Whiteness in The Water Dancer: A Novel Reflection on Antiracist Work Then and Now

I had the rare opportunity and good fortune recently to be a keynote speaker at the Color of Education Conference, which also featured Ta-Nehisi Coates. We didn’t actually meet at the event; I spoke in the morning; he spoke in the afternoon. But I was thrilled to be in that space with him. Beside deeply admiring Coates and his writing, I feel as if my thinking as an antiracist educator and speaker has been conversation with his since I first read his Atlantic article on reparations five years ago.

I don’t mean to suggest that our writing and impact are on the same plain, but I often joke that a perspective he takes in his work has a way of undoing my own: I tell White people they are White. He tells them they only think they are White. Meanwhile, I’m actually afraid that many White people neither acknowledge nor think they are White. On my own journey, it has been incredibly valuable to recognize that I am White, and that my Whiteness has an impact on my life. Recognizing my Whiteness renders me part of the racial problem in the U.S. — and therefore requires me to be part of the solution. In the morning at this conference, I told White people they are White. In the afternoon, Coates told them they aren’t really White — they have merely been constructed as such. And while both views are critical to challenging racism, it sometimes feels like a game of leapfrog; both ideas are in the game, but one perspective seems to jump over the other, rendering the other a little flatter.

It is this tension in perspective that I’ve wrestled with these five years. I agree, of course, that Whiteness is a cultural construction. But I also think racism and racial injustice will not change in our nation until White people know that, whether they identify as White or not, they have been made to be White by the destructive racial system that is both our history and our current reality. By understanding that they are White, and what Whiteness means, they can begin to take responsibility for it.

On the flight home from the conference, I started reading Coates’ first book of fiction, The Water Dancer (all conference attendees received a copy) and again was struck by the connection and tension between his work and mine — and how his work pushes me to think more deeply about my own writing and speaking on matters of race and justice. Here we have a book in which Coates offers a perspective that is never presented in texts on slavery. The novel’s narrator, Hiram, is an enslaved man who is well-read and worldly with a sense of entitlement and choice. Hiram describes the feeling of entrapment rendered by slavery in such a way that a reader whose life is shaped more by entitlement and choice can relate. Coates, in other words, condenses in fiction a modern analysis of race, enslavement, and freedom via an enslaved character who is well-educated and relatively worldly. What caught my eye in particular is the way Coates also grapples with Whiteness and the role of White people in the fight against oppression. Does Coates intend to feature antiracist White people in this way? I don’t know. Can we have an honest discussion about ending racial oppression in the U.S. without considering White people? Again, I don’t know. Many would say “yes,” and I believe they would be correct. But as a White person engaged in a lifelong inquiry into my own role in working against racism, I seek those other conversations, the ones that do raise the question of what it is that White people should be doing, and how. I am grateful for the ways in which Coates’ novel joins and informs my inquiry — even if it does so without providing answers.

The Water Dancer is not about slavery. It is about the nature and possibility of freedom. It is also not about White people (or, if you prefer, people who think they are White). For his epigraph, Coates uses a quote from Frederick Douglass, “My part has been to tell the story of the slave. The story of the master never wanted for narrators.” With this epigraph, we know literally from page one that this is not the story of the master. And yet for Coates, that is not the same thing as refusing to consider the role of White people in a racist system. In The Water Dancer, Coates does not hesitate to tell stories of White people who fall outside of the “master” role. He uses these stories to demonstrate the ways in which White people, even the abolitionists and members of the Underground (the novel’s term for the Underground Railroad), necessarily and indelibly have a different relationship to the Task (the novel’s term for slavery) and to the abolition of the Task, than do the Tasked.

Take the character of Corrine Quinn, for example. Corrine is an operator on the Underground whose decoy is that she owns and manages a Virginia plantation, including as a pretend “master” of the Tasked people who belong to that estate. She lives a life committed to the abolition of slavery, and yet her approach can never be the same as those of people who were formerly enslaved, many of whom continue to pose as Tasked people while working with her on the Underground.

Coates writes, “Corrine Quinn was among the most fanatical agents I ever encountered on the Underground. All of these fanatics were white. They took slavery as a personal insult or affront, a stain upon their name. They had seen women carried off to fancy, or watched as a father was stripped and beaten in front of his child, or seen whole families pinned like hogs into rail-cars, and jails. Slavery humiliated them, because it offended a basic sense of goodness they believed themselves to possess. And when their cousins perpetrated the base practice, it served to remind them how easily they might do the same. They scorned their barbaric brethren, but they were brethren all the same. So their opposition was a kind of vanity, a hatred of slavery that far outranked any love of the slave” (p. 370).

Corinne Quinn, in short, is anti-slavery, not necessarily pro-slave. This means she approaches the resistance to slavery in clear-cut, all-or-nothing ways, and often cannot tolerate the complexity of the people who navigate the issue from a position that has left them little choice, little range of motion. This difference, for Hiram (the main character, who is Tasked) and for the White people in the Underground, is critical. The White people fight slavery. Hiram and other formerly Tasked people fight for human beings who are enslaved — people with names and stories and lives, the people they love. Hiram says, “These people are not cargo to me. They are salvation. They saved me and should I be presented with any instance where I feel I must save them, I will do it” (p. 401).

In the novel, Coates makes it clear that struggles for liberation from racism, slavery, sexism, and classism have always been bound together, but fought on many fronts. Those battles have been shaped largely by the individuals involved — and by the constellation of identities they harbor in their bodies. The battles do not and cannot look the same for the characters, all of whom live in different circumstances. This reality means that some struggles for liberation compete against one another rather than against the source of oppression. It also means that many battles are fought in tragically incomplete ways.

Hiram’s ongoing dilemma of how to be free — and win freedom for those he loves in a land where no person of African descent is safe from kidnapping and enslavement — helps the reader feel what psychologist Howard Stevenson calls a Catch 33. White people are familiar with the conundrum in a Catch 22 situation in which you’re damned if you do or damned if you don’t. Enslaved people — and many Black people today — are caught in a Catch 33, in which they are just damned by the impossibility of trying to be human in a system that denies their humanity. Hiram says, “The logic of it all was clear. But I felt myself now slipping into something darker…. The Task was a trap. Even Georgie was trapped. And so who was Corinne Quinn to judge such a man? Who was I, who’d run with no higher purpose save my own passions and my own skin?” (p. 176). Coates helps us see that a White person standing outside the Catch-33 of Blackness in America should not cast judgment upon the choices a Black person makes within a system in which there are no liberatory choices, where there is no clear path in which one’s own journey to liberation is without compromise.

I find myself fascinated by the White anti-slavery characters in the novel. I wonder how much I would even think of them were I not White. I scrutinize the choices they make, and the circumstances that shape those choices. I am fascinated by the fact that Corinne, though a free White woman, is trapped in Virginia. I marvel at the way that on her plantation they are able to create something new, something resembling what Martin Luther King, Jr. (and, later, bell hooks) called a Beloved Community. I admire the depiction of their lives once they are able to establish relationships outside of the prescribed roles of slavery — that they are able to be in community together, to serve one another, to sing, to laugh. It is this community that solicits from Hiram one of the first moments of unmitigated joy that the reader witnesses: “And now here, I did something very curious — I smiled. And it was an open and generous smile, one that rose up out of a feeling with which I was so rarely acquainted — joy. I was joyous at the thought of what was coming. I was joyous at the thought of my role in this.”

Corinne is fanatical and flawed. She puts Hiram through untold suffering in the name of the Underground movement. And still, it seems, Coates does not condemn her; he sees her as a product of her time. One of Hiram’s elders says, “She is a good woman, I think. And they are, no doubt, in a good fight. But what I have seen up here [in the North], what I have seen of your momma, your cousins, your uncles, ain’t just the fight. I have seen the future. I have seen what we are fighting for. I am thankful for Corrine. I am thankful for the fight. But I am most thankful to have seen all that is coming” (p.225).

I read these words and I inexplicably find myself feeling grateful for the generosity Coates offers in this way of showing us Corinne’s flaws while acknowledging her positionality. He sees Corinne, like his protagonist, Hiram, not as a victim of circumstance but a survivor of circumstance, one whose life and path cannot be envisioned or enacted apart from her circumstance.

In Coates’s generosity, there also lies a critique, or perhaps a statement, about the limits and possibilities of White co-conspirators. Corinne’s repulsion or revulsion against slavery, that which drives her to fight against it, simply cannot come from the same place that Hiram’s does. And the methods available to her to fight it — for the same reasons — cannot be the same.

Why tell these stories of White people working in collaboration with Black people, against a system that holds them all down? While I find Coates’ willingness to venture down this path to be generous, it also feels strategic. As Beverly Daniel Tatum, former President of Spelman College, first said, White people need role models. White people need to know there is a way of being White in our society that is not merely colorblind, ignorant, or racist. White people need to know that they can be antiracist. They (we) need to see White antiracist role models, in all of their imperfections and situational limitations.

This fictional portrayal of White people standing up against a system of slavery that was constructed for their benefit (or, rather, for their benefit should they choose to accept all of the restrictive covenants precluding their own humanity and that of the Tasked) reminds White people today that we, too, can choose to stand outside the system of racism and racial injustice. We can choose to oppose it. In the novel, the stakes of doing so are high, but so are the rewards of interconnectedness and interdependency that result from joining together to confront that system that dehumanizes all of us. I see Coates as being generous here because I could imagine him telling this story with no redemption for White people, no ability to see alternative possibilities other than the lowly seat of the master.

Coates grants us a glimpse of the barren, lifeless fate that awaits those who sell their humanity for the lowly seat of the master. In The Water Dancer, it is clear that those who are Tasked are human beings and that the Worthy (the novel’s term for enslavers) are not; the worthy forsake their own humanity to enslave others. Coates writes of how the enslaved persist in building families, lives, and relationships even amid the cruelty of family separation and violence, even as they as individuals cannot own their own bodies and destinies. This fierceness to love at any expense, lies in sharp contrast to the relationships Coates depicts between White people, which are so formalized, so inauthentic, so full of lies, so shaped by broken individuals in a decomposing social structure, unable to make the essential synapses of family, community, and connection fire. This distinction is made clear in Coates’s portrayal of the Howell family, the land holding family that technically owns Hiram. To a person, they seem paper thin and pathetic compared to those illustrated by Coates among the Tasked. As Hiram says, “We were better than them — we had to be. Sloth was literal death for us, while for them it was the whole ambition of their lives” (p. 35).

Coates doesn’t have to go further than this. He could throw up his hands at the Howells and say, “That’s what White people get. That’s all that they are. If they want to resist it, they can talk about it among themselves.” But instead, in his depiction of White resisters, he suggests both a critique and a way forward. 

