning with the reasons I might find certain actions or jokes dehumanizing, I’m led to one conclusion: they’d prefer I was powerless against my own oppression”.

Sarah Hagi, writer for Time

Any tool can also be wielded as a weapon, though, and there's undoubtedly instances of cancel culture out there that don't create actionable change. Oftentimes, cancel culture becomes harmful when it's applied in horizontal power structures, against others that have more complex, intersectional identities, and ask more than the capacity of the individual or company to respond (Vox). It can be used to publicly shame someone or to act out some personal vendetta. Also, you could argue that some do it hoping to boost their followers and voice.

But personally, I always come back to the structural inequities that fostered the culture that we live in. It's easier for people in positions of power to discredit cancel culture, perhaps because they are worried about what they could lose (Time). An instance of cancel culture may seem "new," but it's more likely the culmination of calls for accountability that went left unheard – like by HR professionals who didn't properly address toxic work environments, a board of directors who looked the other way when a CEO repeatedly caused harm, or media platforms that give public figures more exposure despite recent harmful statements. To escalate recent conversations on racial discrimination in the workplace, brave people of color had to break NDAs, navigate unemployment, and carry the stress of 2020 while also holding these brave and difficult conversations. Not all instances of cancel culture are good, but the practice itself is sometimes the only way marginalized folk can ensure their voice won't get lost in a system that was designed to silence.

Remember – usually cancel culture creates consequences for people with incredible privilege and power when they wouldn't have received it otherwise. No only do we need to hear marginalized voices, we need to set better examples for how we actively dismantle white supremacy.

In a way, Trump is right. We do have a growing danger in America when it comes to cancel culture. But that's how our system operates at default: it cancels the culture of systemically marginalized communities and limits their right to be heard. Some argue Trump is leading that charge (Washington Post). We can't tip the scales too far in the opposite direction and lose sight of our goals. But we must be nuanced with how we brand cancel culture. Otherwise, we could discredit both this form of protest and the invaluable stories that need it to be heard.

“Holding someone accountable isn’t the same thing as “cancel culture.” There’s too many people out here who haven’t acknowledged their mistakes, apologized for them, nor have they gone on to make amends; that are using “cancel culture” to shield them from accountability—do better”.

Ashlee Marie Preston, media personality, activist and journalist, on Twitter.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Cancel culture is akin to a digital boycott of a person, usually a powerful public figure
Canceling someone is an attempt to hold them accountable
Although aspects of cancel culture are being used in harmful ways, the practice of accountability is necessary for creating change, and minimizing future harm

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/9/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/9/20

Acknowledge the harm of microaggressions.

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Hi,

We're close to the end of another week! Reminder that each Saturday I share reflections and questions from the community – reply to this email with yours. I appreciate all the thoughtful responses from our topics this week.

Many people have asked about microaggressions, so today's newsletter dives in. We've been focusing much of our newsletter on the systemic forms of racism, so this is a good reminder of how much our individual actions help to reinforce inequitable systems by perpetuating false stereotypes.

As always, you can invest one-time on Paypal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or monthly on Patreon to keep this community growing. We have new tools and resources coming your way, and your support is so appreciated!

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

For those that identify as white:
1. Reflect on the last time you saw a racial microaggression happen. Have a conversation with that individual using the resources below.

Everyone:
2. Consider – what microaggressions have you experienced related to your identity? How did they feel? How do you wish to be perceived instead?

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza

Stories of microaggressions have been making the news as brave non-white people share their harmful experiences with others, oftentimes in work settings. But they're easy to overlook as more overt forms of racism dominate the news cycle. Today we're analyzing how microaggressions play a major role in interpersonal and systemic racism.

Microaggressions are defined as "the everyday verbal, nonverbal, and environmental slights, snubs, or insults, whether intentional or unintentional, which communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to target persons based solely upon their marginalized group membership" (B lavity). Microaggressions can be racist, sexist, homophobic, etc, and any combination of these, too (remember our conversation on intersectionality), but we're centering this conversation on racial microaggressions.

For the sake of our non-white readers, I won't be listing any examples in this article, but you can read lists of examples on Vox, NYTimes, Psychology Today, Fortune, Teen Vogue, Buzzfeed, Instagram, and CNN. Read these and Google "examples of racial microaggressions" so you can see more. Do not reach out to a non-white person to give you examples of microaggressions.

