Breaking the Cycle of Systemic Oppression through Transformative Love

As an educator and mother, I believe the transformative power of love is part of the antidote for systemic racism. Only through love, manifested as empathy and forgiveness (and ultimately channeled into action), can we escape the hazards of hate and the pitfalls of dehumanization that we have inhabited for centuries and with which we of privilege continue to reside. 

A few months ago, one of my six-year-old twins, Bethany, was participating in a racial literacy study with Embrace Race, a community created to “raise and guide children who are inclusive, informed, and brave when it comes to race.” We were asked to read several picture books featuring Children of Color. While reading one particular book, Ron’s Big Mission by Rose Blue and Corinne J. Naden, Bethany experienced a reaction that shook me to the core. 

In the story, nine-year-old Ron, a Black child, is attempting to check out a public library book during the heyday of Jim Crow. It is based on the true story of South Carolinian Ron McNair, who would later become a scientist and astronaut. The book is meant to highlight a child’s resistance to desegregation and demonstrate their potential as positive agents of change in the world. On one page, the white librarian very “nicely” tells Ron that Black children are not allowed to check out library books; that it’s against the rules. My daughter, horrified and shocked by the abhorrence of Ron’s circumstances, turned to me in despair and began hitting herself repeatedly on her head. She screamed, “I hate my white skin! I don’t want to be white!” I held her hands and calmly reminded her that she didn’t make these hateful rules; that she would find ways to support Ron and be an ally. In the tearful moments that followed, we talked through what she might do if faced with a similar injustice now, in the present. I have learned that part of this awareness process is the naming of helpers, those who were advocates or allies during social justice movements. We continued reading, explicitly finding the white helpers, to soothe her soul and to empower her to disconnect from the white agents of oppression.

Within about thirty minutes, she was able to calm her traumatized mind and body and drift off to sleep. The angst and shame that had filled her little being so quickly and forcefully might have remained had she not been presented with an opportunity to work through those feelings and release that guilt. As a mother, I can painfully imagine what guilt of that magnitude might do to the developing spirit of a young child, moreover to the psyche of an adult.

In her willingness to be vulnerable and open, Bethany was able to move past the pain of the truth and into a space of healing. In fact, I believe that by vicariously experiencing Ron’s story and then reflecting upon his encounter with adversity, Bethany has been better prepared to identify and speak up against injustice. Through this type of story, my white child was able to gain insight and to better understand the perspectives of People of Color. Tragically, the war being waged on equity, under the guise of “anti-CRT” curricula, is attempting to prevent these types of learning opportunities from occurring in our classrooms. Organizations like The Foundation Against Intolerance and Racism are scheming to use the language of anti-racism against itself. They are calling out St. Louis educators who are working to teach critical thinking and cultivate empathy through stories and historical perspectives largely silenced up to this point. Contrary to what is being portrayed, anti-bias and anti-racist educators and parents are trying to call people into the conversation and use transformative love to better understand one another and design communities that are truly fair and just for all.

That evening, during our usual bedtime storybook reading together, Bethany had provided me with a new lens with which to see another situation. As it happened, I was feeling traumatized by having only weeks before been summarily dismissed by my employer for my advocacy in racial justice.

Before I explain how Bethany’s insight helped me, I will provide some background about these circumstances. After five years of teaching at what is likely the most affluent private elementary school in St. Louis, I had been told that I no longer belong. I had been perceived as a threat to some conservative donors and my “questioning of administration” about our diversity, equity, inclusion, and justice work had been seen as an unwelcome disruption. In fact, my presence was deemed as such a danger to the existing culture that the administration would not allow me to return after spring break to say goodbye to the students or my colleagues.