I’m struck that I come away from this novel that is fundamentally focused on Black liberation (although the word Black does not appear once in the text, I believe) with an almost obsessive focus on Whiteness. “What does it say about White people?” I ask. “What is the role of White people in working against racism? What does Coates want White people to do?” Perhaps that is one of the ways this important and moving novel was meant to be read. Maybe not. But for me — as a White person, with my positionality, with this set of questions before me — it may be the only way.

Ali Michael, Ph.D., works with schools and organizations across the country to help make research on race, Whiteness, and education more accessible and relevant to educators. Ali is the author of Raising Race Questions: Whiteness, Inquiry and Education (Teachers College Press, 2015), winner of the 2017 Society of Professors of Education Outstanding Book Award. She is co-editor of the bestselling Everyday White People Confront Racial and Social Injustice: 15 Stories (2015, Stylus Press) and the bestselling Guide for White Women Who Teach Black Boys (2017, Corwin Press). Ali sits on the editorial board of the journal Whiteness and Education. In addition to her work as the Co-Founder and Director of the Race Institute for K-12 Educators, Ali teaches in the Diversity and Inclusion Program at Princeton University as well as the Equity Institutes for Higher Education from the University of Southern California. 

References

hooks, b. (1996). Killing Rage: Ending Racism. New York: Owl Books.

King, M.L. (1956) “Facing the Challenge of a New Age.” Address delivered at the NAACP Emancipation Rally in Atlanta, GA. Jan 1, 1957.

White People Leading DEI Work

“Once whiteness is made familiar, then it must be made strange. No longer able to disguise itself as normative, whiteness becomes peculiar once it is located.” — Dr. Zeus Leonardo

“Should you be leading this work?”

The question isn’t always posed with sincerity. Sometimes it comes with the of rhetorical “gotcha” meant to expose some sinister ulterior motive. Importantly, it’s almost always asked by someone who identifies as white.

I used to tense up. I used to feel the need to justify to anybody why I was talking about ending white supremacy; why I was talking about whiteness at all. I used to worry I was in violation.

I used to.

When asked by a French reporter about the Negro problem in America in the 1940s, author Richard Wright famously responded, “There isn’t any Negro problem; there is only a white problem.” In the following decades, James Baldwin expressed a similar analysis of the root cause of racism. Baldwin often spoke of the toll whiteness took on those of us who accepted the label. He explained, “As long as you think you’re white, there is no hope for you.” While white folks flocked to see “I Am Not Your Negro” — the 2016 documentary film about James Baldwin — and many wax poetic about their love for Baldwin, very few white people accept the fundamental truth of his argument. I’ve heard many white liberals quote Wright, teach Native Son, and heap praise on Black Boy while totally ignoring the indictment explicit in Wright’s analysis of race. This call for white people to take responsibility is not relegated to the past. Writers like Ta-Nehisi Coates, David Roediger, Noel Ignatiev, and Zeus Leonardo have all pointed out the need for white people to turn a critical eye inward today. The truth that we who are white so skillfully sidestep is that whiteness is the cause of racism and its eradication is our responsibility.

That is precisely why we should be leading this work — in our schools, communities, and the nation at large.

People of color have known that racism and white supremacy say more about white people and whiteness than they have ever said about people of color. They’ve also had no choice but to engage in resistance to and the dismantling of white supremacy. White folks, on the other hand, have always had a choice to stand up to systemic racial injustice or just let it be. As Mahmoud El-Kati puts it, “Whiteness is a moral choice.” But too many of us choose inaction and silence when it comes to holding other white folks and our systems responsible for racism. Too many of us hide behind colorblind ideology; hide behind wanting to keep the peace; hide behind our own guilt; hide behind the idea that it is not our place to step up for equity and inclusion. None of these responses are acceptable. Plain and simple, it is the responsibility of those of us considered white to understand what being white means in our socio-political context, how it positions us in society for unfair advantage, and then to act in ways that erode its foundation so we can build something better.

It’s true that those of us who identify as white can never know racism in the ways that people of color do; but we can and should develop deep knowledge of the ways whiteness and white supremacy have shaped our culture and lives and how we move in the world. With this knowledge, we can and should step up to help reshape our communities into diverse, equitable, inclusive communities. Indeed, democracy, justice, and morality require that we engage in this antiracist work.

Longtime antiracist educator Jane Elliott developed a remarkable thought experiment that illustrates the absurdity of the white community’s collective indifference toward understanding the white racial reality. In her workshops, she asks white participants to stand up if they would be happy to be treated in the manner our society treats Black people. When no one stands, she articulates the obvious conclusion: We are aware of the violence of white supremacy and we clearly do not want it for ourselves. This simple insight creates such astonishing dissonance for white participants in Elliott’s workshops — as, indeed, it should for all of us who are white. We realize that, while we have never thought of ourselves as racialized, we always have been. Knowing we don’t want to be Black means we clearly understand the benefits of being white. We also understand that whiteness has allowed us to frame the world as racially neutral.

When we know better, we must do better. And because we are on the inside, included under the umbrella of whiteness, no other group is so perfectly positioned to dismantle systemic inequities and reshape cultural perspectives, and otherwise work for an inclusive, just society. There is a certain power that comes with an “insider” speaking out. This is especially true when those insiders are talking to others on the inside. We cannot and should not be talking to communities of color about the ways racism manifests. They know. But we can and must talk to other whites about the way whiteness damages all of us and why we must shift our investment of time from supporting whiteness to creating racial solidarity.

There is a certain arrogance embedded in whiteness. It believes that those of us who identify as white have been so thoroughly conditioned that we will never push back. It believes we are so incapable of cutting through the dissonance and acting on our values that it can rely on the flimsiest of rationalizations for allowing whiteness to thrive. Most important, it believes it has so thoroughly disconnected us from the rest of humanity that we would never be able to act in solidarity with communities of color. Nothing could be further from the truth. When we understand whiteness for what it is — a toxic worldview created to divide working people and guarantee the wealth of a land-owning class (and its modern equivalent) — we are able to move in the world differently. As we operate differently we develop genuine relationships across lines of difference including relationships with people of color who can hold us accountable for using our positionality and privilege in service of a more just world.

When we consider just how vulnerable whiteness and white supremacy truly are it brings hope. Whiteness becomes even more vulnerable when another person who identifiesas white stands up and resists — or, better yet, accepts the responsibility to lead this work. The truth that Baldwin and Wright articulated is that, in our racially inequitable society, the work of establishing equity is white people’s work.

So where do we start? What are the steps we can take? What does the work look like? Here are five action moves you can do to interrupt whiteness in your own lives and work.

1) Develop a self-study routine and regular practice.

Examining our upbringing with an intention of mining our racial development is incredibly important and foundational to developing a healthy sense of self. Try writing a racial autobiography. In it, consider such questions as: What was the racial makeup of my neighborhood? What was the racial makeup of my friend group growing up? When is my first memory of being white? You can also reflect on traditions, practices, and/or artifacts that have been passed down to you through previous generations. Ask yourself: what is the origin of this particular tradition/artifact? What is the significance of this custom?

2) Read. Read. And read some more. I can’t overstate this.

There is an abundance of knowledge out there that has been intentionally marginalized. Seek it out. Read as much as you can about race, racism and whiteness. Find other people doing the same and talk about it. Create meaning. Produce knowledge. It will manifest in your thoughts, words, actions, and beliefs. (Teaching While White’s Foundational Texts is a good starting point.)

3) Make yourself uncomfortable.

Do this literally. Go somewhere, do something where you are uncomfortable because of your race. This does not mean go pop up on a group of people of color and expect them to teach you all about race and racism. It does mean go to a different grocery store. Get off the interstate and take the side streets. Sign your kid up for that karate class or sport league that interacts outside the boundaries of your suburban neighborhood. Notice how your body reacts, sit with it.

4) Revise your curriculum.

I remember the first year I didn’t have to start from scratch with an annual plan. It was amazing. I felt like I arrived. Here’s the thing though, I still needed to take a critical look at my curriculum and make it stronger. We all do. You already know that, I’m sure. But this action item requires, in addition to any other changes you make, that you look at your plans through a race-conscious lens. In particular, it challenges us to weed out whiteness. Ask yourself, how many examples of white antiracism do I introduce? How much of the human spectrum do the people of color I introduce represent? What voices aren’t present? Where do students teach me? Based on the answers, ADJUST YOUR PLANS!

5) Seek out accountability.

This is difficult for educators. Often, we conceptualize accountability as a trap, as an opportunity for administrators to find fault with what we do. I get it. Teachers often feel under attack, and evaluations and structured conversations on effective teaching can be hot-button issues. That’s not an excuse to avoid this step. The fact of the matter is that young people are in front of us every day and we are charged with doing right by them. And, as the adage goes “The eye can’t see itself.” We need others to observe us, give us feedback, and hold us accountable to implement that feedback. Ask a trusted co-worker to come to your third period and look specifically for how much wait-time you give to the Black students. Ask a manager to pull your discipline data and audit for any discrepancies. Join the PLC or whatever committee is discussing evaluations and advocate for equity indicators to be included (and to properly fund related professional development!)

You may have noticed many of the suggestions are not specific to classroom practice. That is true. Here is a bonus action step that explains why:

6. STOP LOOKING TO CHECK A BOX!

In a professional development session, the best educator I know, a Black female, urged the room full of mainly white teachers to embrace the messiness of equity work. Embrace the reality that true equity is not prescriptive. Context, and relationships, and so much else goes into every single aspect of equity that it is impossible to provide THE protocol. Sadly, in this instance, that advice was missed; one of the more respected teachers in the room responded by asking for “the things to do.” I get it. We take the responsibility of teaching equitably seriously. Remember, then, that equity is not just what you do; it is how you do it. It is a way of being. The most important equity work we do is to elevate our way of being so that we can take leadership in the struggle to dismantle white supremacy. Because, again, this is our work.

Ryan Williams-Virden has taught in district, charter and private schools, and now serves as the Dean of Students at Hiawatha Collegiate High School in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Ryan has a Master’s of Education degree from the University of Illinois, with a focus on Diversity and Inclusion. 

Inoculating Our Students Against White Nationalism

Over the past four years, white nationalism has been on the rise inside and outside of schools. White nationalists use the internet like a hunting ground to strategically target young white people. Using YouTube, Instagram, and other online platforms, white nationalists take advantage of algorithms to lure viewers deeper and deeper into their networks and ideology. In the New York Times, the Washingtonian, and elsewhere, white parents have shared stories of how their children have been targeted and recruited. With the nation in the midst of the coronavirus crisis and students spending even more time online for distance learning, it becomes even more important to be aware of  the various recruiting tactics, such as the white nationalist passing himself off as a coronavirus expert. Bigoted movements often veil their strategies in jokes and “irony” in order to claim plausible deniability when questioned. They also take a mainstream conservative call to action — such as immigration or race-conscious admission policies — to further a white nationalist agenda. So adults must develop a nuanced understanding about what is happening online and proactively inoculate young people against white nationalist messaging.