Because of the word "micro," many people (read: non-white people) consider instances of microaggressions to be brief and relatively harmless. But there is nothing micro about microaggressions. Many psychologists refer to the impact of microaggressions as "death by a thousand papercuts" for those that experience them on a regular basis (NYTimes). If macroaggressions define more overt forms of racism (JSTOR), microaggressions are more accurately subvert acts, a way to undermine or corrupt someone, which makes them all the more sinister, especially when people use them intentionally to get away with racism in public settings.

The impact of microaggressions

But the impact of microaggressions is anything but small. In fact, studies have proved that the impact of microaggressions is almost as mentally and emotionally damaging as macroaggressions (full study here). Another study found that Black teenagers in the United States face microaggressions multiple times a day, most frequently online, which often leads to depression (Blavity).

It's difficult to isolate the impact of microaggressions alone on broader health outcomes. But in this fascinating article from NPR, psychologists look at correlations of various health indicators after more overt forms of racism on different populations throughout the world and find consistent data that indicates how damaging stressful, traumatic experiences can be (NPR). The aggregated impact of racism, from the systemic to interpersonal, is being referred to as a term called weathering, which refers to the way the constant stress of racism can lead to premature biological aging and worse health outcomes for Black people (SELF Magazine). Although microaggressions certainly play a part in weathering, we'll discuss weathering in full at a later date.

But remember, we don't need statistics to validate harm. Kevin Nadal, a professor of psychology at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, puts it simply: "At the end of the day if somebody says something racist to you, it's racist. And if it hurt your feelings, it hurt your feelings, so it doesn't really matter what we define it as" (NPR).

“[Microaggressions] really chip away at your self worth, and it’s harder because the instances seem so small.”

Avery Francis, HR Expert for the Independent

Addressing racial microaggressions

As conversations around race grow in offices and around dinner tables, microaggressions have more of a chance to come out of the shadows. But it puts non-white people in a difficult position. Not only do we have to reckon with the emotional impact of the microaggression itself, we have to choose how to respond– knowing our disadvantaged position in these scenarios. We have to consider how responding could further enforce false stereotypes about our race. We have to gauge whether we could be provoking more racial aggressions, even bodily harm. We also have to consider how staying silent will enforce this behavior in the future, and cause further suffering.

Resources for responding to racial microaggressions as a non-white person that highlight these considerations are available in the Harvard Business Review and Advancing Justice website.

With privilege comes the responsibility to intervene on behalf of someone harmed and address racist interactions directly. Derald Wing Sue, a psychology and education professor at Columbia University in New York City, offers a way for anti-racist allies to intervene during a microaggression in an interview with CNN.

Make the invisible, visible.
According to Sue, the perpetrator is often unaware of their actions. As an anti-racist ally, you must, at minimum, make sure they are aware of the harm they caused (CNN). Diane Goodman, a social justice and diversity consultant, offers this format in the NYTimes:

“I know you didn’t realize this, but when you __________ (comment/behavior), it was hurtful/offensive because___________. Instead you could___________ (different language or behavior.)”

Educate the perpetrator.
Ensure they understand that regardless of the intent of what they said, it's the impact of their words that matter (CNN).

Disarm the microaggression.
Move the conversation past a problematic to communicate that it's offensive. According to Sue, you'll be "modeling good behavior to other people present, and you can have a later conversation with the person about why his joke was inappropriate" (CNN).

"…if you're a person with privileged identities and you want to be a true ally, maybe you do have to do that homework. Maybe you do have to engage in those uncomfortable emotions because you know that it's your job and responsibility to have those conversations so that other people of color or women or LGBTQ folks won't have to have those conversations for you.'“

Kevin Nadal, a professor of psychology at John Jay College of Criminal Justice for NPR

It's important as we do this work that we don't focus only on the blatant forms of racism. So much of macro systemic racism is reinforced by micro-actions, and racial microaggressions play a major part. As we do this work we must take accountability for microaggressions, and use our privilege to call them out however we can.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Racial microaggressions are common and brief and subvert forms of racism
The impact of racial microaggressions is as damaging as macroaggressions
Microaggressions contribute to the cumulative stress that non-white people experience as part of living with racism
It's important that we leverage our privilege to dismantle microaggressions in our workplaces and other social spaces

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/7/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/7/20

Honor the biracial / multiracial experience.

