Video course of the day

“One of the great challenges in this world is knowing enough about a subject to think you’re right, but not enough about the subject to know you’re wrong.”

Neil deGrasse Tyson, “Teaches Scientific Thinking and Communication, MasterClass, 2019

So begins the trailer for Neil deGresse Tyson’s online class about thinking.

Yup, dropped the “scientific” from that. Because it seems like a class about how to think, whether you apply it to science, politics, the course itself…

(Credit to my partner, who pointed out that “design thinking” is just thinking, too.)

In addition to Tyson’s class, I’m also participating in the online version of Yale Professor Lauri Santos’ “The Science of Well-Being” course.

I highly recommend both, for content and (for folks currently designing online content themselves), format.

I see myself in this picture

This is a photo of Lauren Leander, an intensive care nurse at a hospital in Phoenix, who counter-protested on Monday at the Arizona State Capitol at a rally protesting the state’s stay-at-home order.

To be clear: when I say I see myself in this picture, I mean I’m the guy with the flag.

While I agree with Leander, I realize I have more than I’d like in common with the angry mob. As reported by Upworthy:

Leander and a handful of medical professionals stood strongly and silently at the rally while an angry mob yelled vicious attacks at them. The protesters accused Leander and her colleagues of not really being nurses and claimed they were possibly abortionists or dental assistants instead.

That’s probably because if the protesters believed they were berating front-line healthcare workers then they’d have to accept the fact that they are terrible people. Who the hell has any right to scream at a nurse who’s saving lives during a pandemic?

Honestly, my first reaction was: What is wrong with these people (yes, those were my inside-my-own-head words)? Making “possible abortionists” out of ICU nurses?

And then I realized I do that, too.

I write a quick backstory to suit my bias and justify my actions in all kinds of situations, like when I watched Anderson Cooper’s interview with the mayor of Las Vegas. I was sure I had her number. And, to borrow Cooper’s catchphrase, “keeping it honest,” I’m still sure.)

And yesterday, when a man was blocking the exit from the grocery store, didn’t move when I said, “excuse me” and then coughed into the air as I passed, I wrote a quick and succinct story about him. It was not flattering.

When I read the article about Leander, my instinct was admiration for her and her colleagues (they went to this rally on their day off from the ICU!) And yes, wanting to identify with them, not because I’m counter-protesting, but simply because I agree with them.

Meanwhile, I can actually identify with flag-waving guy screaming at an ICU nurse, not just in theory but in my own everyday practice.

This is disturbing.

And it makes me think of Yale professors Laurie Santos and Tamar Gendler’s “G.I. Joe Fallacy,” inspired by the G.I. Joe cartoon series from the 1980’s:

[A]t the end of the show, every week, because it was a show for kids, they would have this public service announcement. Look both ways when you cross the street, and don’t talk to strangers, and all these kinds of things. And at the end of it, the kid in the public service announcement would say, “Thank you G. I. Joe. Now, I know.” And then, G.I. Joe would say, their kind of canonical phrase, which is that “Knowing is half the battle.” And so, this is the fallacy. It’s this mistaken idea that knowing is half the battle. G.I. Joe used to think that when you learn look both ways when you cross the street, then you’re kind of done. Now you know how to do it. And G.I. Joe even has this kind of awesome like graphic if you Google it on the Internet. But the claim is that this actually isn’t true. Merely knowing something is not enough to put into practice. Merely knowing something is not enough to actually change your behavior. And that’s the G. I. Joe Fallacy.

Santos, “The Science of Well-Being,” Coursera, 2020

I know better than to demonize someone, based on one act (or, in the case of the Las Vegas mayor, one position). I “know” better. But knowing doesn’t mean I’m doing.

What I’m practicing is apparently not the behavior I know I should practice. What I’m practicing is the behavior I abhor when others do it (specifically to people with whom I agree).

The good news is that if I’m not cool with how I’m behaving (which I am not), it’s as simple as practicing to “rewire” (Santos, 2020) my habits. I just need to practice what I already know.

Because doing, and then doing it again, and again, is really the battle.

Antiracism, wherever it matters to you

In a previous post, I suggested anchoring and growing your antiracist practice from what matters to you.