How do we gauge where a young person may be in the indoctrination process?

Recently UCLA, through the Luskin Center for History and Policy, developed a Scale of Expression rating system. It categorizes five stages on the path to radicalization.

First, there is accidental absorption. This might look like a student posting memes on social media — jokes that call liberals “snowflakes” or mock “social justice warriors” (SJWs). At this point, the student may not have any real investment in or understanding of the content in any serious way.

Second, there is social or edgy transgression. This could include kids forming swastikas using SOLO cups at a party, or this example of a beer pong game called Jews vs. Nazis. It may even involve a “Heil Hitler” salute. The kids may be joking among themselves, without an investment in causing real harm. But they know that they are playing with social taboos. Zoombombing that actively targets specific groups may fall into this category. High school and college students share ZOOM information via Discord and reddit so that nefarious actors can deluge the group with offensive language and images, including racial slurs and porn.

The third level involves political provocation. This is a wide-ranging spectrum of content. It may not be explicitly racist, but it includes dog whistles scapegoating specific groups — for example, student spectators who raise “build the wall” posters specifically when their team is playing against a mostly Latinx team or students who chant the phrase in a cafeteria while targeting Latinx students.

The fourth expression contains overt hate. Using content steeped in white nationalist ideology, youth at this stage actively embrace and spread antisemitism, racism, Islamophobia, misogyny, transphobia, and homophobia. They share hateful symbols and speech with full awareness of the implications and often target groups specifically. Gizmodo found in their investigation of zoombombing channels the sharing of “a roster of Google documents listing the Zoom codes of hundreds of support groups in the U.S., along with the days and times each one would meet. Similar documents were created to target meetings for other at-risk groups, like LGBTQ and trans teens.”

Finally, the fifth stage involves calls for violence, such as those from Atomwaffen Division who were prevalent on 8chan/8kun, where the manifestos of mass shooters were posted and celebrated.  This dangerous stage necessitates a multipronged effort for intervention. 

Why are adolescents, particularly boys, susceptible?

Important insights come from brain science; specifically, the part of the brain called the insula, which is hyperactive during the teenage years. UCLA neuro-biologist Daniel Siegel explains that this part of the brain generates self-awareness. It’s also adjacent to where awareness of the “other” is generated. In other words, young people gain a sense of themselves as well as their understanding of other people’s experiences; they can experience themselves as connected to a larger whole.

This hyperactivity in the insula, Siegel notes, “leads teens to feel extreme empathy — the kind that urges teens to speak out against the things they see as unfair or unjust.” Such extreme feelings can manifest in many different ways. Many adolescents commit themselves to fighting injustice through veganism or gun reform activism. Others, primarily teenage boys, are manipulated into believing false claims that white people are targeted unfairly by social justiceand diversity initiatives and are at risk of suppression or even extermination. Extreme empathy can lead these adolescents to adopt the dangerous and erroneous idea that they need to fight to preserve Western civilization and white people.

What can we do when students show up on the Scale of Expression?

While the desire to dismiss early flirtations with problematic content as “kids being kids” may run strong among adults, responding appropriately and meeting the children where they are is key. As the Western States Center’s Confronting White Nationalists in School toolkit articulates, one should not overreact or under-react to what young people say and do. The Scales of Expression provide a framework to tailor questions to help adults understand the child’s investment in the content and to work to build alternative paths to a more just and antiracist consciousness. It is imperative that this work be done in a collective. Teachers must work in concert with parents/guardians, counselors, social workers, administrators, coaches, and other collectives (YWCA, religious groups, law enforcement, etc.) to support children in not falling prey to the recruitment or to support them to disengage if they have been recruited. In order to not overreact or under-react, adults shepherding young ones must not respond solely with punishment and consequences. Responses must include love and support for the young person’s well-being because isolation and depression are factors that make white nationalism attractive. To only focus on punitive responses can send young people further into the arms of white nationalists.

What can we do to inoculate students so they do not show up on the  Scales of Expression?

Adults need to prepare themselves and children to navigate online spaces with sufficient racial consciousness and digital literacy skills so that they are less likely to fall victim to white nationalists’ messaging. Notice the two things named: racial consciousness and digital literacy. Seek out the many resources available to guide parents and guardians in helping white children develop racial consciousness; Jennifer Harvey’s Raising White Kids: Bringing Up Children in a Racially Unjust America and Embrace Race’s Breaking Hate: Supporting Kids to Push Back Against White Nationalism serve as good starting points. Supplement what children are learning about digital literacy in school with resources such as those developed by Teaching Tolerance. As Jessie Daniels explores in Cyber Racism: White Supremacy Online and the New Attack on Civil Rights, “trying to understand [covert online racism] exclusively in terms of skills-based literacy, which lacks critical thinking about race and racism, is doomed to fail.” 

In addition to the literacy work, adults need to develop and support school-wide, systemic efforts. Racially conscious lessons should help students recognize and interrupt the early stages of indoctrination, helping them become upstanders with their peers. School policies need to specifically address racism, antisemitism, Islamophobia,  misogyny, transphobia, and homophobia — and how they provide entry points into white nationalism. Programs that focus on social-emotional learning, empathy building, diversity, and equity must explicitly name the different forms of hatred white nationalists use to divide people.

For teachers and other adults guiding young people through these hate-filled times, educate yourselves and become learning partners with the young people in your life. Encourage and support their critical consciousness. Build on their tendency toward feeling extreme empathy to foster race-conscious and anti-racist stances in order to counter the nefarious influences that would manipulate their energy and brilliance toward negative ends. We can do this. Together.

Christine Saxman is racial and social justice facilitator, most recently for Courageous Conversations About Race. She also works for the National SEED Project (Seeking Education Equity and Diversity) as part of the National Staff.  Find Christine at christinesaxman.com, on Twitter @xinest, and on Facebook.

An educator, with a background in psychology, Shelly Tochluk is a Professor of Education at Mount Saint Mary’s University–Los Angeles. She is the author of Witnessing Whiteness: The Need to Talk About Race and How to Do It and Living in the Tension: The Quest for a Spiritualized Racial Justice. Free curricula aligned with each book are available at ShellyTochluk.com. Shelly also volunteers with AWARE-LA (Alliance of White Anti-Racists Everywhere–Los Angeles), facilitating the group’s online Sunday Dialogue. For the last 11 years, she has co-produced AWARE-LA’s four-day summer institute titled, Unmasking Whiteness, that leads white people into a deeper understanding of their personal relationship to race, white privilege, and systemic racism.

Other Resources

General Resources

• Interrupting White Nationalist Recruitment Resource Guide — Saxman & Tochluk (frequently updated)

• Confronting White Nationalism in Schools Toolkit — Western States Center

• Equity Literacy Institute — Justice-Oriented Teacher Activist Collectives and Organizations

• Resources for Talking About Race, Racism and Racialized Violence — Center for Racial Justice in Education

• Not in Our Town & Responding to Hate and Bias — Teaching Tolerance

• You and White Supremacy — Teaching Tolerance (Summer 2019) 

Specific Articles for Teachers

• How Teachers Are Fighting White Nationalists Brainwashing Their Students — Vice (Sept 19, 2019)

• There is No Neutral on Racism and Hate: Back to School for White Educators — National Equity Project (Aug. 22, 2019)

• How Am I Supposed  to Address White Supremacy and Racism on the First Day of School — Blog (Aug. 16, 2019)

• The Alt-Right on Campus: What Students Need to Know — SPLC (Aug. 10, 2017)

Specific Articles for Parents

• Racists Are Recruiting. Watch Your White Sons. — New York Times (Oct. 12, 2019)

• What Happened After My 13-Year-Old Son Joined the Alt-Right — Washingtonian (May 5, 2019)

• How One Mom Talks to Her Sons About Hate on the Internet — NPR (Aug. 17, 2019)

• White supremacists are recruiting white teens online. Parents must stop them. — Washington Post (Aug. 15, 2019)

• I’m a White Anti-Racist and I Recruit — Medium (Aug. 4, 2019)

White People Standing Up to Anti-Asian Racism During a Pandemic

Editor’s Note: For all of us, dealing with COVID-19 is difficult enough. We don’t need anyone, especially our leaders, to also engage in racist behavior during these challenging times. Below is an excellent article by Christine Saxman (reprinted with permission) that we want to share with you — and hope you’ll share with others. It offers thoughtful ways to stand up to racism during this pandemic. We also encourage readers to read Teaching Tolerance’s March 20, 2020 article “How to Respond to Coronavirus Racism.” We hope all of you are all safe and healthy — and we thank you for your ongoing work to make our nation and world more just and peaceful.

After seeing multiple requests from Asian folks and other folks of color to interrupt the fear, ignorance, and racism in the time of COVID-19, I feel called to reach out to my White community and ask us to do more. My humble offering comes from my perspective as a White woman working to end racism. I invite accountability from those targeted by racism to help us all reach a new, critical perspective in order to eliminate the pain and trauma racism causes and change our system for the better. 

Understand What Is Happening

Limiting your consumption of the news and social media during a time of great anxiety and uncertainty makes good sense. Continue to do that. And when we do engage, we need to intentionally seek out information about the damage being done. So I encourage you to have an intentional plan for the types of stories that you seek and share. People magazine recently shared a story about the increase in violence against Asian people worldwide. CNN shared more racist incidents in the United States. NPR shared the experiences of Asian and Asian-American listeners. The Asian Pacific Policy and Planning Council (A3PCON) and the Chinese for Affirmative Action (CAA) created a website to collect the stories of verbal and physical racism experienced throughout the country. Find and share the stories of the upstanders and leaders — such as New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio and others — who are speaking out against anti-Asian discrimination, prejudice, and racism.

Understand How the Current Administration Hurts

The President has consistently and intentionally referred to the virus as the “Chinese virus.” A White House official used the term “Kung Flu.” Some White people will argue that it is “just geography” and follows the tradition like the “Spanish Flu.” However, the current racial and political context means the geography argument does not hold water. Additionally, the Spanish flu did not originate in Spain (it was Kansas) and actually demonstrates the history of naming pandemics in order to shift blame.

“America has a long history of immigrant exclusion on the basis of disease,” says Kim Yi Dionne, a professor of political science at the University of California-Riverside, who has written about how politicizing disease can shape public attitudes about immigration. Writing in Time magazine recently on the long history of the United States blaming other countries for disease, journalist Becky Little reminds us that “Chinese immigrants to California were treated as medical scapegoats for years, and their exclusion based on disease threat was actually codified in the 1882 Exclusion Act.”

