After many years
as a white student radical (in high school and then college), I'm reconsidering
my experience. I made a lot of mistakes and was blind in many ways,
particularly as a white person. What follows are some lessons that I
am learning, some strategies for reflecting on, interrogating, and disrupting
racism in our lives.
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Transforming
the world means challenging and changing institutions and ourselves.
Systems of oppression are ingrained in both and, accordingly, must
be confronted in both. More than once an activist of color or an
actively anti-racist white person has confronted me: "Why are you
always rushing off to do solidarity actions with people in other
parts of the world when you don't even make time to deal with your
own shit?" They're right. As white student activists, we are in
fact notorious for protesting injustices across the globe, yet neglecting
to confront systems of oppression on our campuses, in our communities,
and in ourselves. Being an effective student activist means making
priorities, and at times we must prioritize slower-paced, not-so-flashy
work over dramatic actions that offer immediate gratification. Being
an effective white student activist means prioritizing daily
dismantlement of white privilege--creating and participating in
forums for whites to grapple with racism, allying with struggles
that people of color are engaged in, constantly remaining open to
our own mistakes and feedback from others.
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Predominantly
white activist organizations are built within society as it is and,
as a result, are plagued by racism and other forms of oppression.
We can minimize or deny this reality ("we're all radicals here,
not racists") or we can work to confront it head-on. Confronting
it requires not only openly challenging the dynamics of privilege
in our groups, but also creating structures and forums for addressing
oppression. For instance, two experienced activists I know often
point out that, sadly, Kinko's has a better sexual harassment policy
than most activist groups. Workers are accountable for their actions
and victims have some means of redress. With all of our imaginative
alternatives to capitalist and hierarchical social arrangements,
I have no doubt that we can construct even more egalitarian and
comprehensive ways of dealing with sexism, racism, and other oppressive
forces in our organizations. And we must start now.
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We absolutely
should not be "getting" people of color to join "our" organizations.
This is not just superficial; it's tokenistic, insulting, and counterproductive.
Yet this is the band-aid that white activists are often quick to
apply when accused of racist organizing. Mobilizing for the WTO
protests, for example, I had one white organizer reassure me that
we didn't need to concern ourselves with racism, but with "better
outreach." In his view, the dynamics, priorities, leadership, and
organizing style, among other important features of our group, were
obviously beyond critical scrutiny. But they shouldn't be. We must
always look at our organizations and ourselves first. Whose voices
are heard? Whose priorities are adopted? Whose knowledge is valued?
The answers to these questions define a group more than how comprehensive
its outreach is. Consequently, instead of looking to "recruit" in
order to simply increase diversity, we, as white activists, need
to turn inward, working to make truly anti-racist, anti-oppressive
organizations.
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We have much
to learn from the leadership of activists of color. As student organizers
Amanda Klonsky and Daraka Larimore-Hall write, "Only through accepting
the leadership of those who experience racism in their daily lives,
can white students identify their role in building an anti-racist
movement." Following the lead of people of color is also one active
step toward toppling conventional racial hierarchies; and it challenges
us, as white folks (particularly men), to step back from aggressively
directing everything with an overwhelming sense of entitlement.
Too often white students covet and grasp leadership positions in
large campus activist groups and coalitions. As in every other sector
of our society, myths of "merit" cloak these racial dynamics, but
in reality existing student leaders aren't necessarily the "best"
leaders; rather, they're frequently people who have enjoyed lifelong
access to leadership skills and positions--largely white, middle-class
men. We need to strengthen the practice of following the lead of
activists of color. We'll be rewarded with, among other things,
good training working as authentic allies rather than patronizing
"friends"; for being an ally means giving assistance when
and as asked.
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As white activists,
we need to shut up and listen to people of color, especially
when they offer criticism. We have to override initial defensive
impulses and keep our mouths tightly shut, except perhaps to ask
clarifying questions. No matter how well-intentioned and conscientious
we are, notice how much space we (specifically white men) occupy
with our daily, self-important jabber. Notice how we assume that
we're entitled to it. When people of color intervene in that space
to offer something, particularly something about how we can be better
activists and better people, that is a very special gift. Indeed,
we need to recognize such moments for what they are: precious opportunities
for us to become more effective anti-racists. Remember to graciously
listen and apply lessons learned.
