How to respond to a question about CRT (without needing a PhD in it)

Obviously, I had to click on this headline today: “The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is tired of ignorant bullsh*t from people who don’t like to read.”

The article is about General Mark Milley’s response to a question about critical race theory (CRT) being taught at West Point and the US Military Academy, during a Defense Dept budget hearing. If you haven’t yet seen this video, please watch and listen. [If you only have a couple of minutes, start at 5:15, when Representative Chrissy Houlahan (D-Pa.) invites Milley to respond to the question, which was actually directed at Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin.]

I just need to pause here and state the obvious: this is a masterclass in leadership (in two-and-a-quarter minutes!) So let’s break it down. What Milley models is:

• Baseline literacy: He’s not talking about critical race theory without having developed a basic, relevant and accurate explanation of critical race theory that he can share to level-set the conversation. Even as he acknowledges that he “will obviously have to get much smarter on whatever the theory is,” he doesn’t use that as an excuse to not engage. In fact, it’s through engagement (application, including dialogue) as we continue to learn that we actually “get smarter.”
• Preparation: See “baseline literacy.” Milley recognizes the need to know enough to have this conversation: not just facts about CRT, but also an understanding of context in which it’s being brought up. He’s prepared for the gamut of assumptions, outright ignorance and mis- and disinformation about critical race theory that all too frequently get to frame and drive any mention of it.
• Ownership: Milley knows his “why critical race theory.” He’s not getting thrown by illogical red herrings (see: learning = indoctrination, as if military students can’t be trusted to actually think, so we better be sure we don’t expose them to any, you know, ideas.) He grounds his “why CRT” in “why military education,” which is very much grounded in the military’s responsibility to serve: “… what is wrong with understanding — having some situational understanding about the country that we are here to defend?”
• Active antidiscrimination in real-time: That the question about CRT was addressed to Secretary Austin, the first Black secretary of defense, and that interrupting Austin while he is trying to answer is apparently a pattern of engagement with him among white male senators and representatives (see the clip above from the beginning, and this questioning from two weeks ago) are not for debate about whether “this is about racism,” but for reflection on how racism is being enacted (regardless of intent or consciousness). That said, whether or not Milley notices the dynamic with Austin, he leverages his identity and his privilege to respond to the underlying, misleading and racist idea that CRT is against white people, and therefore, that white people should be against anyone even learning about the theory: ” I want to understand white rage, and I’m white, and I want to understand it. What is it that that caused thousands of people to assault this building and try to overturn the Constitution of the United States of America? What caused that?”
• Communicating – not just implying – respect: He does this when he says, “I respect your service and you and I are both Green Berets” to one of the questioning representatives. He does this when he thanks Representative Houlahan for sharing her allotted time. He does this when he says, “I personally find it offensive that we are accusing the United States military, our general officers, our commissioned and noncommissioned officers of being ‘woke’ or something else because we’re studying some theories that are out there.” (In contrast, watch the first part of the clip to hear Representative Gaetz’s response when Austin points to the appreciation within the military for critical conversations about race: Gaetz suggests that any positive feedback is just an attempt to please the boss. The assumption that our military are unintelligent, unthinking and lacking in basic integrity is in direct contradiction to Milley’s belief in our troops.) Finally, I honestly think Milley communicates respects in all the moments when he conveys his irritation with the campaign against CRT in military education because he disagrees without demeaning his questioners.

(Still) Too much, too soon to handle?

I keep thinking about a clip of Kamala Harris speaking to the press after Congress failed to pass the For The People Act on Tuesday. Actually, I was watching political strategist Symone Sanders, who was standing just behind Harris.

I can’t find the entire clip, but here’s a quick excerpt (starting at 1 minute in), and here’s a still shot (Sanders is physically on the far right of the frame, although – I just gotta say it – her politics are to the left 😉

I was struck at Sanders’ sustained downward gaze for most of Harris’ comments (I do recall her looking upward, smiling and nodding toward the end).