Many prominent Americans have also spoken against the Trump administration’s willful and petulant stance that their choice of language doesn’t matter. Among those speaking out are U.S. Congressman Ted Lieu (D-CA), Actress Lana Condor, Professional basketball player Jeremy Lin, and Actor Daniel Dae Kim. 

 Take Action

As an antiracist White woman, I’m dedicating to taking more action and creating a larger, more active network of White people working in accountability to and solidarity with people of color. Below are some actions that we can support each other in taking to create a more racially just world, countering those in our community who work to sow divisions and protect racism. 

• Work on your own racial consciousness. Look for resources like Courageous Conversation About Race to help. 

• Initiate and sustain conversations with your White family, friends, and colleagues about the reality of racism and xenophobia in the time of COVID-19. Share what you have learned and the actions you are taking to create a less racist and xenophobic response. Do not wait until they bring it up. Sustaining the conversation requires that you call them into the conversation. 

• Teach your children about the pandemic with a racially conscious frame and antiracist foundation.

• Intervene if you see racism taking place on social media or in public. Act with humility and integrity. Stand in accountability to and solidarity with the people being targeted. This means not speaking for anyone who is the target of racism. Instead, share your perspective as a White person.

• Check in on your Asian-American and Asian immigrant friends and family. Listen to them. 

• Help White people avoid the detour of focusing on tensions between groups of color. Focus on the White community and how it can stop its racism. Be clear about how tensions between communities of color benefits systemic racism and distract White people from our responsibility, which is ending racism in our community. 

• Be vigilant about other ways racism surfaces. Interrupt the rhetoric around building a wall and the impact on Latinx and Muslim communities. Pay attention to racial justice in the treatment of the virus, including how Black communities may suffer disproportionately from a lack of testing for the virus. 

• Hold the media accountable. Check out this video from the ROOT that gives both a deep history and examples of the media’s complicity. 

• Remember to show yourself and others grace as we find the antiracist path through this crisis. Humbly, seek out and build deeper connections with one another as we focus on the humanity of all.

Christine Saxman is racial and social justice facilitator, most recently for Courageous Conversations About Race. She also works for the National SEED Project (Seeking Education Equity and Diversity) as part of the National Staff.  Find Christine at christinesaxman.com, on Twitter @xinest, and on Facebook.

White Fragility in Students

In our interviews with young people around the country for our Teaching While White podcast, we have seen firsthand an inability among white students to talk about race without exhibiting racial stress. We hear white children as young as nine years old express anxiety about being white and what they think that means. Often these white students, who mind you have volunteered to be interviewed, feel ill equipped and sometimes unable to engage in racial conversations. It seems that we are successfully raising the next generation of white people who, like too many in the current generation of adults, feel afraid and reluctant to talk about race.

There is a common cultural myth that racism is diminishing among youth today. In reality, not only are white students not talking about race, but incidents of blatant individual acts of racism are currently on the rise. According to the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), there has been a surge in reports of hate and bias in schools in the last three years. Racism appears to be the motivation behind a high percentage of these hate and bias incidents, accounting for 63% of incidents reported in the news and 33% of incidents reported by teachers in the SPLC survey. School responses to this uptick in racialized incidents has been disappointing. More than two-thirds of the educators SPLC surveyed had witnessed a hate or bias incident in their school. According to the report, “most of the hate and bias incidents witnessed by educators were not addressed by school leaders. No one was disciplined in 57% of them. Nine times out of 10, administrators failed to denounce the bias or to reaffirm school values.”

When we do not give language to and discuss race in schools, we leave students, and in particular white students, who rarely discuss race at home, open to create their own meaning making out of the heavily racialized world they see and experience. I myself (Jenna) attended a school in Charlottesville, Virginia, that was one of the last schools in the country to desegregate. Although many of the students were black, almost all of the teachers and administrators were white. I can recall with vivid clarity many of the daily racial incidents that took place, and yet to talk about race back then, I was led to believe, was to be racist. So even though my family members considered themselves good, white liberals who cared about racial equity, no one discussed with me the racialized mess I witnessed and participated in every day. Sadly, without any framework for understanding racial history, myths, stereotypes, and flat-out lies about people of color, I had to create my own understanding of what I thought I saw. I thought black students were being disciplined more often than white students because they were louder and more unruly. I imagined that their parents didn’t care about their children’s education to get involved.

What alarms us more is that we continue to see children and educators doing the same thing. The lack of discussion and understanding of race among white students supports extremely harmful myths about intellect, ability, and even humanity being racially superior or inferior. We continually hear white students attribute their success entirely to their own efforts. We continue to hear discussions about race-based achievement gaps without any analysis of how teacher expectations, racial stress, and biased systems are failing students. There is still little discussion about opportunity gaps or the ways that racial bias impacts teacher expectations, which is the most consistent predictor of academic success.

A recent study by Sesame Workshop and the University of Chicago found that although parents say they are comfortable talking about issues of race, the majority of white parents are rarely, if ever, having conversations with their children about racial topics. Not surprisingly, parents of color are more likely to discuss race with their children. Yet, even when parents do talk about racial identity, many wait until their children are 10 years old or older. So, if parents are not teaching their children about race in a thoughtful manner, our larger culture is more than ready to fill in the gaps in ways that are not helpful. As a result, children end up seeing racial difference as some kind of deficit and are left to make up their own explanation for what they see. More troubling, most parents only talk about racial identity if their children have heard something negative about their own identity. This partly explains why more parents of color than white parents are having these conversations with their children. White parents are able to avoid racial topics because their children are far less likely to come under threat because of their racial identity.

The role of educators in conversations about race becomes even more important given that the first time many children will talk about their racial identity may be at school. Yet there is a danger here. If the only time race is mentioned in school is when we are talking about oppression — slavery, internment camps, the civil rights movement, etc. — children of color only see their identity represented in a negative context, and white children are left with only racist portrayals of white people. This leaves white students vulnerable to the messages of white supremacists groups that are actively recruiting white students and white boys in particular, offering the comfort of slogans such as, “It’s OK to be White!”

All students need to be able to discuss racial issues with a healthy understanding of the history and complexity of systemic racism — to know that it is not about “good” or “bad” white people, and not about individual acts of discrimination. As Ali Michael says in her Ted Talk, a healthy white racial identity is not about feeling bad about being white. It is also not about feeling good about being white. It is about understanding that whiteness is not peripheral to who we are. We need our students to understand that race is integral to who we are as white people, not just something people of color have.

When white people have a negative racial identity, it prevents them from being able to identify and analyze the many pervasive myths and stereotypes about race. They cannot see the structures that give unearned advantage to white people and systematically create obstacles for people of color. This system is taken for granted, deeply embedded in our institutions and often believed to be based in meritocracy. It is a delusional understanding of the world, and through inaction we have passed on and modeled these beliefs for our students.

The evidence is in. In the absence of explicit and direct instruction about race and racism, our white students tend to develop a confused and negative view about racial matters. It is also true that if we don’t start early with white students, we are setting themup for confusion. In fact, when white students are asked for the first time in middle school and beyond — or even in the later elementary years — to engage in conversation about race and racism, they often display defensiveness in the form of fragility and vulnerability. We hear students describe being “unsafe” in conversations about race. Many white students feel attacked and as though they are being made to feel guilty any time race enters the conversation. And because the best defense is a good offense, we hear white students complain about another ”diversity day” and lament that conversations about race are being “forced down their throats.” They are nervous and uncomfortable, and they have no idea what to do with those feelings.

There are ways, of course, to address white student fragility when it arises — and if schools are just starting to talk about race with students when they are older, they will need to know how to do this. What we’re arguing for here, however, is that schools embrace the importance of addressing race, racism, and racial identity throughout the programs, starting in the early years — and do it in a thoughtful, constructive, supportive manner.

The Enemy Is Racism 

The only way to address racism is to consciously work to upend the status quo. As long as we define racism as a conscious dislike of people of color and continue to defend intentions over actions, focusing on our goodness without working for real change, racism wins. If we could start from the premise that racism is a system of structures into which we have all been socialized, we can focus on the real enemy of an equitable society: racism. As Robin DiAngelo says, “The societal default is white superiority, and we are fed a steady diet of it 24/7. To not actively seek to interrupt racism is to internalize and accept it.”

The two of us work with schools across the country that are seemingly satisfied with their efforts to hire faculty and admit students of color. But this wish for greater diversity within a school is not the same as being anti-racist. Anti-racism requires the dismantling of institutions that systematically offer advantage and resources to one group of people (white people) over others. The only way that can happen is if white people are able to withstand the discomfort of talking about race and racism. How do we do this in school? We need to teach explicitly an understanding of power and privilege, but only after we have rooted students in an awareness of their own racial identity.

As we close out January, we know that elementary teachers are finishing their Martin Luther King, Jr. unit, perhaps even related to an assembly held around Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. While it is critically important that all children know about Dr. King and what he stood for, if we don’t also help children develop a sense of their own racial identity, most white children will only learn that a black man was killed by a racist white man. In other words, they may come away from the lesson believing that white equals racist. This kind of piecemeal racial education is what drives some older white children to roll their eyes when we say we are going to have a conversation about race. We have set them up for confusion. As Louise Derman-Sparks notes, all children first need to understand their own identity and have accurate language to describe others. Once they have a strong sense of racial difference, they can understand what happened when some people decided to use that difference as a deficit and a weapon to oppress others. But if we start with oppression, the lesson can lead to guilt and shame.

We must teach about injustice, but we need to offer a different way forward for white students. We need to teach that, as soon as oppression begins, resistance forms to challenge inequity. People of color have had agency and have always been change makers, and many white people have also stood in solidarity with those who fought racism. We have to tell those stories so white children have antiracist role models who look like them. During our 4th and 5th grade affinity group conversations, we read “She Stood for Freedom,” a book about Joan Mulholland, a white civil rights activist and Freedom Rider. The students have so many questions, and the vast majority say that this is the first time they have ever learned about a white person who was fighting racism.

Our work with educators across the country has convinced us that we can create antiracist classrooms, but only if we are willing to examine long-held beliefs and to challenge the status quo. Business as usual will not disrupt systems that were set up to privilege white people from the beginning. But if we can start by having thoughtful conversations with our youngest students about race, identity, and culture, then we know we can create a new generation of white children who are not fragile and who will develop healthy cross-racial friendships and alliances to challenge racism on their campus. 

Jenna Chandler-Ward and Elizabeth Denevi co-founded Teaching While White, a blog and podcast that seeks to move the conversation forward on how to be consciously, intentionally, anti-racist in the classroom. A version of this article appeared earlier on the Carney, Sandoe & Associates website.

