It’s hard enough

It’s hard enough, in a white supremacist patriarchal culture, to admit you need help or can’t do it (all). That you’re human, meaning: that there’s nothing wrong with you, you just can’t.

So when I saw the headline “Naomi Osaka withdraws from French Open, citing her mental health,” my heart hurt for her, and also buoyed up a bit, at what I read as the strength to make this (not doubt) difficult call.

In my own way, I related to having to say no after saying yes to work, in times when I simply couldn’t because: my grandmother died, my partner needed help after surgery, my mother-in-law died… all of course, we understand reasons to say “I can’t”… and yet, in each case, even as I knew what I needed to do, I experienced a flurry of guilt about not following through. About letting other people down when I had made a promise.

It’s indicative of my internalization of white supremacist patriarchal cultural norms and requirements (Okun):

• How “I’m the only one” (they’re counting on me!)
• How it’s either/or (either succeed or fail, be reliable or flaky)
• How the work is urgent (we can’t reschedule!)
• How my life (and all the people involved in it) should operate with clockwork efficiency, so that work is never inconvenienced

… that I don’t actually endorse or want to inflict on myself or others.

So, yeah, I was sorry and glad for Naomi when I read that she won’t play in this tournament.

And then I was sad and furious when I read:

Following her decision to opt out of media duties last week, the French Open was criticized for posting a tweet — which it has since deleted — with photos of Rafael Nadal, Kei Nishikori, Aryna Sabalenka and Coco Gauff engaging in media duties with the caption: “They understood the assignment.”

Not furious about the criticism. Furious about the cultural mindset behind the tweet.

I get that the tone of Naomi’s announcement about not doing press was a call-out:

Apparently the federation felt like Naomi was reneging on their agreement, although in acknowledging that she would pay the fine as the consequence of her decision, Naomi actually indicates her intention to honor the agreement.

Regardless of Naomi’s decision or perceived “tone” (because oh, there’s so much here about a Black woman not just not obeying, but also calling out the establishment), there’s no excuse for the federation’s public, snarky dismissal of a member of their own community’s statement of the need for more humane workplace culture and expectations.

It’s a shame that the French Open tried to shame Naomi. It’s a shame that they couldn’t see the opportunity here. Because this is how equity and inclusion – to realize the safety, dignity, belonging and thriving of all, not just some, in our communities – advances: through questioning some of the most fundamental assumptions about “how things work.” Through wondering why “this is how we do,” when it costs us our humanity. Through sifting through what we do to identify the why, and then considering how else we might achieve our aspirations (e.g. people getting to know the players and understanding what it’s like to compete at such an elite level, players getting to process their experiences and share with their fans) that is more humane, inclusive and restorative of self and community.

We can’t talk about gender and sexual orientation (right now)

Today’s earlier post “What’s your CAN’T?” was inspired by conversations I’ve had with communities that can’t include gender and sexual orientation within their commitments to DEI.

As a consultant, I’m sometimes hired to work within constraints. Scratch that: I’m always hired to work within constraints – of the communities’ values, bandwidth, DEI development…

The primary constraint is mission. And I wouldn’t have my work any other way. Because DEI isn’t the mission or the goal: diversity is just a fact that requires commitment to the aspirations of equity and inclusion, in order to realize mission for all, not just some, members of community. If there’s no mission, no core values, then I can’t help much. So when I call mission a “constraint,” I realize that may sound negative: what I mean is that mission gives us focus and constrains us from pursuing what isn’t worthwhile, what could be a waste of time and even contrary to purpose.

When I engage with a community that informs me that they can’t include gender and sexual orientation within their commitments to DEI, and, therefore, that my work with them can’t mention gender and sexual orientation, I have to make a choice, sometimes two: whether, and then maybe how to work with them.

The question of whether isn’t clear cut: I don’t reject clients based on their telling me we can’t talking about the spectra of gender identities and sexual orientations. I ask to understand why.

Not once so far has their why been an explicit, committed hatred of LGBTQQ+ people and communities. I’m not saying that’s not a possibility: just that that motivation – on the basis of which I would decline to work with a community – hasn’t been the why I’ve been proffered. The why is typically faith-based, and often includes concern or regret about past and current students (and employees and family members) whom the school was aware identified as other than heterosexual and cisgender, and whom the school knows or infers felt “less than” and unwelcome. Their concern is also faith-based: in the belief that everyone human being is divine. In this why, I hear a desire to reconcile (not sacrifice) deeply held values with care for children and adults who didn’t show up identifying as the institution and community expected, but who nonetheless love – and are loved by – community. Still, they can’t.