When I first founded Blink Consulting, an already established white colleague in the field advised me that it has to start with white privilege. By “it,” she meant all diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) work. From her perspective, if you didn’t deal with white privilege as the central and most important issue, then it was already game over.

My immediate response was that this was yet another manifestation of white privilege, well-intended though it was.

And what I’ve said ever since then is: you have to start with what’s vital and makes sense to you. Now, it’s not about “like” or “want.” And what makes sense to people crouching behind heavily fortified defenses may not be the full-on revolution (or at least advanced engagement) that I was hoping for.

But this work needs to be owned by each of us. No more “buy-in” where you think it’s great that I’m all about diversity, you certainly won’t get in the way of that other person’s equity initiative, and you’re fine with all the talk about inclusion in your community’s values… as you sit back.

We need individual ownership of DEI from everyone. And if white privilege in education is not where you are right now in your DEI priorities, capacity and growth edge, then, my friend, what is?

Maybe it’s racism in pro hockey. Maybe not, but I sure as heck am glad that that’s where Renee Hess, president of the Black Girl Hockey Club, is putting some of her focus. According to The NY Times,

In 2018, Hess founded Black Girl Hockey Club, a group whose mission is to create a safe community for women of color and their allies at hockey games. The group also advocates effective diversity and inclusion strategies in hockey at every level. “Black Girl Hockey Club is meant to combat those types of attitudes, that type of racism and white supremacy in hockey,” Hess said.

She added: “In early February, I went to New York and I sat down with the Rangers, and we had some really great, deep, interesting discussions about race. So, it was really disappointing for me to see that that type of interaction wasn’t even, that they didn’t even anticipate it [during New York Rangers prospect K’Andre Miller’s online video chat with Rangers fans this month].”

Hess illustrates that racism in hockey matters for hockey and for racism. She’s making a difference where she loves. And why does that matter to me, even though I’m not a fan?

As Van Jones brings his focus on reforming the racially and economically unjust US criminal justice system, specifically to the threat of the covid-19 pandemic to people who are incarcerated, he argues: “Maybe you don’t care about criminal justice reform. Maybe you don’t care about the disproportionate incarceration and felonizing of people of color, specifically black and Latinx people. But it’s not just about the prisoners in prisons.” As Jones points out, “Incarcerated people are in prisons and jails, not on another planet — corrections officers enter and leave these facilities every day, and approximately 200,000 people flow into and out of jails every week.”

So too with hockey players and fans. Maybe you’re not one, but your neighbor, your kid or someone standing six feet away from you is.

I’m not a fan of the saying “follow your bliss” because I think so much isn’t articulated in that bumper sticker phrase. That said, I’m going to “yes, and…”

It may not be your “bliss,” but it’s your where and how DEI matters. I say follow it, and see where it leads you. Where else does it matter, too?

Missing words

This was the headline in The NY Times this weekend: “2 Georgia High Schoolers Posted Racist Video, Officials Say.”

It’s a quick read, but even quicker summary: this is the real-life, right now story of yet another racist TikTok video.

I’m beginning to wonder if being a platform for racism and other hate was actually one of the founding premises of that social media app. It certainly seems that we can reasonably anticipate hate speech and actions on all social media at this point, so why companies aren’t designing proactively to prevent, flag or remove bigotry from their spaces is beyond me. Unless, they really are OK with it being posted in the first place.

But I digress.

Here’s the Times explaining what the students posted:

The video shows two high school students, a boy and a girl, standing in front of a bathroom mirror. The camera pans to a racial slur written on a piece of paper in the sink.

They then read from scraps of paper they said were elements that went into making a black person: “First, we have ‘black,’” the girl says as the boy pours a cup of water into the sink.

“Next we have ‘Don’t have a dad,’” she says.

Among the other pieces of paper were “rob people” — “specifically whites, yeah they do that,” the boy interjects — and “go to jail.”

The article goes on to describe the reactions of the school district’s leadership, including:

• Mark Albertus, the superintendent;
• David Brooks, the principal of Carrollton High School;
• Julianne Foster, the district’s director of communications; and
• A school board member, Gil O’Neal, who is black.

Notice anything missing?

Like, the racial identities of the students and all district leadership, except for Mr. O’Neal?