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Hi friends,

Today's Anti-Racism Daily is written by Ebony, our newest addition to the team! This piece honors her identity and the perspective she'll bring to our daily conversations. Send her a virtual warm welcome from wherever you're reading this!

This newsletter also offers a small glimpse into the breadth, depth and complexity of racial identity in our society and how it impacts our collective experiences – something to keep in mind as we continue to dismantle systemic oppression. It's why I'm committed to ensuring we continue to offer diverse perspectives on these critical issues.

This work is possible because of your contributions – you can invest one-time on Paypal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or monthly on Patreon to keep this community growing. Thank you for your support!

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

To better understand the struggles biracial and multiracial people face daily, read books such as Beyond Black: Biracial Identity in America, watch Ted Talks, and videos that fully breakdown the biracial and multiracial experience.
Reflect: How would I feel if my racial identity was constantly being questioned? If this is already your lived experience: what do you wish to reclaim about your identity?

GET EDUCATED

By Ebony Bellamy

With conversations around Black Lives Matter becoming more prominent over the last two months, this has left multiracial people asking themselves, “where do I fit into these conversations?”, “am I allowed to voice my opinion?”, and “is my Blackness valid?”.

For biracial and multiracial individuals, especially those who are half-Black, 2020 marks a year of racial challenges. Whether it’s questioning their right to identify as a BIPOC or wishing they had the same physical appearance as a specific parent to fit into society’s standards, it can be difficult for them to accept their racial identity.

Throughout history, there has been a long list of words to describe people who are two or more races, and some of those were used to be hurtful. “Mixed”, “half-breed”, “mutt”, and “cross-breed” are just a few examples. In America during the 1800s, “mulatto” was the term used for someone who had one white and one black parent or was racially ambiguous. In South Africa, “bushie” is a derogatory slang term for mixed-race people because it’s believed multiracial children are conceived in the bush. While in Japan, they use “hāfu”, which means half, and in Brazil they use “cor de canela”, “cor de rosa”, and “cor de crema”. Read All Mixed Up: What Do We Call People Of Multiple Backgrounds? by Code Switch to learn more about the history of the terms used to identify multiracial people.

Today, “biracial” and “multiracial” are the most common terms used to describe a person who identifies as more than one race. Biracial is normally used for someone who has parents from two different races. While multiracial is used when someone has parents from two or more races such as a child having a half-Colombian, half-Trinidadian mother, and a father who is German, Nigerian, and Korean.

Unfortunately, it has become a glorified goal in society to have biracial or multiracial children. More and more individuals are seeking out partners from other races because they want their child to have “good hair”, light-colored eyes and a lighter complexion. But, they fail to realize the emotional and psychological challenges their children will face due to their complex racial background.

“Being able to pass as a lot of different races means other people don’t know how to categorize me, but it’s also made me second-guess how to categorize myself”.

Kayla Boyd, 23-year-old fashion and lifestyle blogger, in a Marie Claire article that shares the stories of biracial women who are half-white and half-Black

Growing up biracial and multiracial means people constantly asking, “where are you from?” and wanting you to categorize yourself. Although this question may seem harmless, it’s a difficult one to answer because not everyone wants to explain their racial background. Some individuals struggle with their identity and aren’t sure how to identify themselves. Plus, they don’t want to feel like they have to prove themselves if their physical appearance doesn’t closely resemble their race.

In today’s society, people are obsessed with their peers being “exotic” or a “cool mix.” This is extremely problematic because biracial and multiracial people are human, not a collector’s item or an object. It’s not their job to fulfill your curiosity by explaining their racial identity. Their race shouldn’t be the only aspect of them that defines them. That’s why a number of biracial and multiracial people refuse to disclose their race because they know they’ll be asked a million questions about their ancestry or if they like certain things because of their race. These questions are our subconscious way of placing people into a box based on stereotypes.

As a society, we feel the need to categorize people so they fit into our world views. And, when we can’t identify them we get frustrated and form unrealistic opinions on who they might be and how they should act. A good example of this is assuming all people with darker complexions are Black and like rap, the same music and fried chicken. That’s inaccurate and a dangerous way to think. Watch this 4:51 minute-long video BBC Three which discusses things you should never say to biracial and multiracial people.