When I hear this care and concern, I ask if I’ve heard their commitment to faith and their conflict accurately.

If so, what is their plan for their current and future LGBTQQ+ students, employees and family members? If we can’t talk about gender and sexual orientation equity and inclusion in their community now, how do they plan to become an institution and community, in which currently unwelcomed individuals and groups will be included and empowered to thrive, not in defiance of but as fellow stewards of the faith they share?

Not because of me, the consultant, my “politics” or “agenda”: because of theirs. Because I hear them wanting to serve the children, youth and adults who choose them, for whom being queer in gender and/or sexual orientation is not despite but part of their faith-identifying selves. I hear these communities wanting, but not knowing what the both-and (instead of the either-or) is, when it comes to practicing faith in an inevitably, uncontrollably diverse community.

If they don’t have a plan, I advise they develop one because it’s very likely that in addition to the child or adult they “know about,” there are more individuals who don’t conform to heterosexual and binary cisgender expectations, who have been, currently are and will be part of their community. Possibly increasingly. And they don’t have to – they shouldn’t – wait until they know someone’s safety, dignity and sense of belonging is at risk, in order to prioritize resolving what is not that individual’s issue simply because they exist, but the institution’s responsibility if it offers “community.”

In order to know what to plan, of course, the institution needs to identify what they’re planning toward: in 50 years, will they still not be talking about gender and sexual orientation DEI? will they be beginning? what will that indicate (issue: resolved?) will gender and sexual orientation diversity clearly be welcome and thriving, or will people who aren’t binary cisgender and heterosexual know “not to apply”? who is their community becoming and remaining?

Their vision illuminates what and how to plan: how not talking about gender and sexual orientation now serves them, not just now but also next.

I can work with where a community is now. I just need to know where they see our work going.

And for the record: every community has their CAN’T (right now). Even if your community is already committed to antihomophobia and antitransphobia (and this, of course, applies to antiracism, anticlassism…) you have CAN’Ts that are holding you back from realizing your commitment. The question is whether you need to get to CAN, and if so how.

What’s your CAN’T?

In DEI, what’s your CAN’T (right now)?

What’s your VISION?

And what’s your PLAN?

For example: maybe your school is committed to anti-transphobia. But athletics is still binary gendered. Because that’s how your league is organized, and you can’t compete unless you play by their rules.

So right now, you CAN’T just eliminate boys and girls teams and offer nongendered competitive sports. And maybe you don’t actually want to (even though you do stand for all-gender rights).

Notice that your CAN’T might not even be what you WANT.

So, what do you want? What’s your VISION for student athletics 10, 20, 50 years from now?

If your athletics of the future looks exactly like it does now, what’s your PLAN for the nonbinary student athletes who will continue to show up, who will want to play, who could be thriving in your program and who could help your program and teams to thrive? How will you maintain current binary gender structures and requirements, as more nonbinary kids and coaches suit up (which you can reasonably anticipate happening)?

If your vision is of an athletics program that includes and empowers student athletes of all genders, what’s your PLAN to get there?

Maybe start with the POSSIBILITIES. (If you’re still thinking: do we have to abolish gendered sports?! Maybe. Maybe not. Consider it an option. What’s another option? And another?) Realizing equity and inclusion for the diversities of our communities has always required imagining in addition to, instead of and beyond our current options: getting strategic about what we CAN’T do (at least right now), in order to get closer to where we’re striving.

One year after George Floyd was lynched

I found this program helpful, for remembering, assessing and aspiring forward a year, six years, thirteen and twenty-nine years from now.

Kids shouldn’t be shamed.

Maybe you’ve seen this video of “Racist Sexist Boy” by the Linda Lindas:

https://twitter.com/LAPublicLibrary/status/1395485852579495936?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1395485852579495936%7Ctwgr%5E%7Ctwcon%5Es1_c10&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.huffpost.com%2Fentry%2Flinda-lindas-racist-sexist-boys-song_n_60a70b05e4b019ef10d83711

Here’s the intro and unfortunate inspiration for the song, explained by the Linda Linda’s drummer/singer Mila:

“A little while before we went into lockdown, a boy in my class came up to me and said that his dad told him to stay away from Chinese people. After I told him that I was Chinese, he backed away from me. [Guitarist/bassist/singer] Eloise and I wrote this song based on that experience.”