Especially given Sanders’ presence whenever she’s being interviewed. She is looking you in the eye. She is speaking to you. She is clear, direct and compelling.

But that’s it, right? This is Harris’ interview, so Sanders is trying to… what?

First of all, I can’t even begin to search “political people in the background looking directly at the camera during someone else’s interview” because that would probably break the internet. In my mind, I’m replaying endless footage of Congressional hearings, White House press conferences and a myriad of political events with aides, lobbyists and who knows who else staring into, past or just above the cameras (when they’re not taking notes or texting). This is to say, it doesn’t seem like “DC rules of etiquette” to concertedly look away from the spotlight when it’s not on you.

I keep feeling that Sanders wasn’t just looking away from the cameras. It felt like she was trying not to intrude, or take up too much space. (In the video, she shifts her footing for several seconds, almost as if backpedaling.)

And, I have to repeat: Sanders is a force to be reckoned with. Not an apologist for who she is, what she stands for or what she’s asking of you.

So I keep scratching my head, wondering about her presence in this interview: what it was signaling and why.

It doesn’t seem like “that’s just how Symone is,” nor does it fit that “that’s just how you supposed to do” in politics…

I can’t shake the feeling that Sanders – who is savvy about politics, culture, image and being a Black woman in these United States – senses that two women of color on the same screen who will look the whole country in the eye while standing up for voting rights is just. too. much.

Asians and Asian-Americans: ranked-choice last among POC

Yesterday, NYC mayoral candidate (and now frontrunner, according to the initial vote count) Eric Adams weighed in on an alliance between rival candidate Kathryn Garcia and Andrew Yang (who “teamed up” late in the ranked-choice voting race), saying:

“… for them to come together like they are doing in the last three days, they’re saying we can’t trust a person of color to be the mayor of the City of New York when this city is overwhelmingly people of color.”

Adams Likens Garcia-Yang Pact to Jim Crow (msn.com)

It was certainly a tactical move, regardless of timing, about which skepticism, cynicism, reluctant props or outright admiration (for playing the game as it’s been set up), and other reactions are valid.

What I ended up focusing on, though (despite being really interested in ranked-choice voting) was Adams’ dismissal of Yang as… white.

That’s basically what he said, unless he meant Black (only) when he said “people of color.”

However, given that Adams is running for mayor, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt that he knows the city’s demographics, which, according to the US Census Bureau in July 2019, ethnoracially comprise:

White alone, percent	42.7%
Black or African American alone, percent	24.3%
American Indian and Alaska Native alone, percent	0.4%
Asian alone, percent	14.1%
Native Hawaiian and Other Pacific Islander alone, percent	0.1%
Two or More Races, percent	3.6%
Hispanic or Latino, percent	29.1%
White alone, not Hispanic or Latino, percent	32.1%

Clearly, “Black or African American alone” is not “overwhelmingly” represented in NYC… although Black or African American and Hispanic or Latino (and Asian – East, South and Southeast) arguably get you there.

Side notes:

• I take issue with the notion of anywhere being “overwhelmingly” POC, which implies too much or too many. According to what standards? How white should NYC be?
• I cringe at the categorization of “Asian” rather than “Asian and Asian-American.” This is a subtle but significant signifier of the adamant foreignization of those of us who were born here or naturalized as US citizens: the fact that we are apparently indelibly Asian first and only.

And that second “side” note actually brings us back to center: Adams’ exclusion of Asians and Asian-Americans from people of color (I believe it is accurate that Garcia does not identify as a person of color, and is white – but please do correct me if I am misinformed) is part and parcel of the xenophobia that marks Asians and Asian-Americans as other, less than, not authentically or enough “of color.” That denies anti-Asian racism (as if the recent spike in violence against us is just an aberration that is only coincidentally correlative with race).