We live in a world where our race determines how we’re treated by our peers and what opportunities we’ll be granted. Race plays a large role in how we relate to other people and how we see ourselves. So for biracial and multiracial people, they sometimes feel like they can only be one race. Simple things like applying for a job or scholarship require them to pick one race to identify with because a lot of companies and organizations still don’t offer two or more races as an option within the application. It’s a constant battle to figure out where they belong.

It’s human nature to want to feel like you’re a part of something. We all want to feel understood and represented in society. But, that’s something biracial and multiracial people don’t experience often enough because they feel like they constantly have to prove their self-worth and their identity.

“Identity is understanding who we are in the world. Part of that is how others understand us, and the other part is how we understand ourselves”.

Kerry Ann Rockquemore, co-author of Beyond Black: Biracial Identity in America for Marie Claire

As a biracial woman of Hispanic and Black descent, I can only speak from my own personal experiences. Not all biracial and multiracial people have the same experiences. Here are some viewpoints of other mixed-race people so you can further understand the biracial and multiracial experience in America.

"White people like to believe I'm Caucasian like them; I think it makes their life less complicated. But I don't identify as 100% white, so there always comes a time in the conversation or relationship where I need to 'out' myself and tell them that I'm biracial.”
Helen Seely, 'Racial Impostor Syndrome': Here Are Your Stories, Code Switch Podcast

“My mum’s family are from Cyprus. My dad’s family are Jamaican, with African heritage. But I grew up in northwest London. When I was the president of the African Caribbean Society at university, one of my friends who ran the society with me told me I wasn’t really black because I had a white mum. I think from that point onwards I’ve always referred to myself as black – very intentionally. I stand in solidarity with all black people. I don’t think being mixed makes me any less black. Whiteness is set up to exclude all those who are not white.”
Dean Atta, The mixed-race experience: 'There are times I feel like the odd one out', The Guardian

“I've noticed that some people are much less tolerant. They get tied up in knots when people identify in ways that don't square with their own worldviews or racial math. Check the comments on any article that refers to Obama as the first black president, and you'll find someone lamenting that he is just as much white as he is black — half and half! — and it doesn't make sense to call him African-American. But he's chosen a descriptor that reflects his life experience, and, hard as it is for some to accept, we don't get to dictate what other people call themselves.”
Jenée Desmond-Harris, 6 things I wish people understood about being biracial, Vox

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Research the history behind the terms used to identify people of multiple racial backgrounds to better understand the biracial and multiracial experience.
Although we’re curious about people’s racial identity, we shouldn’t interject our own personal opinions on race when talking to someone who is biracial or multiracial.
Read perspectives from biracial and multiracial people when understanding what not to say in conversations.
Acknowledge that each biracial and multiracial experience is different and unique.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/4/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/4/20

Weekly Reflection: White terrorists, Black spaces, and deleting Facebook.

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Hi everyone,

Each Saturday I go through the questions and reflections from the community in response to the actions we've been taking everyday. It's a good way to reflect further on the key themes – and catch up on any actions you missed this week. This weekly series needs a better title...

Many of the questions this week are too broad for a simple one-paragraph response, and are added to the list for future newsletters! And kind reminder that these daily newsletters should be part – but not all – of your anti-racism education and actions. There is no such thing as "enough" until we are all free! They're designed to introduce you to issues, but certainly can't paint the whole picture in 800-1000 words. Keep learning and listening.

As always, you can invest one-time on Paypal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or monthly on Patreon to keep these conversations growing. I'm so grateful to be learning and unlearning with each of you.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

1. Choose one newsletter from this week. Share with a friend to read, and discuss afterwards. Commit together to diving deeper, answering your questions, and learning more.

WEEKLY REFLECTION

Why is it that white men, whether at schools or otherwise, are very rarely reported and / or labeled as terrorists?
In response to Don't Vote for Trump, which analyzes the white supremacy movement in America

Racism, put simply. Ibram X. Kendi puts it simply – terror in America (and in many parts of the world) has been branded as something delivered by Black and Brown communities (The Atlantic). White men that commit acts of terror are usually referred to a "troubled individual" "acting alone," but in reality (like in the examples from our newsletter on Confederate symbols) they are nearly always perpetuating a violent and racist ideology – one that's embedded in the fabric of our society.

Teen Vogue has done some powerful reporting on this, analyzing both the response to the Parkland school shooting (Teen Vogue) and criticizing how certain people get named terrorists (Teen Vogue). And the NYTimes analyzes how the white supremacy ideology thrives online and in the Trump administration (NYTimes).