Believing it faced unknown risks in a period of political turmoil, the school leadership chose to continue with the status quo. Rather than uphold their public anti-racism pledge to the constituents and the children of the school, the administrators chose complacency and complicity, allowing fear and finances to eclipse their stated ethical positions. They were unwilling to support the teachers invested in this work. Instead, they embraced their 1914 founding principles equating diversity with respecting different opinions. Ultimately, they chose neutrality in the face of racism. There are not two sides when it comes to injustice. Racism is a public health crisis and one that educational institutions have a moral obligation to dismantle. It is not a political issue but one of human rights.

I experienced so many emotions through that ordeal. I was ostracized from my community and my character was attacked. Rumors spread about my integrity. At first, I felt shame. And then my rage set in. I presented a case to the school board and prepared to write long and hard about what I saw as a racist institution. I was ready to use my new knowledge about white supremacy culture as a weapon against the school leaders. But Bethany’s raw reaction to the story of a Black boy experiencing injustice opened my eyes and my heart.

I had always seen myself on the outside looking into a racist system, but I became aware of my presence within the system. I realized that attacking the school would make me complicit in the culture of white supremacy. I needed to change my core from fear and shame and rage. I needed to find a way to use transformative love and lean into forgiveness and empathy. Only that vulnerability would break the cycle in which I was trapped. 

I was struck by the power of Bethany’s response as a six-year-old. I started to imagine all of the white people at that school as young children. I saw them miss the opportunity to hear about the stories of trauma and resistance of People of Color. I thought about them missing the opportunity as children to learn the full history of our country; about them not having the chance to constructively process with a parent or teacher or peer about their inevitable guilt or fear. Then I thought about them growing up and becoming adults, only later to be blindsided by the legitimate claims of racial bias and discrimination from community members of color. I imagined them confronted by the history of redlining, lynchings, and all the overtly and implicitly racist atrocities of our past. Then I thought about them being exposed to the fact that People of Color continue to experience the perpetual trauma of racial inequity in all the systems and structures which make up our country. What a detrimental shock to the spirit. What an agonizing awakening. I finally understood.

I realized that the people at my former school — the faculty, parents, administrators — who had been standing still or actively working against equitable change were provoked and shocked by their own shame and guilt and were emanating fear. They likely didn’t have a chance to work through these unbearably hard truths when they were young. The anguish of reality stunted them and consciously, subconsciously, or otherwise, they are in shock. They cannot accept the reality of white supremacy culture, transform, and move forward until they work through those harmful feelings.

In My Grandmother’s Hands, Resmaa Menakem explains that, “What the body most cares about are safety and survival. When something happens to the body that is too much, too fast, or too soon, it overwhelms the body and can create trauma.” Humans are designed to survive and avoid suffering. Many of my white colleagues were facing, likely for the first time, the grievous nature of the history of our country. Their minds, perceiving a danger to their way of being, obstructed the truth. Were they not so invested in their sense of “normalcy,” they, like Bethany, might respond by hitting themselves upon the head and turning inward with self-hate. In the face of such pain and trauma, what could survival look like? The choice to maintain neutrality, to be complacent within their comfort, and to remove disruptors like me was merely an act of self-preservation. That aspect of their humanity allowed me to begin to forgive and move outside of the cycle of oppression.

As poet Maya Angelou said, “Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not solved one yet.” I hope that I will continue to find the courage to unabashedly work toward a more equitable and just community — in myself, my family, my new school, my neighborhood, and my city. I believe that only through the transformative power of love will I have the strength and endurance to unapologetically act while continuing to be vulnerable to the experiences of those around me, all of those around me. 

Nicole Elizabeth Post is a white sixth grade teacher in St. Louis, Missouri. She believes that cultivating critical thinking and empathy in students begins by having courageous and vulnerable conversations in the classroom, within a culture of belonging. She incorporates that practice into her curricula, as well as into her work in building community partnerships. Nicole approaches learning as a transformative — rather than transactional — process. Thus, by exploring the confluence of identity, community, and agency, Nicole seeks to empower students to advocate for themselves as they also strive to lead for change in their world.