An Open Letter to White People who Want to Support Black Lives Matter

Maybe you have always known.  Maybe the events of the last two years have awakened you.  Whatever your story - however your eyes have been opened - you have come to the realization that America is a racist society in which black people are dehumanized, degraded, and discriminated against; in which they face significant obstacles in their pursuit of opportunities and experiences that are widely and warmly offered to white people; in which black people are suspended and expelled at disproportionate rates, have profoundly different interactions with the justice system, and are far more likely to be murdered by police officers than white people.  You find that unacceptable, and as a matter of conscience, you want to help.

About that.

The Donate and Feel Great Model of Helping

For many of us, the act of helping means not only doing good, but also feeling good about what you're doing.  You make a $20 donation to support cancer research; you get a nice, warm, fuzzy thank you note from the American Cancer Society.  You go on with your day with a little bit a of a smile on your face, because you know, you're a pretty good person. 

As a group, white people are used to warm, fuzzy moments like this.  We're used being centered; having value and merit ascribed to our opinions and our actions; having priority granted to our feelings.  When the American Cancer Society sends that note, they don't challenge you; they validate you.  They tell you that YOU make a difference (really? with $20? if you say so!). 

If you really want to help the movement, let go of that model.  Donate money, of course, but leave the model behind. You need to embrace a whole different mindset, with different behaviors, as I will illustrate by way of analogy.

The Headache Model of Helping

Suppose a person you love has an agonizing headache. You can see the hurt and suffering on their face, and you want to drop everything to help. You ask questions like, "Do you want to lie down?  Do you want an aspirin?  Should I turn that music off?  Should I shut the window?  Do you want me to rub your shoulders?  What can I do?"  

Suppose that as you're trying to help, however, you go too far.  You're fussing, and they just want to sleep or have silence. They snap at you. "Just leave me alone!  Fuck off!"

Do you get mad? Nope. You get it. This is not about you. This is about them. You are peripheral.  When asked to leave the room, you leave the room.

This analogy isn't perfect - racism and state violence are very obviously not equivalent to a headache - but this model of helping is one to remember and emulate.  First, within this model, you instinctively avoid all kinds of obnoxious behaviors:

• You do not challenge the reality of the headache, nor do you demand details about the quality of pain
• You do not plop down on the other end of the couch and start telling stories about that one time when you had a headache
• You do not lecture the person for snapping at you or being discourteous
• You do not log onto Facebook and post, "I just got Kris an aspirin and turned out the light.  Feeling good!"  In other words, you don't consider your helping actions anything to be proud of.  You know they're both ordinary and expected.  If you did any less, you'd be, at best, a pretty insensitive asshole.

In addition to avoiding bad behaviors, under this model you demonstrate all kinds of positive behaviors, again very instinctively:

• You center the person who needs help, not yourself. 
• You check to see exactly what help is needed and desired, and you both listen to and respect the answers you are given. 
• You are willing to be actively involved to make sure the other person gets what they need.
• Despite the urge to do something, you respect that sometimes, you can't do anything, and indeed, it would be best if you left the room.

Applying the Model

As you start taking your first steps, you are going to want to keep this model in your head, because those wonderful behaviors you practice instinctively under the right set of conditions will not be instinctive to you in the weeks and months ahead.  Yes, you'll know you should be listening instead of talking, and yes, sure, you'll try not to center yourself.  But. In your enthusiasm, you will have the urge - the overwhelming need, even - to share your opinions, insert yourself into conversations taking place among black people, talk about your own experiences, maybe get a little round of applause for being an enlightened white person. Let me be the first to tell you those impulses are wrong.  That's plopping down on the end of the couch and rambling when that person you love has a headache.  Stop.  Don't make extra problems.

Now that I've said that, here's the other thing you need to know: You WILL make extra problems.  You WILL fuck up.  Heaven knows I have, and I will again.  When you do, someone may snap at you, tell you to shut up, lecture you about how white people always think everyone needs to know their opinions.  You will feel embarrassed and stupid, and you might even want to gather up your toys and go home.  Because how dare somebody snap at you!  You are taking time out of your life to help, and this is the thanks you get?!

Here's the honest truth: The only reason you're mad is that you're still centering yourself.  You are making this about you when it's not remotely about you.  You would never have that angry reaction to a person you love who is suffering from an agonizing headache.  You would never say, "Well, if that's how you talk to me when I'm trying to help you, I AM LEAVING FOREVER."

White privilege manifests in a lot of ways and means a lot of things, but at the end of the day, that right there is white privilege: You can, in fact, walk away. You have the choice not to think about race, racism, white supremacy, or state violence for the rest of the day, or if you're seriously determined (and seriously morally bankrupt), forever.  That doesn't mean making the decision to think about it makes you special or great.  It means you're a more or less decent human being, which is exactly what you should be.

Other Ways to Help

I've suggested both directly and by analogy that sometimes the most helpful things you can do are negative actions: closing your mouth, keeping your stories to yourself, leaving the room when asked.  There are, of course, positive things you can do, too.

1. Broaden your mind.  Listen to podcasts like This Week in Blackness Prime (Elon James White, Imani Gandy,  Aaron Rand Freeman), Intersection with Jamil Smith (The New Republic), and Our National Conversation about Conversations about Race (Baratunde Thurston, Raquel Cepeda, Tanner Colby). Seek out anti-racist voices on social media.  Read articles and books, of which there are obviously loads. Right now I'm reading Two Nations: Black & White, Separate, Hostile, Unequal by Andrew Hacker.  Next I'm reading Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson.
2. When you encounter new terms and concepts, educate yourself.  That doesn't mean asking a black person to stop doing movement work in order to educate you (or to stop having a fun, relaxing conversation, either).  That means using Google.  That means researching for yourself. 
3. Embrace crisis.  Growth is often precipitated by crisis. When you fuck up, take deep breaths.  Remind yourself as many times as you need to that this is not about your embarrassment or your hurt feelings. Ask yourself what you can learn from your mistake and how you can do better as a result of it.  Do that.
4. Challenge white people who aren't woke. This is important work, but I list it fourth for a reason. Listen and learn first. That's not to say that you should let racism go unchecked, but that you want to be smart in your approach.  Also, I hope this is an unnecessary reminder, but don't speak "for" black people or talk over black voices.  You're nobody's savior, and nobody's spokesperson. 

Finally, you don't need me to tell you that you have political power.  Use it.