And so, I’m not just nit-picking here: Adams’ line-drawing about who is and who isn’t a person of color isn’t just about “getting to be” in a club (as if anyone wants to belong to the getting racism’ed club). It’s about how he understands systems of oppression, including racism, which is unrelentingly laser-focused on the marginalization, dehumanization and eradication of Black and Indigenous people in its campaign against all people of color (and ultimately against all humanity). This center-within-the-whole understanding of racism’s design is critical if Adams or any other leader is going to be effective in dismantling racism and architecting antiracism.

So I appreciate Yang’s response when asked for a comment about Adams’ statement: “I would tell Eric Adams that I’ve been Asian my entire life.” (And I’m not one to agree with Yang about most of his statements about race.)

And I hope Adams’ clarification that he was talking about “Black and brown people in the city” was not just a clean-up, but a frank delineation that, while articulating his priority accurately, doesn’t continue to reinforce a narrow, consequentially unjust line about who matters among people of color.

Reclaiming “cancelling”

I’m still thinking about this post that I saw on LinkedIn:

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/mxriverlynn_making-someone-pay-for-their-racist-sexist-activity-6812799129484349440-MuM0

My reflexive response was agreed! (But there’s no “agree” emoji, so I took another moment to consider what I thought.)

And then I wondered: So what if it is?

As in: so what if making someone pay for the racist, sexist, or transphobic actions is cancelling.

Isn’t it? That is, if cancelling is saying no, boycotting or withdrawing your support (including the implied or passive support of your tolerance) in response to unjust policy or action, then the distance between “cancelling” and “accountability” seems shorter to me.

I get that the implied preface to “cancelling” is “liberal woke politics,” which is why Selena is making the distinction between [implied] liberal politics and fair consequences.

But then, isn’t accountability also political – and increasingly partisan? I’m thinking about the recent Congressional vote on whether or not “to establish a bipartisan commission to investigate the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol.”

I doubt that trying to separate what’s still supposed to be objective and unimpeachable (e.g. accountability) from what’s become entrenched in partisanship (e.g. canceling) is going to work. More likely, we’re going to continue to have to cede legitimate ideas, stances and expectations whenever they get mud-slung with accusations of bias from people who arguably object to us, regardless of what we’re saying (whomever they and we may be). Which they will: eventually someone will come after “accountability” and that will gain momentum, until accountability becomes as tainted as cancelling, and then we’ll have to find the next “neutral for now” word to say what we mean.

This “break it and move on” approach to language (and action) has and continues to happen in the field of DEI, in which diversity has, in some communities become “too divisive” to say, as has bias (which, I have been told, is itself “too biased” a term to use), and so too with multiculturalism, equity, inclusion and social justice… until some institutions only refer to this work as “community building,” which it is, therefore, we have to be able to name the fact of diversity and our aspirations toward equity, inclusion and justice, if we’re going to build communities (places in which people experience dignity, belonging and the ability to thrive) and not just groups of people in proximity who tolerate each other.

Just like the essential lexicon of DEI, “cancelling” actually means something we need not to (ahem) cancel:

The idea of “canceling” originated in Black Twitter. It first described a relatively benign form of cultural boycott: a group of people making the case for others to withdraw their support from an individual or an institution. Boycotts aren’t new, obviously. But sometime within the last two years, the phrase “cancel culture” picked up steam and morphed into a monstrosity, a catchall phrase for heightened internet discourse, colored in with words like “dangerous mob.”

We Aren’t Holding The Right People Responsible For Cancel Culture (buzzfeednews.com)

We cannot afford to silence the idea and, therefore, the power of “a group of people making the case for others to withdraw their support from an individual or an institution.”

While “cancel culture” is concerning (when the term is used to delegitimize consequences for abusive or oppressive policies or behaviors, when the intent of cancellation becomes persecution…) the issue to me is how, not whether. That is, not whether cancelling should happen, but how.

That cancelling is controversial? Of course. I suspect that controversy over boycotting dates back to the first boycott. Because it is the action of a group of people, not a mandate or decision for all.