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White guilt
always gets in the way. Anarcha-feminist Carol Ehrlich explains,
"Guilt leads to inaction. Only action, to re-invent the everyday
and make it something else, will change social relations." In other
words, guilt doesn't help anyone, and it frequently just inspires
navel-gazing. The people who experience the brunt of white supremacy
could care less whether we, as white activists, feel guilty. Guilt
doesn't change police brutality and occupation, nor does it alter
a history of colonialism, genocide, and slavery. No, what we really
have to offer is our daily commitment and actions to resist racism.
And action isn't just protesting. It includes any number of ways
that we challenge the world and ourselves. Pushing each other to
seriously consider racism is action, as are grappling with
privilege and acting as allies. Only through action, and the mistakes
we make and the lessons we learn, can we find ways to work in true
solidarity.
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"Radical" doesn't
necessarily mean getting arrested, engaging in police confrontations,
or taking to the streets. These kinds of actions are important,
but they're not the be-all and end-all of effective activism. Indeed,
exclusively focusing on them ignores crucial questions of privilege
and overlooks the diverse, radical ways that people resist oppression
every day. In the wake of the WTO protests, for instance, many white
activists are heavily focused on direct action. Yet in the words
of anti-capitalist organizer Helen Luu, "the emphasis on this method
alone often works to exclude people of colour because what is not
being taken into account is the relationship between the racist
(in)justice system and people of colour." Moreover, this emphasis
can exclude the very radical demands, tactics, and kinds of organizing
used by communities of color--struggling for police accountability,
occupying ancestral lands, and challenging multinational polluters,
among many others. All too frequently "radicalism" is defined almost
solely by white, middle-class men. We can do better, though; and
I mean we in the sense of all of us who struggle in diverse
ways to go to the root--to dismantle power and privilege, and fundamentally
transform our society.
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Radical rhetoric,
whether it's Marxist, anarchist, Situationist, or some dialect of
activistspeak, can be profoundly alienating and can uphold white
privilege. More than once, I've seen white radicals (myself included)
take refuge in our own ostensibly libratory rhetorical and analytical
tools: Marxists ignoring "divisive" issues of cultural identity
and autonomy; anarchists assuming that, since their groups have
"no hierarchy," they don't need to worry about insuring space for
the voices of folks who are traditionally marginalized; Situationist-inspired
militants collapsing diverse systems of privilege and oppression
into obscure generalizations; radical animal rights activists claiming
that they obviously know better than communities of color. And this
is unfortunately nothing new. While all of these analytical tools
have value, like most tools, they can be used to uphold oppression
even as they profess to resist it. Stay wary.
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We simply cannot
limit our anti-oppression work to the struggle against white supremacy.
Systems of oppression and privilege intertwine and operate in extremely
complex ways throughout our society. Racism, patriarchy, classism,
heterosexism, able-ism, ageism, and others compound and extend into
all spheres of our lives. Our activism often takes the form of focusing
on one outgrowth at a time--combating prison construction, opposing
corporate exploitation of low-wage workers, challenging devastating
US foreign policies. Yet we have to continually integrate a holistic
understanding of oppression and how it operates--in these instances,
how state repression, capitalism, and imperialism rest on oppression
and privilege. Otherwise, despite all of our so-called radicalism,
we risk becoming dangerously myopic single-issue activists. "Watch
these mono-issue people," warns veteran activist Bernice Johnson
Reagon. "They ain't gonna do you no good." Whatever our chosen focuses
as activists, we must work both to recognize diverse forms of oppression
and to challenge them--in our society, our organizations, and ourselves.
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We need to do
all of this anti-racist, anti-oppressive work out of respect for
ourselves as well as others. White supremacy is our problem
as white people. We benefit from it and are therefore obligated
to challenge it. This is no simplistic politics of guilt, though.
People of color undeniably suffer the most from racism, but we are
desensitized and scarred in the process. Struggling to become authentically
anti-racist radicals and to fundamentally change our racist society,
then, means reclaiming our essential humanity while forging transformative
bonds of solidarity. In the end, we'll be freer for it.
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