Admit You Are Racist? Three Reasons Why This Is a Good Idea

Growing up, I was shown lots of images of racist people: Adolph Hitler, whites clad in KKK garb, and the like. Racists, in my upbringing, were hate-filled white people who sprayed fire hoses on nonviolent protesters during the 1960s Civil Rights era and used hate speech and violence to discriminate against and destroy marginalized populations. In contemporary times, popular images of such racists include white terrorists like Dylan Roof or Timothy McVeigh and those who marched in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017 in defense of Confederate iconography and ideologies.

While it’s clearly right to condemn such behavior, if we are serious about justice and creating an equitable culture in America, we need to start by offering a more accurate portrait of what racism in American looks like. Along with most white Americans coming of age in the second half of the 20th century, I long thought of myself as an antiracist because of my disgust of the violent, aggressive, immoral behavior of white supremisists. But I’ve come to learn that any accurate portrait of racist people in the United States would have to include a photo of me as well — of any of us who are white and act like innocent bystanders in a biased system.

One of the reasons white supremacy is so successful as a system is that it’s a moving target — and it has been since the invention of whiteness. When early white U.S. lawmakers felt threatened that their power would be challenged or overthrown, they created laws that best served their aims. The story of whiteness has followed this thread since the days of colonial settlement. In the 20th Century, white aggression became associated primarily with violent actions committed by the KKK, the Nazis in World War II (whose theories on race were shaped by U.S. policy), and police using excessive force during the Civil Rights era and in communities of color ever since. White progressives were able to distance themselves from these more extreme displays of violence and hate, but because of white conditioning remained wary of fully embracing systems of equality. It’s that indoctrination combined with a sense of separation and exceptionalism — the distinguishing one kind of white person from another — that has enabled white supremacy to perpetuate itself. 

It’s painful to think that as a white person I have contributed to upholding this kind of status quo, even inadvertently. But I’ve been around long enough to know this is true. I’ve experienced this status quo most in our education system. Over the past 20 years, not a lot has changed in our schools when it comes to the treatment and experiences of students based on race. Schools with a dominant population of students of color receive less funding that predominantly white schools. Nationally, teachers and top administrators are disproportionaltely white. Black and brown students still receive higher suspension rates than their white peers. They also receive lower grades and tend to be tracked into lower-level courses. At the same time, the majority of white educators continue to practice colorblindness, even when they say they are grappling with how to best teach equitably and inclusively in their classrooms.

I’m not saying anything new here. But it needs to be said until it takes hold: As whites, we can no longer distance ourselves from one another, and we can no longer think that, simply by virtue of the beliefs we hold about equity or the schools we choose to work in, we are doing enough to dismantle systems of oppression. We need to be braver and more proactive than that.

Those of us who have grown up white in the United States have been conditioned to hold a racist worldview. There are many things we can and should do to help break this system, but as a starting point, it would help immensely for us to acknowledge our own racist behavior rather than spending so much energy convincing ourselves and those around us that we’re not part of the problem. Here are three reasons why this might be a good idea:

1.)   To acknowledge that one is a racist is to take ownership of the legacies of our system.

No, none of us were present when the first European invaders designed our society to protect and promote white people. But if we are white, we experience the benefits of our system daily: through the values we reinforce, through the majority of power holders in this country, through the opportunities available to us in which our race and qualifications aren’t called into question. To start by acknowledging that we are racist — or, if you prefer, that we embody and promote racist perspectives — means we take responsibility to examine these systems more closely, identify the areas that have been exclusionary and damaging, and work toward designing new systems that are truly inclusive of difference.

2.)   To acknowledge that one is a racist opens the conversation about race and propels us to take action.

Part of white conditioning is binary thinking (either/or, good/bad). Unless we’ve committed some sort of conscious act of racism that intends to hurt people of color, we’re are conditioned to believe we are on the side of good people rather than bad racist people. Robin DiAngelo, a sociologist and author of White Fragility, calls this the “good/bad binary.” And to be fixed in this way of thinking hurls us to the extremes; we’re either a good white person or a bad racist. This fixed way of thinking also absolves all us who view ourselves as “good white people” from taking any responsibility to make change, to talk about the racist views we may hold, or to even consider that we may have said or done anything racist. If we know our worldview is racist to begin with, if we know the good/bad binary is a false construct, we can begin to honestly confront our own experiences and change our behaviors and actions.

3.)   To acknowledge that one is a racist breeds discomfort, and discomfort leads to greater learning.

Learning theory posits that we need to be in our Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) in order to learn. If we’re too safe, we can become complacent in our thinking; if we’re too unsafe, our amygdala generates a fight, flight, or freeze response that inhibits us from integrating new input. When we’re learning optimally within our ZPD, we are uncomfortable enough to grapple and be challenged — and, thus, grow. Starting with acknowledging that we are racists living in a racist system invites the kind of discomfort that can lead to greater self examination and learning that, in turn, invites us into new ways of being. Isn’t that what we ask of our students every day?

I do a lot of thinking about race, systems of oppression, power, and all the ways our society mirrors whiteness and white supremacy. While for some that may be an exhausting way to live, I actually find it quite freeing, especially as an educator. Seeing these systems at play all the time forces me to stay continually present to what’s happening for me and ensure my actions don’t cause further harm, that I co-create classrooms and adult learning spaces that make room for all kinds of difference, that I participate in ways of being that help dismantle destructive power systems in exchange for the empowerment of the collective.

If we entered into education to make a difference, then we know we would do anything we could to prevent harm from happening. Too many white people still refuse to confront the hard truth that their thinking and actions — or inactions — may serve to support a racist system. If our ultimate goal is that we want everyone to have equal access and opportunity in all areas of life, then it’s time to consider the notion that, no matter how nice we may be to others, we undoubtedly embody racist perspectives based on the fact that we’ve been enculturated into society that was racist in its founding and continues to be so today. When we acknowledge this, we can free ourselves up to engage in the hard work of unlearning conditioned habits and engaging in consciously antiracist behavior  — work designed to offer future generations a world that is just and equitable.

Lori Cohen has worked in education (both public and independent schools) for more than 20 years, serving as a teacher, instructional coach, school leader, and professional development facilitator. She taught middle school English language arts and social science, high school English, humanities, and religion/philosophy courses and worked to create curriculum that was student centered and equity focused. Lori also has been a professional development leader who has facilitated workshops ranging from new teacher development, to growth and evaluation, to curriculum development and scope/sequence work. She brings a broad range of skill-sets to her consulting work, from culturally responsive classroom practices to systems thinking, leadership, and school oversight — all through the lenses of equity and inclusion.

Students Organizing Against Racism

My school in South Burlington, Vermont, like so many, has not been immune to the spread of hate speech. Data collected from SafeHome indicated a 177% increase in reported hate crimes in Vermont from 2013 to 2017. Teaching Tolerance has reported increases across schools in the United States as well. Locally, our school district and surrounding community grappled with acts of racism and violence following its 2017 decision to change the district identifier, which had been linked to Confederate iconography.

It was upon this backdrop that our school district intensified its efforts to create more just and equitable conditions for learning. As part of that effort, in January 2019, we established our first Students Organized for Antiracism (SOAR) group. The structure, name, and foundation of SOAR comes from Courageous Conversations About Race (CCAR), a project of the Pacific Educational Group, a nonprofit founded by Glenn E. Singleton in 1992 and committed to achieving racial equity in education. After a number of us on the faculty attended the CCAR Summit in 2017, we developed a district partnership with the Pacific Educational Group and engaged in conversation and training with the remarkable Dr. Lori Watson, CCAR’s equity transformation specialist. It is due to Dr. Watson's years of work that SOAR organizations exist in our school and across the country. For us, this active antiracism work among faculty, paired with incredible student leaders, helped create the conditions for SOAR to begin at schools in our district in 2018.

As educators, we recognized that although we had shifted the conversation in many of our classrooms to encourage and support diversity, equity, and inclusion, there was a limit to our ability to effect broader change. In order to improve the culture of our school, we also had to shift the conversations taking place in the locker rooms, hallways, school buses, and bathrooms. It is in these loosely, if at all, supervised spaces that we needed to support courageous students in disrupting racism.  

In early 2019, we invited students to join us for the first SOAR meeting to use CCAR Protocol and engage with the Speak Up at School strategies from Teaching Tolerance. The strategies include four ways to respond to a biased or hateful remark: interrupt, question, echo, and educate. 

Our first meeting attracted about 20 students. From there, we have continued to grow. This fall, 61 students came to our first meeting of the school year. Although we are still developing our understanding and deepening our practice, we have identified a few components that feel important to share for those educators considering developing a SOAR chapter at their school:

• It was important to us that we engage through interracial facilitation. We wanted to be sure that our student participants could see themselves reflected in their advisers and that we were prepared to host racial affinity spaces as needed. 

• We did not immediately begin a student group. SOAR came after years of diversity work, training, and practice among faculty. 

• All are welcome to join. We meet during the school day and welcome all interested students. We sought to take down as many barriers to participation as we could identify. 

• We are grounded in the CCAR Protocol, using work from fantastic organizations such as Teaching Tolerance to support our learning and practice. 

In our first year, SOAR students attended conferences, presented at workshops, designed T-shirts, led nonviolent actions in our school, and spent significant time in conversation, learning, and reflection. This fall, we read Book One of March, a graphic autobiography by U.S. Representative John Lewis (D-GA), and attended a presentation by Representative Lewis, hosted a movie showing of Selma, and facilitated a workshop at a statewide conference for educators. Our students are currently working in action groups to create a mural, engage in nonviolent protests, petition the school board to raise the Black Lives Matter flag at our middle school, and develop a week of action during Black Lives Matter at School week in February.

It is our hope that SOAR will not only continue to transform the culture in our school but will also support all students in developing positive racial identity. We recognize the need to connect students with tools and strategies to interrupt bias and racism, and also the need for students to experience a positive sense of self. We know that racism is experienced on the individual, interpersonal, institutional, and system levels — and for this reason, we know we must be engage with each other at every level. This is only way to fully partake in antiracism work.

I’m grateful for all of the work of my colleagues and the support of the school and district leaders that has enabled us to move forward with this work. And I deeply appreciate the students who have stepped up to address racism in their lives and communities. At the end of the school year, I plan to report back on our collective progress. In the meantime, I encourage educators everywhere to embrace antiracist teaching practices and, when conditions allow, organize SOAR groups in their schools.

Christie Nold teaches sixth grade at a Vermont public school on Abenaki land. Together with her students, she loves learning about the intersection of identities and experience. Christie also co-facilitates courses for educators. You can catch her on Twitter at @ChristieNold.

What White Educators Can Learn from “Thanks for the Feedback”

On a recent flight, I sat next to a school principal en route to a conference on the West Coast. He was reading a book titled, Thanks for the Feedback, by Douglas Stone and Sheila Heen, busily underlining passages and making notes a yellow legal pad. Once in a while, he’d stare up at the ceiling or out the window as if contemplating a passage and what it suggested about relationships in his school. Being nosey, I couldn’t help but ask about the book.

