It was Tuesday morning, around 5:30. I woke up. Rolled over, and grabbed my phone to check the weather.
This is how almost every morning begins for me (though I’m not happy about it). I grab my phone to “check the weather,” but then I spend the next thirty minutes scrolling through Instagram and Twitter, down the social media rabbit-hole.
Right away I noticed the black squares. Friends who I look up to were posting black squares, muting their usual photos of food, dogs, memes, and selfies to make space for black voices. Yes. I thought. If ______ {insert names of friends whom I respect as leaders in the fight}____ is doing this then it must be helpful.
I am really good at following directions. I posted the black square, being sure not to tag it with "#BLM or #blacklivesmatter. No tag, no caption. Then I proceeded to share books by black authors, suggestions for action, suggestions for organizations to donate to, and video clips from black leaders. I invited seven of my friends to read How to Be An Antiracist with me and they all said yes (except one… that’s a story for another day).
I went about my day. I homeschooled my kids (as best I could). I went for a bike ride. In the back of my mind, I kept replaying video clips of police violence, feeling vaguely sick to my stomach, feeling paralyzed.
I live in a mostly white rural town, in a mostly white state. Our schools are mostly white. I am a white woman, from a mostly all white family. Local businesses, hospitals, everything, is mostly white. I left my diverse group of friends behind in Brooklyn, New York several years ago to move back to Vermont, and I’m embarrassed to say that since we’ve moved I only have one new friend in Vermont who is not white.
I’m also ashamed to admit this - in our tiny, mostly white state, there was a small BLM rally Tuesday in our state’s largest town, Burlington, but I was too afraid of the risk of covid-19 to go. Like I said earlier, I’m really good at following directions. I’m a rule follower.
In the days that followed, the phrase “performative allyship” started showing up in my Twitter and Instagram feeds and I had a sinking feeling. I have been practicing performative allyship. I had posted a bunch of stuff, the black square and everything, I was reading a bunch of books, and that was really about it.
I’ve posted information, book recommendations, doing what I can to amplify black voices for years. I’ve attended anti-racism conferences, and read anti-racist books. I am not new to the work. But I now know that’s not enough. I own my mistake. I need to figure out what actions I can take. (Please note, I’ve listed all these things I’ve done, not to toot my own horn, but to make that point that educating myself is not enough. Educating myself does not do anything to change racist laws and policies.)
At a conference I attended several years ago, hosted by Black Lives Matter, I learned that people like me should think carefully about where to put our energy. I can’t be all things to all people. If I try to tackle everything - donations, marches, joining organizations, volunteering - I will likely burn out. I also will likely only gain a surface understanding about any of it. So I need to narrow down, hone in on what I can effectively take on.
For now, here’s my action plan (until I know better):
For years as a literacy coach I’ve been taking small actions - diversifying and updating our classroom libraries, for example. But starting now, I am speaking up more in my curriculum meetings at the district level. Today I suggested we place a moratorium on our racist social studies units that have been in place forever in our K-4 classrooms. I was promised that the social studies curriculum is being revised and will continue to be revised next year. A baby step forward. I’ll take it (and keep coming back to it).
I’m making a goal to contact Bernie Sanders on a regular basis, one of my state senators, to urge him to continue rolling back antiquated “War on Drugs” laws that do nothing to care for people with serious addictions, and serve largely to put young black men in jail. (Pushing to pass the “Marijuana Justice Act” is one example). Bernie is a senator with a little bit of clout. I am one of his constituents - and we are a tiny state. He listens to us (I think). So I can do this and it might make a difference.
I’m concentrating on actively teaching my own children to be anti-racist. I’ve been reading aloud An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States for Young People to my daughter, and I’m going to follow up it up with Stamped. We watched the CNN/Sesame Street Town Hall for young kids on racism and that’s been a good conversation builder for my son and daughter as well.
I’m donating to Grass Roots Law Project. I’ve followed Shaun King for years and learned so much from his work, and it’s time I put my money where my mouth is.
These are things I can do. These are things I know a lot about. These are things I care deeply about, not in a general, “make change” sort of way, but in a very real way. I know I still have so much to learn, and I’ll keep reading, talking, and listening. But I can’t stop there.