Journalists need to practice equity in their reporting, starting with: everyone has a racial identity. To describe only those of us who aren’t white just reinforces that white is synonymous with regular or normal. And white is neither of those. To paraphrase Dorothy Parker, whiteness is not normal, it’s just common. (Parker actually said, “Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common.”)

And in this case, I don’t want to ignorantly strengthen my implicit association among TikTok – racist content – white teems. I don’t want to “fill in the blank” with my bias, which has unfortunately been informed by a repeated racial pattern. But I’m susceptible to doing so, especially if you don’t help me out, journalists.

A great place to start practicing this equity in coverage is in articles that are explicitly about race and racism. It is, after all the subject.

Intentionally not praising David Brooks

In writing the previous post, I thought about qualifying my critique of Brooks’ column with appreciation for his writing.

I realize that all too frequently, whenever someone critiques what someone has said or written, it’s taken as a condemnation of the whole person. In other words, that my post was essentially a declaration that David Brooks is awful and you should never read anything by him again. Same too (and doubly so!) for Lukianoff and Haidt.

Actually, no.

Imagine if we all stopped reading everyone who ever put forth a problematic idea.

No, I’m not arguing that we read climate change denial “studies” (that don’t involve actual science) or white supremacy manifestos with an enthusiastic and open mind.

I’m just advocating for active reading. As an English teacher, my thing was: the text doesn’t “show” you anything. You’ve got partner with the words to make the meaning. (My other thing was: just don’t cheat.)

I believe we have to stay engaged when we read things that make us feel uncomfortable (as opposed to unsafe) and when we read things that make us feel vindicated (unconscious bias, anyone?)

It’s problematic that so many things are so polarized right now. I believe some things are, in fact, “either-or” propositions: you’re either against transphobia or for it. There is no middle ground. (Because “neutral” just shores up the status quo, which is transphobic.) But not only can you find a writer problematic whom you also admire; I think you should.

I didn’t offer any praise of Brook’s work because I don’t think we should have to: as if any critique is “an attack” that requires a “defense.” This is precisely the mentality that L&H seem as outraged by as they are willing to adopt. And therein lies the paradox of many claims that others are “snowflakes“: it takes a predisposition to snowflakery to project it onto others.

So I also did not offer appreciations of Brook’s work because I don’t think Brooks or his work is so fragile. Neither should anyone else’s admiration of him.

And finally, I realized that my instinct to “say something nice” about Brooks was not only unnecessary and tangential: it was habit, informed by “good girl” rules and the “right to comfort” (for Brooks, not me) mandated by white supremacist patriarchal culture.

All that, from what I didn’t write yesterday, just to say that social conditioning is deep, and worth reflecting on.

Who’s getting coddled, exactly?

David Brooks wrote a column this weekend about “safetyism”: “the mentality that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you weaker.”

He relies on Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt, who wrote The Coddling of the American Mind, for this definition. If you’re not familiar with their thesis, this article is a quick reference.

I’ll be the first to say that Lukianoff and Haidt make some valid points, and some provocative ones, that you have to think on. I agree that feeling uncomfortable is different than being unsafe. But unlike L&K I’m not going to tell you which one you’re experiencing. That is your discernment to make. (And I do ask folks, if they’re feeling safe enough, to get usefully uncomfortable, but not to compromise their safety.)

L&K also make several points that I can only imagine are valid if you believe diversity comprises superficial differences among people who are, come on, of course, treated equally in a just society. According to L&K, microaggressions do no harm because they “seem on their face to have no malicious intent.” This, of course, requires shoving systemic oppression into a huge blindspot, but let’s linger a moment longer in their world, where everything is merely interpersonal.

I would argue that Lukianoff and Haidt demonstrate their own desire for safetyism, one for themselves and others who, like them, believe that microaggressions and triggers (which they insist on writing in permanent air quotes) are just manifestations of “vindictive protectiveness… [a movement that] seeks to punish anyone who interferes with that aim [of shielding people from discomfort], even accidentally… [and] is creating a culture in which everyone must think twice before speaking up, lest they face charges of insensitivity, aggression, or worse.”