When I watched this, I wished I had responded like this as a kid, to all the racism, sexism, xenophobia and Sinophobia (I’m not Chinese, but that has never protected me from Sinophobia – or any other hatred of any particular Asian people) that I experienced growing up.

I also thought about the parents and educators with whom I work, who are very clear that we shouldn’t shame kids for (what they explain as) making a mistake, not knowing what they’re saying or doing, and just learning.

I agree that trying to shame someone – that is, intending to make them feel devalued and even worthless as a person – is not good.

I also believe that there’s a difference between making an effort to shame someone and their feeling ashamed. Even if you try to shame me, I may not feel it. And even if you don’t mean for me to feel shame, I may, especially if I’m someone who doesn’t want to do or say hurtful things. It’s ultimately up to me to transform your feedback, however gentle or harsh, through the filter of whether I care (and, if so, about what), into action or inaction. To recognize that “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done” (Stevenson), and so, to shift any shame (about myself) to guilt (about what I did or said), knowing that while I can’t undo the past, I can decide how to move forward: striving to repair harm I’ve inflicted, and restore our relationship and community, with the intention of not ending up here, like this, again.

And then, this video, which is not called “Racist Sexist Thing You Said.” It’s called “Racist Sexist Boy” (who is a “blockhead” and a “jerkface,” too.)

I can imagine the protests: But all he said was… He shouldn’t be shamed just for repeating what his dad said… He didn’t understand… Couldn’t she have talked with him about how what he said made her feel, instead of writing this song (and calling him names)?

All of which makes me think we may not be talking about the same thing when we talk about shame.

In this situation, who’s shaming whom? If you’re thinking the kid who inspired the song didn’t even say anything overtly racist (at least according to Mila’s account), that’s actually the point. He didn’t have to. His words, stopping right at the line behind which he could argue: All I said was… I didn’t mean anything… She misunderstood… were sufficient. The racism is there, with no need to spell it out. (If he had said, “My dad told me to stay away from French people,” you might wonder: why, what’s wrong with French people? But stay away from Chinese people? Got it.)

Racism, sexism, and all systems of oppression strive not just to disempower and marginalize people on the basis of who we are, but to shame us for who we are: to get us to buy in to our own oppression. Shaming requires power, and not all power is equal.

So who’s shaming whom? The father and his son are shaming Chinese people, including members of their own community, campaigning on behalf of white patriarchal supremacy, whether or not they realize or will admit it.

In response, the Linda Lindas are blatantly shaming “racist sexist boys.” For being racist and sexist.

And if this is the way they’re finding, to not own the shame that others can so carelessly and relentlessly (and also viciously) shovel at them; to not have to take better care of those who would shame them than of themselves; to call out what’s really, mortally shameful; and to inspire others to antiracism and antisexism… then I still believe that trying to shame someone is not “good.” I also believe that it may be necessary and effective. Yes, good.

About that letter

Maybe you’ve read this letter, from a private school parent who is withdrawing his daughter from Brearley School because of the school’s antiracist commitment.

There’s so much to say about this letter, but I’ll just say that what struck me was…

That I have points of empathy I have with this parent, including when he lashes out with basic name-calling and bullying: it can be hard to treat others humanely, when you feel under threat. It’s probably not who you want to be, though. It’s definitely not effective.

The illogic of his arguments, which may be grounded in intellectual dishonesty, genuine confusion, intentionally being ill-informed, and/or the fact that his arguments aren’t based on logic: they’re based on positional logic to fit a predetermined outcome.

And then there’s this: how supportive this parent is of past civil rights movements and leaders, but not current, living movements and leaders for justice.

While I think it’s worth reading the letter, to understand the resistance to antiracist progress, I’m actually posting because I want to share some responses to that letter.

This from an Asian-American student at Brearley. Regardless of whom you agree with, I’m struck by this student’s ability and need to respond.

This from Private School Village, a nonprofit whose mission is to “build community by providing programming, organizing events, collaborating, and sharing resources that support Black families throughout the private school experience.” This is PSV’s open letter to private schools “in response to concerned parents who do not understand the generational experiences of under-represented groups and the need to create safer, more equitable learning institutions for all students… we applaud your resolve and ability to stay the course despite the many recent attempts to misrepresent intentions or distract from making progress. Many families continue to apply to and navigate our schools based on the promise of school missions and understand that all children will be valued, nurtured, safe, and respected. We stand in solidarity with you as you work towards delivering on that ideal and we affirm the need to press forward expeditiously and with confidence. Our children are depending on us.” I’m struck again by the need to respond: this time by Black families who have formed a nonprofit to build the community they do not have in the “communities” of their children’s private schools (despite that very promise of community being to core to many independent schools’ brands).