Thank you to person that submitted this question WITH the research they've done so far!

"
In the American imagination, danger comes mainly in black or brown, to the point that people miss the threat emanating from individuals who happen to be white. In recent years, white terrorists motivated by all sorts of bigotry have shot up white churches and synagogues and concerts and schools and bars and yoga studios. White people, not to mention the rest of us, are being terrorized—primarily by other white people. Any day can be the day they meet the final face of white terror, too.

The fundamental question of our time is whether we have enough respect for humanity to protect against white terror. Do we have the desire and the courage to preserve and extend pockets of equality, liberty, and democracy in the face of those who would subvert and destroy them?

– Ibram X. Kendi in The Atlantic

Do we all leave Facebook so we're not complicit?
In response to 6.30 newsletter Boycott as a form of protest, which reviewed the power of boycotts in the anti-racism movement.

Facebook is a powerful tool for staying connected with friends and running businesses. It might do you more good to stay informed and active online than going dark altogether. But that choice is up to you. It's highly unlikely enough people will boycott the service to cause Facebook to change, but it is likely that brands pulling millions of advertising money will. My opinion? I'd focus on getting the large company you may work for to pull ad revenue (if they use FB) than deactivate your own account.

But I get a lot of questions like these that feel less tactical, more moral (although this particular reader sounded very tactical, so just using this as an example). For moral questions, I leave that decision up to you. Ask yourself the questions and decide: what are you willing to sacrifice? What is being called for in this moment? Are you taking action for yourself or the greater good? Will this action be your only action? Is this action the most comfortable one?

How do I find black-owned businesses?

Google!

I’m a white woman and want to support Black businesses. I also want to be cognizant of Black spaces and not infiltrating them with our whiteness. Can you touch on this?

Supporting Black-owned businesses with your dollars is always a good thing (and please remember to make it sustainable, not just a one-time thing, because Black-owned businesses have operationalized to manage demand that might disappear once the protests fade). But you bring up an interesting intersection of supporting these businesses and gentrifying them with your presence.

I'll spend time on gentrification more broadly later on. But I think there needs to be a distinction between Black-owned businesses and Black spaces. Black people – and other people of color – deserve their own space to connect and heal (great article on this by The Arrow) but that might not be a Black-owned business, which may be designed to cater to any population. And start asking yourself questions about whether you belong in that space, how people will feel with your presence, and how you would be actively contributing. It takes a level of awareness about how to navigate spaces – an awareness that Black people, and other people of color, have had to practice their entire lives.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/3/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/3/20

Share these words by Frederick Douglass.

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Happy Friday,

And happy "holiday" weekend, although it certainly doesn't feel celebratory. I appreciate how many people reached out about how to respond to Independence Day this year: should we protest? Boycott? Call our local officials to cancel their festivities?

It shows how thoughtfully everyone is reading and applying the concepts from previous newsletters, which I greatly appreciate. Thank you for being here.

As always, you can invest one-time on Paypal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or monthly on Patreon to keep these conversations growing. I'm so grateful to be learning and unlearning with each of you.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

1. Share parts of the "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?" this weekend as part of your festivities (an image you can share on social is included below).

2. Create an annual tradition to share and reflect on these words with your loved ones.

If you're based outside of the U.S., consider how your country may be celebrating its independence when most of its people aren't free. Who are the voices that deserve recognition on your national holiday?

GET EDUCATED

I kept today's analysis brief because Frederick Douglass' words do that for us. Please read his speech in full.

Frederick Douglass, who escaped from being enslaved and became a prominent abolitionist, orator, writer, and social reformer, was invited to speak at an event commemorating the signing of the Declaration of Independence, held at Corinthian Hall in Rochester, New York (more on Frederick Douglass here). The Ladies Anti-Slavery Society of Rochester, New York, invited him to speak on July 4, but he spoke on the fifth in protest of the national holiday, as well as to commemorate July 5, 1827 — the end of slavery in New York (Travel + Leisure).

The speech, which is included in full at the link below, was delivered at a pivotal part of American history. The Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 had just been passed, which gave the federal government authority to capture people that were allegedly enslaved and return to their captors, even if they were in a free state (History). The book Uncle Tom's Cabin had just been published, and the upcoming presidential election was about to happen (Time). Together, these events would all provide the soil for the Civil War, and the civil rights movement that's still unfolding today.