In other words, L&K do not want to have to think twice. They want to be safe–in their own safe space–from any “charges of insensitivity, aggression, or worse” (although, to be clear, charges of aggression are not actual acts, or even threats, of aggression).

While this may sound like tit-for-tat (if I get to be safe, then they get to be safe), it most certainly is not. When Lukianoff and Haidt demand their own safety, they have the force of social norms and institutional power behind them. They stand on the hallowed ground of supposedly identity-free politics (as if identity is a contaminant, and not an intrinsic factor in all politics).

And then, David Brooks takes up their call.

While L&H focus on young adults and the “strange” “resurgence of political correctness” on college campuses (as if it isn’t predictable that tensions over what is socially correct would be challenged and evolve), Brooks applies the notion of safetyism to children and “overprotective parenting.”

By invoking their work and side-stepping the denial of systemic oppression at the heart of their thesis, Brooks endorses it. He too makes some valid points. And, he turns a blind eye to the elephant sitting on the room.

Brooks mentions “an E.R. doctor named Helen Ouyang. To enter the E.R. with her in this [covid-19] crisis is to enter another world.” I don’t dispute that, especially reading her pandemic diary. I would just add that for any white male E.R. doctor to enter the E.R. not just with Ouyang, but in her shoes (which is to say, as an Asian woman), would also be like “entering another world” for them.

Identity matters in our experiences. Denying that and insisting that “we’re all in this together” as if that means we’re all experiencing the same pains, is a microaggression that powers the macro-organism of systemic oppression. As is upholding safetyism for folks who bring a fixed mindset (about the great, good old days) to a rising standard for equity and inclusion in communities.

Brooks ends his article, writing, “I’m hoping this moment launches a change in the way we raise and train all our young, at all ages. I’m hoping it exorcises the tide of ‘safetyism,’ which has gone overboard.”

I’m hoping this moment launches a change in the way we raise and educate all people, including leaders. I’m hoping it exorcises the tide of “safetyism” for people who struggle with the fact of diversity, which has gone overboard.

Actually, cheerleaders are leaders

It’s in the name. Cheerleaders. But I keep hearing that they’re not. This is partly partisan because the president said he’s a cheerleader for the US.

The point analysts on CNN and elsewhere are trying to make is that cheerleaders aren’t leading on the field/court. They’re not directly playing the game. Thus they’re not leading the action there.

However, cheerleaders are leading. The crowd. And arguably, this is, in fact, what the president is doing. Whether the crowd he’s trying to lead is all of us is another conversation.

So it’s inaccurate to say that cheerleaders aren’t leaders. And I think it’s not just partisan. It’s sexist.

I’m not saying all cheerleaders are girls and women. That’s factually untrue. However, the stereotype that cheerleaders are female and that cheerleading is feminine (or “for girls”) persists.

And just like it was easy to dismiss and demean Stormy Daniels as a “porn star” (the tone was evident) we’re being subjected to the incidental sexism of cheerleaders being dismissed as leaders. (Yes, the Daniels coverage was also classist and moralist.)

Even in the opinion piece about pandemic shaming that I appreciate on so many levels, there was no need to feed the machine that distracts from the mortality of everyday racist acts by assigning nicknames specifically to white women (a la “BBQ Becky” and “Coronavirus Karen.”)

This is the pervasiveness of sexism: we invoke it when there’s no reason to go there, when it doesn’t help make the points the stories are trying to make.

Enough already with the surprise that: racism.

Enough already.

Like “is this accurate?” or “is that a circle?” This is a yes or no, not “sort of” or “in between” question:

Are you for or against racism?

If you are “for,” then that’s another post.

If you are “against,” then please first read “The Seductive Appeal of Pandemic Shaming.” It’s an example that I’m going to flesh out here in a DIY discernment of antiracist action:

1. What’s something that matters to you? It may help to begin with something specific, like “pandemic shaming.” It may be something positive, like donations of PPE (personal protective equipment) to health care facilities. Or it may just be, like covid-19.
2. Presume racism is an integral part of your “what matters.”
   1. If your “what matters” involves people, you can reasonably anticipate that we have not put aside the campaign of racism just in this instance.
   1. No more being surprised by racism, please.
3. You can still feel badly about it, as long as feeling isn’t the sum of your actions. Racism should feel bad, but we cannot let that feeling incapacitate us. In fact, I would argue that white supremacy culture wants to us be overwhelmed, and sets us up to be overwhelmed by setting this up as an all or nothing fight. Wait a second, didn’t I just say that you’re either for or against racism? Yes, that is a binary choice. However, your actions run a spectrum of possibilities.
4. Take a moment and envision: what do you hope? Sky’s the limit, and I also recommend the Thirty Percent Coalition’s advocacy of “achievable, aspirational and impactful” goal-setting. (That’s not multiple choice.) We need hope, not just anger and outrage, in order to get somewhere. In fact, I’d say hope is the longer sustaining and more environmentally friendly fuel. (And each of us is part of the environment, so I mean this is good for us, too, not just everyone else.)
5. One more moment: what would indicate progress toward what you hope?
   1. Funny thing how progress isn’t linear, and communities are chock full of people, so, for example, getting to a point where more people learn from their own racial microaggressions and choose not to perpetuate them may involve a phase of pushback as people learn what a racial microaggression actually is (yes, by nature, it doesn’t seem like a big deal—that’s what makes it micro) and how it’s now about them personally, although it is a personal choice whether to facilitate racism or not.
6. So do.

Do what?

1. Triage: what racism needs to stop now, and what can you do to prevent or stop it? I mean, what can you specifically do about a particular manifestation of racism in your sphere of influence? Not, how are you doing to end all of racism forever (right now)?
   1. Thank you for doing that, and maybe doing it repeatedly.
   1. What will you do about what you (alone) can’t stop? You know, the systemic level stuff. It’s OK if you’re not sure. While mulling, you may go back to a. and/or directly to d. I would also advise seeking out examples of what people are doing during this pandemic to “do what they can,” while actively considering how race inevitably matters in what each of us may do: which group you donate to, whether I participate in a community-organized “howl” at a predetermined time, how we react to someone who sneezes into the open air in a community space (like a “Coronavirus Karen”)…
   1. Who is acting at a community or institutional level to eradicate racism? How are you supporting them?
2. Gauge. How are your antiracist actions mattering? See 5.
3. Adjust and continue. Because racism isn’t your fault. It’s not mine. And we both play a part in its relentless campaign.

Got strategic risk management for DEI?

Some preliminary facts: any organization that “values” diversity cannot rest at striving to “be more diverse.” The goal should be retaining an increasingly diverse, equitably thriving community. This will  require interpersonal, cultural and systemic efforts to advance diversity, equity and inclusion (again, this is not multiple choice). This, in turn, requires strategic planning for DEI. Which will, sooner or later, require strategic risk management for DEI. Just as with any other asset (not just value), organizations need to set goals, plan and then plan for when those goals and plans get, “real-lifed.” The current case in point is the covid-19 pandemic.

Now is the time for DEI. And now may be the time to do your SRM planning for DEI.
What? How? Start with a SWOT (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats) analysis, slightly modified:

1. What are the internal programs and resources that comprise your community’s DEI strength?
2. What are the internal weaknesses, hurdles and gaps that are slowing DEI progress or even causing your organization to get “stuck”?  
3. What external threats can you reasonably anticipate that would derail your commitment to DEI? (And maybe also consider some unreasonable possibilities.)
4. What external resources and opportunities could you tap to enhance your community’s commitment to and progress with its DEI goals?

I suggest having a vitally diverse group of stakeholders do this exercise individually and then come together. Notice what you notice: Are the internal strengths overly dependent on a few committed practitioners who are under-represented in leadership? Are individuals getting tagged as “the problem” And is there maybe an underlying systemic factor contributing to the personalization of your organization’s strengths and weaknesses? When you look externally, what do you notice about your organization’s attitude about and practice of community?

And then, what are your priorities? What are short- and long-term goals? And, what’s the plan?

Please do not just “associate” me with compassion

The CNN headline yesterday was “Women leaders praised for strategic pandemic response.” (Interestingly, their own chyron alternatively reads “Women leaders praised for effective coronavirus response.”)