I’m not surprised. I am appreciative-angry. Of the additional effort, not just now but always, from those who are under-represented in communities by design, who must speak up and organize despite and because of the cultural and structural marginalization that well- and over-represented groups are privileged to debate (whether it really exists, and, if so, how serious an issue it really is). I know this is part of the process. And can see a different process: one in which schools were prepared for resistance (of course) to simply doing what they always should have been doing (updating curricula should be the norm, not an outrage), in which more voices are in dialogue (not just taking turns online), in which a multiracial coalition stands for antiracism, in which we practice liberation from white supremacist patriarchal norms while we disagree with each other so that the very conversation is part of our practice and progress. In which we know where we’re striving toward.

I think of this, from Lily Zheng, a colleague on LinkedIn (which, while it’s about workplaces, which schools are, is also relevant for place of learning and any communities):

Not every person from a marginalized community wants to center those identities all the time at work. I may be a queer, trans, nonbinary, Chinese American femme, but sometimes I want to be just a consultant. Sometimes I want to center only one identity at a time, or be respected for my work without the alphabet soup of identity as qualifier.

I’m not alone in this feeling.

One of the challenges of #Diversity, #Equity, and #Inclusion work is making space for complexity without getting stuck in binary thinking. Disregarding identity means ignoring difference, suppressing authenticity, and allowing inequity to persist. Seeing everyone only as a sum of their identities and belonging to homogenous groups is crude and dehumanizing in a different way.

The answer? We need to design workplaces that create equity by default, and give employees the agency to choose their engagement.

Workplaces where the most introverted Black trans person experiences inclusion, where the most vocal disabled woman has her input taken seriously, where a Muslim man who sees his job as just a paycheck is treated fairly, where an undocumented activist feels supported advocating for a better world.

The endgoal of workplace DEI is unconditional equity that benefits from advocacy but doesn’t require it.

What is the endgoal as we debate whether and how to advance antiracism in schools? In private education in particular? PSV has a vision. Lily has a vision. One thing that parent from Brearley doesn’t share is a vision. He would like things not to change. That’s not a vision. That’s not an aspiration. That’s not realistic.

Antiracism, I hope, is an inevitable campaign. The only question is: toward what possibilities?

When it’s safe(r)

I turn 50 this summer. And my partner has asked what I may want to do to celebrate. My typical answer is travel (and I am typically more wistful about it than I am prioritizing and actualizing it).

This year, my answer is: travel… when it’s safe. Of course, by “safe” I mean: when we’re through this pandemic (i.e. more in control of our individual and public safety). I also mean: when it’s less likely that I’ll be attacked and possibly killed for being Asian.

To be clear, I’ve always had concerns about racism while traveling. That is not new. I have historically chosen (when I have the opportunity) to travel to more ethnoracially diverse places, where the State Department has not issued an alert (if my destination is out of the US), and where there is not notable historical or recent anti-Asian or other identity-based violence. (It matters to me that places are considered safe and welcoming to other people who are not white, to people who identify as LGTBTQQ+ and to people of all faiths.)

Yes, I said “not notable” violence, because there’s just an underlying risk. Always and still.

Whether the racism is just a blanket fear and hatred of all non-white people or it’s specifically anti-Asian (rooted in the belief that we’re perpetual foreigners trespassing, that we’re spies, that we’re economic threats, that we’re to blame for the coronavirus…) it’s still the context, for choosing where we live now, and in choosing where we visit or may relocate someday.

Of course, what do we love? Me: running on trails, my partner: fly fishing. We love to go to remote places, where I don’t always “blend in.” And while I may know some of the racial-economic-social history of why, I don’t know what my being there may activate. Add: tourist, possibly supporting the economy while hurting local community and culture, and my being Asian can be the excuse or catalyst for additional, compounded fear and hate.

I think about this regarding travel for work, too. Because I know that having a white husband standing right next to me makes a difference in some situations – at the airport, getting into a rideshare, walking back to my hotel… I know because I’ve seen how his presence has mitigated not just anti-Asian racist violence, but more subtle anti-Asian discrimination, that is inextricably mixed in with misogyny.