Spoken nearly 200 years ago, the words known as "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?" are a scathing critique of the failed promises of the Declaration of Independence to Black people enslaved. It acknowledges the contributions of the Founding Fathers while noting the hypocrisy of of these ideals with the institution of slavery (NMAAHC). Much of Frederick Douglass' words still ring true today. America, unfortunately, has still not lived up to its promises for all people.

Read Full Speech

Alternatively, you can watch five young descendants of Frederick Douglass read the entire speech in this video (NPR).

Share this image on social media using the hashtag #antiracismdaily.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/1/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/1/20

Reflect before apologizing to your Black friends.

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It's Wednesday!

Our emails for the past week or so have been focused on structural racism: how public policies and institutional racism perpetuate racism in our society. But as we dive into those topics (and there are SO many more) it's also important to remember that racism exists on an interpersonal level, too, and upheld and perpetuated by how we treat one another.

As this lovely community has grown, a frequently asked question is how to have conversations around current events, or apologize for past harm, with friends who identify as Black. Although I can't speak for all Black people or the specific circumstances of your relationship, I can offer resources to contextualize how you approach this conversation. This is an updated version of an earlier newsletter from 6.8, which analyzed it only from a work lens.

Thank you to everyone that's financially contributing to make this possible – and ensuring this can always be free for those that aren't able. Consider investing one-time on Paypal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or monthly for this community to grow.

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

If you identify as non-Black:

Reflect and respond to these questions below before you reach out to a Black friend / colleague:

What prompted me to reach out to this person?
What do I know about this person's emotional state right now?
What assumptions am I making?*
What burden am I putting on this friend I care about?*
Would I normally ask this question?*
Did I, say, wish this person a happy birthday?*
What would I do if they really aren’t okay?*

*These prompts are from Priska Neely's article Please Stop ‘Checking In to See If I’m Okay in The Cut.

If you identify as Black:

A kind reminder that you have no obligation to respond or engage with any harmful messages in your inbox right now.

GET EDUCATED

Over the past month, Black people have been bombarded with texts, calls, IG messages, emails, Slack messages, etc with apologies from white people (and other non-white POC) – apologies for the police brutality, for the collective awakening in society, and for past microaggressions or more overt forms of racism.

Part of this is sparked by the apology train unfolding in our news. We've watched celebrities apologize for insensitive content in the past, like Jimmy Fallon (NYTimes) and Youtube personality Jenna Marbles (Forbes). White actors are stepping down from voicing Black characters on animated series (Glamour). It feels like every day there is a new, public, grand apology posted on Instagram or in a series of tweets coming across my newsfeed.

These public apologies make sense for celebrities with influence. They shine a public light on public examples of past harm. But when we look at apologizing or reaching out on an interpersonal level, I'm not sure the same rules apply. Acknowledging pain or harm in an interpersonal relationship is much more nuanced. And to fully understand it, we need to understand intent vs. impact, a concept critical to social justice work.

Unpacking intent vs. impact is a practice of decoupling our words and actions from how they impact other people. Oftentimes when addressing race, our words and actions don't land the way we intend, especially in times of deep emotional pain and trauma. And regardless of what we think we're doing, there's still harm in what we do. Or, as Rebekah aptly said in a blog post from January 2018, "if I punch you in the face on accident—you still got punched in the face". Although we can never be fully responsible for how someone responds, we need to get critical on how our impact can cause harm to people – especially when they are already in pain, and our intention is to acknowledge that pain without causing more. Watch this 2:30m video by Diverse City by Dr. Cheryl Ingram on the importance of intent vs. impact in diversity, equity and inclusion (Youtube).

Many people when causing harm tend to attach themselves to the intent side of the narrative. "I didn't mean to" is a common refrain. But that doesn't get us anywhere; acknowledging the impact is far more important. Let's circle back to our celebrity apologies, many acknowledge this in their own posts. Many use language like "although I didn't mean to, I realize now that my actions were harmful". It's as if, even in the apology itself, there has to be some semblance of innocence. And that can often get in the way of accountability. Stop holding onto your innocence so you can carry your culpability – otherwise, you're forcing a Black person to do it for you.