So, still: yes to accountability. And to canceling as a social, political, economic right.

Long (and worthwhile) quote of the day

This, from Reddit in 2017, in response to a post about dealing with the loss of a friend:

“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes.

My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

What does this have to do with DEI?

Well, what doesn’t have to do with DEI?

And, more specifically, this perspective (which I also experience as true) defies white supremacist patriarchal cultural norms (that, yes, pervade even grieving): that grief is “urgent” (and temporary in its intensity), that we should “move on” from it (rather than “moving forward with it“) – that, in fact, we have moved on if we also experience being OK or joyous in between the waves (because we’re “either” grieving “or” we’re not), that too much emotionality is inappropriate and violates other people’s, and maybe our own, “right to comfort” (Okun).

When really, what these imperatives – that rule even, but not only, “the one right way” to grieve – do, is alienate ourselves from our own humanity and further entrench white supremacist patriarchal culture.

“Gender extremism”

There’s a lot to say about GOP Chair Ronna McDaniel’s GBTQQ+ Pride Month tweet, and the backlash to it.

Here’s the tweet:

“Happy #PrideMonth! @GOP is proud to have doubled our LGBTQ support over the last 4 years, and we will continue to grow our big tent by supporting measures that promote fairness and balance protections for LGBTQ Americans and those with deeply held religious beliefs.”

For one, there’s a disconnect between anti-LGBTQQ+ legislation that the GOP has proposed and voted for, and this wish for a “happy month!” (Or maybe that makes sense, if the logic is that the LGBTQQ+ community only gets one month of happiness and pride.)

Then, there’s the phrase “gender extremism,” which I had never heard before, as used by Tony Perkins, the head of the anti-LGBTQ group Family Research Council (FRC), in criticizing McDaniel’s message:

“In case the RNC hasn’t noticed, there’s a wave of red states in line trying to cut off the same gender extremism the RNC is intent on supporting.”

I think “gender extremism” refers to the rights to safety, dignity, belonging and thriving for LGBTQQ+ people that, for the record, only stand in opposition and as a threat to conservatism because Perkins et al. say so.

Interestingly, when I searched online for more information about “gender extremism,” what came up instead were articles not on extremism about gender, but the connection between cisgender male identity and extremist ideology. Like this from The Guardian:

According to an ever-growing number of young men in Europe, the United States and across the Muslim world, we are at the beginning of a war. And no one knows how it will end.

To me, what is interesting in the paragraph you just read is not the indeterminacy of the outcome. All crises are like that. No, it is the fact that “ever-growing number of young men” probably does not seem notable to most readers.

The fact is that virtually all of those mobilizing on all sides of this growing clash are young men – whether right-wing extremists, anti-immigrant zealots, anti-Muslim skinheads and neo-Nazis or young Muslims readying for jihad.

It’s so obvious, it barely needs noting.

And so it isn’t noted.

… which really spins Perkins’ claim of “gender extremism” on its head.

But what struck me most profoundly was articulated by Chasten Buttigieg, who cut through all the political and partisan noise to get to the heart of what all this commentary is really about, and why it matters:

Those with "deeply held religious beliefs" are often the parents who force their LGBTQ children out of the home and onto the street. I've met with those kids. 40% of homeless youth in this country are LGBTQ. Re-visit your party's platform before you open your mouth about #pride. https://t.co/z36BuFrQsO

— Chasten Glezman Buttigieg (@Chasten) June 3, 2021

Read that again: “40% of homeless youth in [the US] are LGBTQ.” This is the extremism we need to talk about.

Quote of the day

Shared by my colleague Linda Rose-Winters, in her email signature:

Lead with love. Low ego. High impact. And move at the speed of trust.”

— Co-founders of Black Lives Matter: Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi

I appreciate that every time I receive an email from Linda, I get to re-read this, which at 14 words, in short sentences, seems so obvious, so easy.

And still, requires so much intentionality, care, and practice to do fluently.