Turns out, this principal had a number of issues to address at his school. Thanks for the Feedback, he said, offered helpful insights into the process of change, specifically about how to work with faculty members, all of whom bring their varied experiences, personalities, opinions, and agendas to every meeting.

So, of course, I had to order the book as soon as I got home and find out what all the fuss is about. Thanks for the Feedback was first published in 2014, so I know I’m a bit late to this party and there’s a good chance many of you have read it already. But if you haven’t, I wanted to note a few ways in which the book can be helpful to educators today — particularly regarding conversations on diversity, equity, and inclusion.

In general, Thanks for the Feedback not only helps us understand why some of us — well, most us, actually — resist both criticism and change, it also helps us develop the skills to better understand ourselves, the motivation behind any feedback we receive, and how we can use feedback wisely for our personal and professional gain.

As we know, certain kinds of feedback can be tough to take. Sometimes it comes in the form of praise and appreciation, which of course is wonderful — and needed. But feedback in the form of criticism, corrective evaluation, and even supportive coaching can be destabilizing. It can momentarily rock our world. Few of us are glad to be told we need to do things differently.

One of my favorite passages in the book is the following, highlighting the range of initial responses to corrective feedback:

“Bryan blames others; Claire switchtracks; Anu cries; Alfie apologies; Mick chatters; Hester goes silent; Fergie agrees while quietly resolving never to change. Reynolds lawyers up, emotionally speaking, and Jody becomes awkwardly friendly. And at least sometimes, Seth panics.”

If you don’t see yourself here, I imagine you can easily add a line that underscores your habitual reaction to criticism. For me, this observation strikes at a truth about our instinctive responses. It explains why, in organizations such as schools, efforts to make broad scale changes — say, requiring all white educators to engage in ongoing cultural skills training, or asking English teachers to teach a more culturally diverse range of books, or asking the history department to rethink how it addresses colonialism — can be so hard. It explains why it’s particularly difficult when one is called out for doing or saying something racist, intentionally or not. 

I’ve read numerous articles and have listened to speakers address the problem of resistance to change, but few have taken the detailed next steps to deconstruct the process of giving and receiving feedback in a way that is both supportive and helpful. Thanks for the Feedback does take these steps so we can better understand ourselves, understand why and how we resist (collectively and individually) and what we can do about it so that the act of receiving feedback is beneficial.

I understand that the feedback we receive from family, friends, colleagues, bosses, and others is not always helpful and not always offered in the spirit of support. In truth, the authors make it clear that there are times when it’s fine to reject feedback. Sometimes the “problem” really does lie with the one offering criticism. There is, as it turns out, an art to giving valuable feedback (see the authors’ earlier book, with Bruce Patton, Difficult Conversations). But I think we would all admit that there are aspects of our lives and work that we can improve upon. Authors Stone and Heen believe that, with practice, we can at least appreciate the offer of feedback and, better yet, find our way to a response that improves our lives and work.

Here’s a question for white educators. Say you’ve been teaching for ten years. Your evaluations are mostly positive and teachers in the next grade appreciate how well you’ve prepared students for their classroom. Your school has made a push to be more culturally responsive. You’re glad for this initiative and have supported it in faculty meetings. But a new schoolwide research project reveals that, in fact, students of color in your class on average receive lower grades than white students and that parents of color feel you tend to marginalize them and their children. The division director invites you into her office for a conversation. You have always had a good relationship with her, but this conversation is tough. She says that she’d like to strategize with you to figure out why students of color are either underperforming or being graded more harshly in your class and what you might do to improve relations with their parents.

So… how do your react?

Do you say, “Great, I can’t wait to get started on figuring this out! Can we meet tomorrow afternoon to analyze what I’m not doing well and strategize how to connect with parents better? I’d like to see the data sheet, too, and any comments you have from parents.” Do you get defense, blame the students for not engaging well in class and criticize the parents for not being more direct with you about their wishes? Do you blame teachers in the earlier grades for not preparing the students of color well for entry into your classroom? Do you start composing your resignation letter in your head and plan to look for a job at a new school that night?

Stone and Heen have a great deal to say on the matter of how best to take in feedback that feels harsh and how to respond in a constructive way. The book, in fact, runs over 300 pages, so it’s not possible to cover it all here. For all of us, I think it’s worth reading the book with pencil in hand — and find time to discuss core lessons among the faculty in large or small groups. But here, I’d like to highlight some specific advice that can be helpful in this particular conversation.

For one, we should remember that any critical feedback is not the sum total of who we are. In this case, the teacher has many valued qualities. What he or she struggles with is an area in which many white Americans struggle — seeing their implicit bias and how it impacts their lives and work. Assuming that the division director’s data are accurate, the teacher would be wise to keep an open mind, listen, and weigh options about how best to improve practices related to students of color and their families.

First, some general principles.

When all of us face feedback, we have a tendency to respond in predictable ways. The more we understand our personal patterns, our typical responses, the more we are able to control them. By noticing them, we can limit their power. So, if we’re the type who gets defensive at criticism, we’re not likely to respond open-mindedly when we’re told we’ve exhibited some implicit bias in our classroom that is hurting students of color. Stone and Heen would say that if we can notice this pattern, we can sit with our feelings longer and come to defuse them.

What also matters is the story we tell about ourselves. If we are educators who pride ourselves in our progressive views on education, but are then told we’ve exhibited implicit bias against students of color, the misalignment between self-image and feedback is disorienting. But if we slow down and listen openly, we can work through our initial reaction, gather more information, understand what is going on — and then embrace a growth mindset that will make us better and more equitable teachers in the long run.

Teaching is simple to describe. Every school has a short mission statement that clearly explains the school’s desired outcomes and guides every teacher in his or her work. But the practice of teaching is extremely complex because of the multitude of factors at play on any given day, any given hour. This is why teaching is so difficult to master. Even those labeled as master teachers will tell you they are learning how to improve their craft every day.

Given the nature of the profession, it’s so important that teachers learn to remain open to learning, to feedback, to professional development, to coaching and peer support. Remaining open to feedback, especially when that feedback challenges your professionalism on some level, is very difficult to take in. The authors dig deeply into all the ways in which we can shut down, or turn the tables on our critics, or dismiss them. As human beings, we are susceptible to all of these reactions. Sometimes we’re right to have them. Sometimes we’re not. As educators, however, we know we must learn how to manage them. Our professional vow, if I can call it that, is to serve every child in every classroom as well as we possibly can. There are always limits — mostly in the form of time — but the emphasis is on meeting the challenge with heart and skill. And this applies not only to the children in schools, but also to our relationships with parents and colleagues.

From where I stand, one of the greatest challenges for schools of late — beside resisting the neoliberal forces aiming to turn schools into corporate-run charters — has been about adapting to an increasingly diverse student and parent body. There’s good news in this. It means, perhaps for the first time in our nation’s history, we are trying to make our schools as equitable as possible across race, gender, class, sexual orientation, and other differences. However, for white educators, which is most educators today, it has been difficult to hear that, collectively, we haven’t been serving students of color as well as we should — or as well we want to serve them. To open up to this feedback is to admit that we embody certain implicit biases, or that we don’t have the sort of cultural knowledge and experiences to teach and support students of color to the same degree we teach and support white students.

Thanks for the Feedback doesn’t address this issue directly, but its lessons directly apply.

What I like about the book is that the authors are clearly on our side. Their goal is to help us learn to help ourselves. Specifically, they want us to develop the skills so that we can use feedback well in our personal and professional lives. In some instance, this may mean we dismiss the feedback completely. In some instances, it may mean that we acknowledge the feedback but aren’t ready to deal with it because we have too much on our plate at the moment. In some instances, it means we open a dialogue to ask more questions and better understand the feedback — where it’s coming from, why we’re hearing it now, and how we might respond.

It’s easy for me to write this blog about the value of taking in feedback. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy for me to take feedback. In fact, I’m among the world’s experts in refusing to hear anything I don’t want to hear. Reading Thanks for the Feedback, however, I began to think back on how I got involved in writing about issues of diversity in education. And what I recall are all the people who — through various forms of caring feedback — helped me see what I couldn’t see for myself. There were times when I felt defensive. There were times when I felt embarrassed. There were times when I shut down or dismissed a critic. But now, looking back, I’m deeply grateful for all of it. And I think I did learn the value of listening, of remaining open to the hard stuff.

Now, of course, I see clearly how uninformed I had been about race matters in America. I don’t pretend to be an expert now. But I try to be more humble and to accept that there are plenty of people who can teach me to improve, personally and professionally. I do this because I want to be better at what I do, because I want schools to be better at meeting their stated missions for all children, and because I know the world needs us to both embrace and justly support the great diversity of human cultures and experiences. This, for me, is at the heart of any conversation on human progress.

Michael Brosnan is the senior editor for Teaching While White.

Building Resilience Through Difficult Conversations and Strong Relationships

Editor’s Note: The following offers two perspectives on an incident in a sixth-grade class at a school in Massachusetts. After a student of color walks out of a class focused on post-Civil War Jim Crow laws, the teacher and the school social worker — with input from two students of color — create a successful, two-day lesson on race and microaggressions. We offer this as a reminder of the importance of anticipating and planning for these kinds of issues and conversations that we know will emerge during the school year. How can white teachers engage with each other and colleagues of color at the start of the year to develop a plan? How can we front-load classroom guidelines to create space for this dialogue before something happens? How do we not put the onus of responsibility on students and teachers of color? While the authors were able to remedy this situation, it is a scene that plays out in classrooms across the country and that necessitates our careful attention and action.

 Hillary’s Perspective

I sat in the back of my classroom on a cool April day and settled in to hear my sixth-grade students present Google slides on their mini-research projects. Over the past week, they had researched historic topics such as the Great Depression, Jim Crow Laws and Segregation, The Great Migration, and the Harlem Renaissance. They conducted this research in order to understand the historical context for their last book-club book of the school year, which focused on The Great Depression. All the main characters in the book are people of color.

This day, students gathered to listen to the “Jim Crow Laws and Segregation” group presentation. Before this fateful day, I tried to think of everything I needed to do as a white English teacher in order to create a culturally responsive classroom and lesson. As this group began its present, however, I noticed that one of the students of color in the class slowly slumped lower in her chair with each slide. I didn’t want to draw attention to her in the moment, so I decided to give her space. After the presentation, the group walked back to their seats and students chatted quietly, took notes, as I assessed the slides.

Suddenly, a student walked up to me and whispered, “Ms. Moser, _____ just ran out of the room — crying.”