So I hope to travel as I turn 50. And for the lifetime I have after. Even given that when it is “safe(r)” for me to travel, it will just be relatively safer. I do hope that this spike in anti-Asian racist violence in the US ends, immediately. Realistically, I anticipate that we’ll just resume previously acceptable levels of violence, unless we aspire and commit to achieving a complete eradication of all identity-based hate crimes.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to plan and travel with caution.

“Again, it’s about, you cannot have those things you refuse to dream of.”

I’m quoting Stacey Abrams, from an interview about her ambition to serve as President of the US.

Regardless of whether you support Stacey Abrams politically, I hope we can agree on this: “you cannot have those things you refuse to dream of.”

Including things, like justice.

Quote-ish of the day

Oppression is not “a closed world from which there is no exit, but [a] limiting situation which
[can be] transformed.”

Paulo Friere, ​Pedagogy of the Oppressed​

* Thank you, Ciku Karanja, for reminding me of this truth.

“Thought diversity” is a misnomer. And maybe worse.

Can we talk about “thought diversity”?

Each of us is capable of having a spectrum of thoughts on an issue. We just have to wonder: what are 4-6 possibilities/perspectives? to get started.

So we’re really talking about different – not necessarily diverse – thoughts. (“Diversity” refers to differences which, at a group level, correlate with disparities of status, access to resources and opportunities and systemically activated privileges and disadvantages in a community).

Listening to people refer to “thought diversity,” I think they really mean: diversity of ideological identity – even more specifically: political ideological identity.

And why does it matter whether you say “thought diversity” or “political identity diversity”?

Because when you (or I) say “thought diversity” but mean “political identity diversity,” we end up reinforcing the idea that you are your thoughts, and you can only have one position, perspective or belief. Ever. You cannot change your mind, because you will lose your identity. And you can’t think the “wrong” thing because that will make you wrong.

This is inaccurate.

We can observe and not attach to our thoughts (Buddhism), and if “each person is more than the worst thing they’ve ever done” (Bryan Stevenson), then surely we’re not just the worst thought we’ve ever had.

So, first of all, “thought diversity” is a misnomer, at least the way I hear people use the term. And propagating the term is unhealthy and unhelpful for individual sense of self and growth, with collective (unequal) consequences for all of us when we can’t think beyond what we already fixedly do.

Even as “thought diversity” proponents advocate for more diversity of thoughts, they seem to do so through tokenization: “we need to get a Trump supporter in here”… for what, I wonder? To compel them to be your source of Trump-perspectives? To strip them down to just their political and politically-informed thoughts (as if they aren’t a full person with complex, intersecting identities, statuses and abilities)? To essentialize them on the basis of their politics then/now (as if thinking isn’t an action verb (still happening, full of potential to change)? (This is classic tokenization practice, as still unfortunately exemplified in classes when a Black student is supposed to be the authority on Black Lives Matter, a Latine student – who may be born in the US – is supposed to drop knowledge about the immigration experience… and workplaces when a woman is supposed to give “the female perspective”…)

Yes, to increasing diversity, including of political perspectives – recognizing that a commitment to diversity is just tokenization or window-dressing without a concurrent (or preceding) commitment to equity and inclusion, in order to realize safety, dignity, belonging and thriving (this is not multiple choice).

I worry that “thought diversity” is intentional misspeak: intentional (not just accidental or innocent “hadn’t thought it through like that”) obfuscation to keep us, our systems and our societies in place, by training us to essentialize ourselves and each other, not just in individual interactions but in culture and systems.

I also recognize that “thought diversity” is sometimes an attempt not to talk about more inherent social identifiers, meaning those aspects of ourselves that, while we can enact and experience them variously (and which are sometimes also perceived variously by others, regardless of how we identify ourselves), are more intrinsic to these bodies, abilities and some of the social statuses we’re born with. This is to say: I can practice having a thought different than my own perspective or belief much more readily than I can experience someone else’s positionality – for example: what it may be like to identify and get identified (not just by others but also by our social structures and systems) as a white, Catholic, gay man; a wealthy Latine immigrant; a blind, nonbinary 5th generation Sikh-American… Yes, being a Democrat, socialist, Tea Party Republican or independent may be part of how I identify. This is not about ranking or (de)legitimizing identities: it’s about recognizing the agility each of us possesses to have a spectrum of thoughts, even while we may identify ideologically as…

So for accuracy, for our humanity, I think it matters if we keep talking about “thought diversity,” and how.