“The opposite of consumption isn’t thrift – it’s generosity.” ~ Raj Patel, The Value of Nothing

I am struggling to write this post. I feel heartbroken and I also feel galvanized to step forward and do all that I can to be a good ally and use my privilege for good.

If I dig down, I find that one of my core beliefs is that I must live a meaningful life and be a good person. At this particular moment in the United States, this belief is being tapped on, and I find myself “on” a lot, struggling to figure out the “right way forward”, wanting to do “the right thing” and stand up for my black and brown brothers and sisters.
 
When I peel back an additional layer, I see that I am frightened and ashamed: frightened about what is to come, frightened by the deep, generations-old race-related wounds in this nation, frightened about putting myself in the line of fire by speaking out, getting it wrong, becoming a projection-screen for others’ woundedness. I feel ashamed for being frightened and for the times I haven’t spoken up. I feel ashamed for moments of cowardice or ‘numbing out’ when in so many ways and in so many situations, my whiteness affords me safety.
 
I also resist and resent shame and fear-based activism, mostly because this is a weapon I have used against myself countless times and there are deep wounds there. I also resist the idea that forcing myself to struggle and be miserable actually helps anyone who is marginalized or disempowered. Self-flagellation is not the same as allyship.
 
So what to do? The truth is, I don’t know.

I can feel within me an urge to rush ahead to a solution. Read more books, says this impulse. Listen to more podcasts. Unpack your white fragility. Don’t get defensive. Show up more and better. Shut your mouth and listen. This is not about you.

It’s not that it’s a bad idea to educate myself, and I certainly believe in showing up and listening. I will continue to do that. However, there’s something about the tone of this inner narrative that I distrust. At this moment, I am choosing to continue the inquiry, to pause and listen even more deeply…

What would an ‘activism of love’ look like here?

How can I show up for my black and brown brothers and sisters without turning on myself, without making this moment into a self-shaming and self-diminishment exercise?

What would really and truly be the most generous and impactful response on my part?

I am very open to feedback here.

Also, please let me know how you are navigating these strange times. I would love to hear from you. If you’d like a creative container for your grief and anger during this time, consider joining me for a Smashbooking workshop.