I looked up. It was true; she was gone. My heart sank. Why hadn’t I noticed her leaving? Why didn’t I intervene while the slides were being presented? I didn’t have an aide to sit and watch my class, so I leaned in on a friend of the girl and asked her to go find her, and then I called the school counselor’s office to reach our school social worker, Habiba Davis. But, she didn’t answer.

My class began to rumble and whisper as my mind raced through a litany of thoughts:

 My classroom is student centered. I try to create strong relationships, integrate diverse literature into my curriculum that represents our population of students. With this lesson, I gave the students guiding questions, gathered online resources, created a Hyperdoc for each topic of research, checked student work, let students pick the topics they wanted to research, and chose my most mature students to focus on Jim Crow Laws. I made sure to tell them not to use graphic images. I told them they needed to be mindful of everyone in class because it may be their first experience hearing about the Jim Crow Laws and the related violence and hate. Lastly, before the presentations, I explained to the entire class that some of the information may be unsettling, but my door is always open to talk and discuss their feelings.

After minutes of pacing the room, I saw the silhouettes of the two students outside my classroom. So, I stepped into the hall to talk with them. The girl who had left upset told me everything was fine, but I could sense that it wasn’t. I guided her into class; luckily no one made a big deal of the moment. After the bell rang, I asked the two students to stay and talk. I began with an apology and explained again why we had to present on this topic. I said I thought all students needed to know that hateful groups existed and still exist, and also that students would not understand the historical context of the novel without this background information.

After my explanation, I asked, “What can I do to make this better and do better?” 

The girl who left said she was tired of being one of two students of color in class and having the white students looking at her each time a sensitive topic, such as race, arose (a common comment made by many students of color in predominantly non African-American or Latino schools).  

My heart sank after she shared her feelings. I thought I had covered all my bases, but I obviously had not. I suddenly felt like I had let these girls down. I hadn’t thought carefully enough ahead of time about what they knew or didn’t know about the topic, or about what trauma this information may trigger in them. I thought about the historical information my students needed to know — and that was it.

At the end of our conversation, I told both students that they could come back and talk more whenever they needed. I excused them, feeling unsettled. Two minutes later, they were back and stated, “Ms. Moser, we want to talk more — now.”

Again, I sat and listened.

Within a span of thirty minutes, one of the girls, who wants to be a teacher someday, said, “It would be great if you created a lesson that discusses how other races and cultures experience prejudice so students understand that it isn’t just us.”

I then asked if they would like to create the lesson together with me. They immediately agreed. One of the girls rattled off her ideas, which involved a cooperative learning activity using guiding questions. We spent the rest of the period working out the details, reviewing the literature, creating questions that tackled the issue of microaggressions toward certain races, cultures, and genders in school, social media, and literature. Our guiding questions dove into how best respond to microaggressions and how our students could help our school be better when it comes to racism and other forms of prejudice. 

At the end of the period, I gave the girls a pass to their next class. As I looked over the questions we created, I felt better. Something was going to come of this moment.The other half of me, to be honest, was terrified. What if I said the wrong thing during the lesson? I didn’t want to make these students feel even more singled out in this process. I also knew, as a white woman who grew up in a white middle class community, that I needed help in leading this discussion. What kept me grounded were the two students who came forward. In twenty years of teaching, I have never had sixth-grade students of color be completely open and honest with me about their feelings on racism and prejudice.

Later in the day, I did connect with Habiba, our school social worker and a woman of color. I also spoke with my Co-Team Leader, Cathy Boege, who is also white. I invited both to help finalize this lesson and to co-teach it with me. Thankfully, they eagerly agreed. As a team, we spent a few meetings with the two girls and finalized the lesson and set the date.

Ultimately, we did a three-part lesson to four sixth-grade classes. Cathy defined key vocabulary and made sure everyone understood racism, prejudice, and stereotypes in her Ancient Civilization class. On the same day, my students in English/Language Arts read four narratives from the New York Times written by students of color who experienced microaggressions. We read them aloud and had a large circle discussion about each. On the second day, Cathy and Habiba joined my class as we used the information from the first day to help students complete the cooperative learning activity on the guiding questions we created around microaggressions.

Conclusion

I identify as white and understand the privileges that come with being white. But I haven’t always thought about race in my life. When I was growing up, just about everyone on my block, at school, in church, and my suburban town was white. Norwegian holidays and customs shaped much of my life. Every winter, I flipped Lefse, a Norwegian pastry, on my grandmother’s griddle with my mother, and I now make it with my children. My parents made sure that I identified more with my ancestors’ culture than with my race.

Shortly after graduating from a predominantly white college in 1998, I decided to move to Dallas to teach middle school English. It wasn’t until I started teaching there that my lack of understanding of race and other cultures became clear. At first, I found it very difficult to connect with my students of color because I had absolutely no experience interacting with children of color. But slowly through my first year, I knew I had to make a change. After 9/11, prejudice and racism became very real to me, and I knew as an educator I had to have conversations about race in the classroom — I had to lead these conversations — because it was affecting our classroom and school culture.

In this instance, I am glad I took the leap to break from school as usual to create a lesson that addresses the issues of microaggressions and its impact on our class. It was particularly gratifying to have the input from my two students of color and two colleagues — and also to have the full support of the administration. 

Through this experience, my students developed a much deeper understanding of themselves and their classmates — and learned how they can best support each other across differences. They also developed their critical thinking skills and cultural resiliency. As for me, I gained an understanding and greater clarity that my whiteness definitely has an impact on my students. From this, I will in time revise my historical fiction unit to focus on common themes between book club selections rather than race. Instead, I plan on using Being the Change by Sara K. Ahmed during our realistic fiction book club unit which outlines lessons on identity, the importance of one’s name, and understanding internal bias and microaggressions. I will pair her work with book club books such as The Front Desk by Kelly Yang, Save Me a Seat by Sarah Weeks and Gita Varadarajan, The Misfits by James Howe, Harbor Me by Jacqueline Woodson, Ghost Jason Reynolds, Merci Saurez Changes Gears by Meg Medina, and Freak the Mighty by Rodman Philbrick. Moreover, I made my decision to do this because it is an essential part of my job to create engaging inclusive curriculum, norms for a safe learning environment, and to forge strong relationships with all of my students. I understand that I need to think deeply about my units of study and how they may impact each of them.

Another key takeaway is that I could not have done this lesson without my two students, Cathy, and Habiba. Having Cathy and Habiba in my room on the day of the cooperative learning activity helped the room feel safe. Their presence kept students focused on the task at hand and open to asking questions. I’m particularly thankful that Habiba and I have had a strong professional and personal relationship. From the very beginning of my time at the school, I have felt comfortable reaching out to her to ask questions about race, trauma, and forging strong relationships with students of color. Her guidance has only made me a better teacher.

Looking back now, I will never forget when a mixed-race student asked after our lesson, “Are other teams doing this lesson, Ms. Moser?”

I said, “No, not in this capacity.”

She replied, “Well, they should. It was really worth it.”  

Habiba’s Perspective

In early April, I received an email from a dear and trusted teacher, Hillary Moser, who I refer to as my late night BFF. Hillary is endearingly called this because of all of our late night (after our children are in bed) discussions regarding students and their academic and social-emotional learning. Hillary regularly seeks me out to discuss how we can best support students in her classroom. Sometimes we engage in broader discussions on teaching all students and what this specifically looks like for children of color.

On this day in April, I received an email from Hillary noting that a student of color in her class — one with whom I also work — emotionally broke down during a student presentation on Jim Crow Laws and Segregation. Hillary was wondering if I was available to connect with the student. Unfortunately, I did not retrieve this email until later that day, which of course meant I had missed any opportunity to see the student at the time of the incident. My more immediate thought in the moment was that I had wished I had been available to the student so that I could hear from her what had triggered her reaction. Knowing that this student had experienced microaggressions around race in the past — I wanted to hear her articulate what made her emotional in that moment, particularly given the pre-class work that her teacher had done to prepare all students for the lesson.

As a school counselor, once I discover what is going on with a student, I want to help them find ways to feel empowered in such situations in the future. However, soon after I outlined a plan for what would work in this case, I quickly remembered it is not my job to do this with her (or any student) alone; it incumbent of all adults in her life — teachers, administrators, parents, and other stakeholders — to support, educate, and help her build the capacity to manage or regulate (until able to process in a safe way) emotions when engaging in race related topics.

After having several conversations with this student, the parent and a few other students of color in the same cohort at the school, we focused on leveraging this experience in the English class to build resilience. We also did work supporting the classroom lesson that was constructed mainly by the student and Hillary, with help from Cathy Boege, the group’s Co-Team Leader.

I must admit that on the day we did the lesson with the various team classes I was a little nervous. Many of the students in our school community have never interacted with a person of color in a teaching capacity. How would these students receive me as a facilitator? What did I need to say to connect with them? In one of the classes I co-taught I only knew a few students.

To ensure the classes were safe environments to learn, Hillary opened the lesson with the norms for the day and allowed the students to add any norms they felt were missing. She then shared with the students that their history teacher and I would be in the class as support.

I asked if I could say a few words before we started. Soon after I opened my mouth, I immediately knew I was in my element and any sense of nervousness was gone. I shared my role in the school and my connection to Hillary (that we were L-N BFF). I explained how, on some nights, we discussed ways to support all students’ academic and social-emotional learning. I then asked why they thought I was there. The students gave polite, expected responses. However, in one class an Asian student shared that I was there because I am an African-American woman. I  applauded (figuratively) and thanked her for being courageous enough to give this answer. I closed my introduction in each class by saying that I am women of color who was there alongside their teachers because it takes all of us, collectively, to combat racism, sexism, homophobia, and other forms of social exclusion. I explained that we wanted this lesson to be one where everyone felt safe speaking honestly and respectfully about race and culture.

As we moved through the lesson throughout the day, I was so impressed with our students thoughtfulness in their responses. It was obvious that some were apprehensive, but many did a great job thinking through the prompts at their table. It was clear that this lesson was asking them to venture out of their comfort zone, but they posed and answered questions openly and pushed themselves to inquire about things that make many people feel uncomfortable. One student was brave enough to inquire when it was okay to use the “N” word.

Conclusion

While I always wish I can be there for students in moments of crisis, in this instance I’m glad the student who had left her class had to work out her concerns directly with her teacher. We always ask students to talk to us about their concerns, but most keep their thoughts to themselves. In this instance, both students mustered the courage to return to an entrusted adult and were able to be brave and respond honestly. They practiced exactly what we as adults ask them to do — use the skills they learn to resolve issues that are challenging for them. This cannot happen, however, unless you have a teacher with a culturally responsive classroom.