Looking at progression of the covid-19 pandemic in female-led countries and territories including Taiwan, New Zealand, and Germany, as compared to male-led entities like the US, the UK and China, CNN reporter Max Foster asks, “What explains the apparent link between low virus mortality rates and female leadership?” According to Samantha Power, former US ambassador to the UN, each of the female leaders covered in the article demonstrates “a combination of compassion and rigor… and showing empathy” as they seek evidence, make decisions and engage their constituents.

Foster concludes, “Managing a crisis requires recognizing it early on and acting decisively. The international evidence so far shows a disproportionate number of female leaders successfully taking that approach to the current pandemic.”

On air (and not included in the clip posted by CNN), Foster unfortunately continued, noting that compassionate leadership is “more associated with women” (I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he said, but I’d like to note it as a close approximation to the best of my recollection.)

Why is this unfortunate? While perhaps meant admiringly:

1. Foster perpetuates a stereotype about women being emotional (the implication being: more emotional than men). Notice that Power recognizes that all of the female leaders cited are relying on evidence, science and facts as well as emotional intelligence. Their “decisive action” isn’t just compassion or feelings-based. Also worth noting: Powers doesn’t generalize this to be true of all women. Which gets to the second, embedded issue with Foster’s on-air commentary:

2. Foster seems to imply that compassion is an innate female characteristic. This is an easy connection (also called an implicit bias) because we already associate women with feelings. But that’s lazy thinking. If compassionate leadership is “more associated with women,” we must ask (with the rigor that Power notes) why. And I believe the “why” is connected to this opinion piece, also posted through CNN:

Leta Hong Fincher opines:

The success of these and other women-led governments in dealing with a global pandemic is all the more noteworthy, given that women make up less than 7% of world leaders.

… It’s too early to say definitively which leaders will emerge as having taken enough of the right steps to control the spread of coronavirus — and save lives. But the examples above show that a disproportionately large number of leaders who acted early and decisively were women.

… At the very least, the disproportionate number of women leaders succeeding in controlling this pandemic — so far — should show us that gender equality is critical to global public health and international security.

Let that sink in: less than 7% of world leaders identify as women.

Consider, if you will, the skillset required to become one of those 7% (and let’s be clear: that 7% doesn’t get to hang out all together in the office. They’re spread out globally). To be part of that 7%, you need at the very least to be able to:

• Demonstrate all of the skills that all leaders need to have, at a higher level, and (because these others do not yet appear to be part of any “leadership 101” course that I’m aware of, other than leadership electives like “socially emotionally responsive leadership 101,” I’m calling them out separately):
• Read other people well and responsively,
• Navigate the implicit biases that contribute to your under-representation in the first place (more on this in a moment),
• Know your sh*t inside and out, upside down, backward, right side up and forward, and
• Be even more compelling in your arguments because you can’t rely on in-group favoritism or “looking the part” to carry your position.

These are not skills inherently “associated” with women. These are cultural competencies learned out of necessity to survive and thrive when you are under-represented because you are under-estimated systemically, effectively and, as this article points out, consequentially.

Because remember: cultural competency isn’t the goal. It’s just the means–the critical means–to achieve the goal, which, in this case, is to save the people of your country or territory.

Hong Fincher asks, “Women leaders are doing a disproportionately great job at handling the pandemic. So why aren’t there more of them?”

The answer: antifemale* sexism–not just “gender inequality”–fueled by a promale sexism that seems to reward cultural incompetency as a means of self- but not country or territory preservation.

No more “appreciation” for women doing the emotional labor.” We simply need more culturally competent leadership across all leadership. That’s how we end up with more women in leadership**, and more of all leaders leading well, everyday and in times of crisis.

* By “female” and “male,” I mean everyone who identifies within the spectra of “female” and “male,” not just folks who identify as cisfemale or cismale. While I focus in this post on antifemale sexism in response to the original reporting, antitrans sexism is dire. And any effort to eliminate sexism must be comprehensive and dismantle systemic oppression within the binary and across the spectrum.

** In case you’re still thinking, “but why do we need women in leadership?” this CNN article is just one in a lengthening list of fact-based, researched cases that women in leadership isn’t just a nice concession to women. It’s a vital factor in achieving your bottom line. Here’s my go-to starter article, “Critical Mass on Corporate Boards: Why Three or More Women Enhance Governance” by Kramer et al.