Today's action should help you do move from intention to impact, first by getting clear on what your actual intention is for reaching out. Are you actively willing and able to support your Black colleagues? Or, are you instead looking alleviate some guilt that you're feeling with the weight of this moment? Remember that it's not fair to alleviate your own guilt about current events and your own relationship with this work by reaching out to a Black person. If that's your intention, you might want to consider how to take care of that outside your relationship.

The second is to understand what the impact of your outreach will be. Does your outreach add burden, or feel disingenuous? Does it directly benefit the Black person you're reaching out to? If you're checking in to see if someone is okay, are you in a position to actually support this person with their feelings? And if you're apologizing for past transgressions, how committed are you to continuing to learn and unlearn what brought that harm to begin with? I have a feeling you're committed if you're reading this newsletter! But important to note nonetheless.

And consider how your privilege may muddle the impact of your intent. When prompting a conversation with colleagues at work, note: are you their direct report, or in a higher role than them? Consequently, are you placing them in a space where they may feel forced to respond? Perhaps you can focus your intention instead on creating a safer work environment for your Black colleagues (inspiration via CNBC). Even more simply, are you reaching out during a time where you feel rested and healed, without acknowledging whether the other person in the conversation has had the same opportunity? Remember that your apology is likely to land in your friend's inbox on top of three more – does that change how you'd like to approach the conversation?

“Apologizing is the dual act of recognizing another’s humanity as sacred while also working to dismantle the internalized-ideologies that led you to dehumanize someone in the first place.”

Ciarra Jones in "The Violence of white (and non-Black PoC) Apologies" on Medium

As a Black woman writing this, I can't speak for all Black people. You can read through these reflections of the apologies and check-ins that many have experienced, and how they feel about them.

"So please, stop sending #love. Stop sending positive vibes. Stop sending your thoughts. Here are three suggestions on more immediately impactful things to offer instead."

Chad Sanders, I Don’t Need ‘Love’ Texts From My White Friends in the NYTimes

"So if this is the first time you’re asking me how I am, if this is the first time we’ve talked about my existence as a black person in America, you are definitely not the person I’m going to call if I’m not okay. And that is okay! It’s also the reason I don’t need you to check on me now."
Priska Neely, Please Stop ‘Checking In to See If I’m Okay in The Cut.

"If you're a white person, you want to try to understand how you might be feeling if you were in the kind of crisis that your black colleague or friend is in right now," she explains. "What would I want to hear?" Dr. Breland-Noble also points out that if they were really our friends — if they were really coworkers that we valued — we would always be coming from a space of trying to understand, whether in a crisis or not."
Elizabeth Gulio, Before You Check In On Your Black Friend, in Refinery29

"She wanted to make sure she was not creating an emotional burden for her friends, she said, but also that she was not missing an important moment to help if they needed anything. She settled on a simple rule: She would only check in with people of color she already interacted with on a daily basis before the protests, those who she felt would receive her message with a sense of relief and not as an additional burden."
Jose A. Del Real, White people are pouring out their hearts - and sending money - to their black friends in the Washington Post

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Although we can never be fully responsible for how someone responds, we need to get critical on our impact can cause harm to people, especially when they are already in pain
Read perspectives from Black people and others in different relationships when understanding intent v. impact in these conversation
Move into apologies with a full commitment to do the work to dismantle the preconceptions that got you here
Acknowledge how white guilt can often play a role in misconstruing intent, and causing negative impact
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“White privilege is an absence of the consequences of racism. An absence of structural discrimination, an absence of your race being viewed as a problem first and foremost”.― Reni Eddo-Lodge, Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race

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“A braid was a sign of unsophistication, a downgrade of [a Black woman’s] image”.

Lori L. Tharps, associate professor of journalism at Temple University and the coauthor of Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America, for Essence

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“[Microaggressions] really chip away at your self worth, and it’s harder because the instances seem so small.”

Avery Francis, HR Expert for the Independent

Kevin Nadal, a professor of psychology at John Jay College of Criminal Justice for NPR

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“White privilege is an absence of the consequences of racism. An absence of structural discrimination, an absence of your race being viewed as a problem first and foremost”.

― Reni Eddo-Lodge, Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race

“Identity is understanding who we are in the world. Part of that is how others understand us, and the other part is how we understand ourselves”.

Kerry Ann Rockquemore, co-author of Beyond Black: Biracial Identity in America for Marie Claire