Another significant component in being a good teacher is the ability to build trusting relationships with students and families. This is particularly important for teachers working with students of color. Hillary knows this and makes relationship building a key component in her practice. As a teacher, she is also aware of who she is as a white woman who did not grow up in a diverse community. Teachers are advised to be mindful of their biases and blindspots so that there is an ability to be genuinely open to “hearing” and embracing students. There needs to be an understanding of students’ journeys in order to effectively help them with their learning. In our school, we also want to know that we are developing meaningful relationships that focus less on being empathetic and more on empowering the students’ abilities to engage in productive learning.

As a result of the interaction in this lesson and in my conversations with others (mainly students), one thing that was reinforced for me is the importance of affinity groups for students, as well as the need for adults to find ways to celebrate the learning of our children of color. With this lesson on microaggressions, one fundamental accomplishment was helping the students in understanding the underpinnings of microaggressions and how this shapes their thinking. In their affinity group, our students of color were able to think through and speak honestly about how racism and bigotry impacted their learning in a classroom. Also, what was openly discussed is what triggers them when different lessons on race are discussed in classes. Lastly, on a more personal level the students were able to begin the work of embracing their ethnicity in a constructive, supportive, and, most importantly, empowering way.

When it comes to microaggressions, I would like to believe that many of the hurtful comments are spoken out of ignorance (impact over intent). As adults, however, we have to help our students be and do better. We can and should start early having what we identify as difficult conversations that can subsequently result in lessons that lend to student growth. That day in April 2019, our young children reminded me that the discourse may be difficult but that we have to tackle challenging conversations through honest dialogue and by helping them build resilience. These young sixth graders reminded me how brilliant and courageous they are. As educators, we must also be brave and courageous.

We have powerful students in our midst and, as the adults in the school, we must always aim to be a deeply meaningful part of their lives. 

Hillary Moser has taught middle school English for twenty years. She loves working in a community with a large diverse population. She is passionate about creating a loving and safe learning environment for all children, and she is a strong believer in the power of relationships with students. She is a hardworking mother of two and avid Tweeter.  

Habiba Davis for many years has been a staunch advocate in helping students with social emotional issues; underserved and/or at-risk youth in the public schools and criminal justice systems throughout Massachusetts. She is best known for her passion and commitment to working and learning from youth, families, and educators — and is a proud mother of the greatest (in her eyes) twins in the world. 

Distancing Ourselves from Ourselves

I think often about the Robert Jones, Jr. (@SonofBaldwin) quote, “We can disagree and still love each other as long as your disagreement is not rooted in my oppression and in the denial of my humanity and right to exist.” I wonder about what that means for a white person who is deeply invested in racial justice. How do we disagree with and yet love another white person who does not see the world that we see, and yet is also a reflection of us?

I was recently at a workshop given by the great Ali Michael. While describing different phases of racial identity development, something I thought I knew a fair amount about, she casually mentioned something that made my hair stand up on the back of my neck. She talked about the Pseudo-Independent Stage when white people are trying to prove that they are not like other white people, and that they are one of the “good” ones. She talked about how white people often want to do “the lean away,” * or distance themselves from other white people when those others say or do something racially problematic. White people, even those deeply involved in anti-racist work, have a tendency to turn away from other white people when they express a racist behavior or belief. Ali asked us to consider that the white people in our lives who cause the biggest racial problems are, perhaps, the people we should be leaning into the most. Even if these people will never be activists, we can continue to ask questions and engage in conversation in hopes that they will do less harm with people of color.

I have been working on anti-racism in myself and in education for quite some time — and all of this seems so obvious. So obvious, but is that the way I had been behaving? I have had to end some relationships in my life because of racism. Sometimes it was because people were sick of my insistence on talking about racism when I saw it. In some cases, I just got tired; our world views were just too different, and we were never going to share an authentic connection. One particular relationship that ended haunts me. A friend and I recently parted ways after twelve years of friendship. A close friend. A call-in-an-emergency friend. A hey-can-you-pick-up-my-kids friend. A laugh-out-loud, text-a-hilarious-thing-I just-saw friend. This relationship ended, and I am devastated.  

I kept thinking that if we just talked more, something would come to light that would explain the two different stories we were telling. I felt that I had asked her to understand and look at some racist behavior. I knew it was unconscious. She would never knowingly hurt anyone. But I felt that as her friend, and someone she trusted, she should hear me and make some changes. That this was simply, as Jay Smooth would say, some racism stuck in your teeth kind of moment. I felt that she should show some humility and vulnerability, not make a big deal and then make some changes. But I felt punished by her. She was defensive, and angry, and wanted the benefit of the doubt. For me to suggest that her actions had a racist impact meant that I wasn’t her friend. But for me, there was no room for interpretation. Her actions were racist.

If you had asked me then why our friendship ended, I would have said that I broke with white solidarity — the implied (mostly unconscious) agreement that we will protect white privilege and not hold each other accountable for our racism. But hearing Ali describe the “lean away” made me uncomfortable. Did I do the right thing? Or did I just lean away from my friend’s racist behavior? Was I in fact judging her for things I know I have done myself? Was it the reflection of my own past behavior that made me so intolerant? Was I afraid that proximity to her racism would make me lose credibility in the work I am trying to do?

When my colleague Elizabeth Denevi and I  do workshops around the country with white teachers, and when we interview white students, we hear again and again that they are afraid to say the wrong thing. Within that admission we also hear white people talk about their fear of exposing their ignorance or that their implicit bias and racism will be evident. As Robin DiAngelo has explained so clearly, this racial discomfort and white fragility stops the conversation. It makes it impossible to talk about racism if we as white people are still defending our intentions or avoiding talking about it at all. I get it. I have been silent when I knew something wasn’t right for fear of making it worse and to avoid conflict. I have leaned away from people so I could stay in racial comfort. It was a relief in a way. It is easier than engaging in a complex conversation that not only involves confronting and supporting another person, but also involves being challenged, and I hate conflict. If there were a way to live a conflict-free life, I would have figured it out by now. Yet, the tendency to lean away from white people who express racist views is partly what keeps most white people from talking about race in the first place. The “lean away” becomes another form of protecting the racist status quo. It’s kind of sad that this is a fairly typical response. But it also partly explains why racism persists.

When we do engage, most of us who are white tend to respond to racist behavior with biting, isolating criticism or one-line retorts designed to hurt and dismiss. It’s a common instinct in our culture at the moment — to try to win a few points at the expense of another person. A teacher says something racist, and we say, “What the hell is wrong with you?” (Or something worse.) Then turn away. Or we say it and prepare for the unproductive fight to ensue. What we don’t do is find a way to slow things down, ask for an explanation, offer a different perspective, start a dialogue. I think the answer may be that the former reaction is easier. It’s also a form of self-protection, defensiveness. Engaging in an open, respectful conversation on racism is not only hard, it might also expose our ignorance and our own implicit bias. I know I can find myself getting flustered when challenged about my views on race. I question what I think I know and worry that I am not smart enough or articulate enough to change anyone’s mind. It’s all quite messy. So it’s easier to pull back, dismiss, lean away, go talk with someone who shares my perspective.

Another white friend of mine involved in anti-racism work was recently called out publicly by a black woman at a conference for what was perceived to be a racist act. Though I felt the pain of that moment, knowing it could easily happen to me, that is not what troubled me. For the rest of that conference, not one white person spoke to her. No one wanted to be seen talking to her, I assume, because they were afraid that the racist moniker might rub off on them. I could see myself doing the same thing; staying away from someone for fear it might reflect that I am not trustworthy, or not anti-racist enough, or unfixable.

In this “cancel culture,” I see it happen all of the time. Often, it is white liberals who are on the attack. I recognize this in myself. I have tried to show that I am the different kind, a “good” white person, who “gets it.” White liberals have called out, and questioned, and shamed people so that most white people do not want to take the risk of being punished in this way. This needs tostop. If we treat white people this way and don’t lean in, it makes the whole idea of “it’s ok to be white,” a common right-wing refrain, even more appealing. When white people lean away, shun and shame other white people for not understanding the ways they have internalized a racist culture, we essentially offer incentive and a space for the creation of more white supremacists.

But this dynamic between white people mostly comes at a cost, once again, to people of color. When a white person is spurned and feels called out, or even understands that they may have actually hurt someone, it is in direct conflict with how they want to view themselves. As a result, most white people in this situation lash out, not just to the person who has called them out, but at people of color in general. White people who feel shamed about racist behavior or attitudes either double down on why people of color are the problem or they refuse to engage with topics that could be disruptive to their self perception — but either way, it amounts to another white person opting out of the conversation.

Sometimes an us-vs-them ideology is necessary in social justice. We cannot work alongside people who willingly harm and dehumanize other people. But more often than not, for white people in racial equity work, the “them” is also us. It is me. Yes, we need to break with white solidarity. White people need to hold other white people accountable and interrupt and not be complicit with racism. But we also need to lean in to our white friends and family in a way that keeps people in the conversation and wanting to understand more. We need more white people to be willing and able to wade into the conversation and to work toward making it better.

As a teacher, I know that when I have difficulty with a particular student it is often because I see some part of myself in that student. The same has been true when working with adults. Becoming more racially conscious has meant a lot of self-reflection and facing uncomfortable things about myself. When I recognize the same wounds in other people, it can be difficult for me to act out of love and compassion. I often feel aggravated and impatient. When working with other white people doing racial equity work, I have learned to ask myself some questions when I notice I that I am feeling annoyed or angry with another person and feel compelled to let them know. Before calling something into question, I ask myself:  Have I done or said the same thing that I am annoyed about? Does offering this feedback give me satisfaction and/or make me feel better than? How would I react if someone said this to me? What is motivating my urge to say this?

There is also a flip side of this. I need to be brave when I am afraid to break with white solidarity, when I am afraid that speaking up will cost me being liked, and in some cases being trusted. I try to answer: What is at stake and for whom if I do not interrupt this moment? How would silence in this moment be colluding with oppression? What would a successful communication in this moment look like and what could it lead to?

This process isn’t perfect. Some days when I am feeling centered, I can trust my instincts enough not to slow down these moments with self-questioning, and some days I don’t. My motives are not always known to me or pure. I do not want to coddle or protect whiteness. And I cannot afford to alienate potential allies or dear friends because I cannot forgive that imperfect part of myself.

The forgiveness I offer myself and others is sometimes flimsy and easily gives way to fear. I have heard people talk about the need for radical self-love when doing racial justice work, and I never fully understood why. As a white person, how can I love my racism? Radical self-love can feel like a dangerous ideology that lets white people off the hook. But I think, in fact, it is the opposite. It requires us to forgive, and to love the parts of ourselves that we are afraid to look at. I know that, for me, radical love will mean that once I am able to love the broken parts and wounds in myself, I will be able to stand unafraid in my compassion for others. 

Jenna Chandler-Ward is the co-founder of Teaching While White and co-director the Multicultural Teaching Institute. She consults with schools nationally on developing more inclusive communities and curricula.

*This term term was coined by Sarah Halley.