There’s a scene in the movie The Sandlot where the main character finally plucked up the courage to get into the game. He borrows a glove and walks to the outfield, muttering to himself, “Don’t be a goofus. Don’t be a goofus.“
Once the game begins, it becomes very clear he has no idea what he’s doing. As a boy between the ages of eight and 15, he should know more about baseball by now.
But he doesn’t.
The other players are initially shocked at his incompetence, but they forgive it and teach him, until he is as capable playing the game as they are. With some practice, he grew more comfortable and more capable in a context where failure was expected and corrected.
Last week, I sent a thread of tweets into the Internet while muttering to myself, “Don’t be a goofus.” Since I’d rather be a clumsy advocate than a silent one,1 I chose to engage even though I was unsure of how to do it.
The following day, I read the chapter in Dr. Brené Brown’s book about oversharing and using vulnerability as a crutch to gain sympathy.
Oops. There’s a good chance I was doing that.
Anyway, Marian Dingle immediately reached out via direct message on Twitter with equal parts encouragement, questions, and correction. We sent several hundred words back and forth before she finally said, “How about we just talk on the phone?”
It’s worth noting here that Marian didn’t owe me anything; she extended her hand to offer support unprompted support, and she persisted to address any and all questions I had. It must be exhausting for people of color to constantly do that, and I so appreciate it. Give that woman a medal.
She helped me wrangle some clarity on three big issues, all of which are lifelong journeys and could be full blog-posts in themselves.
1. As a white person, I have the luxury of not dealing with issues of race on a day-to-day basis. It doesn’t define the safety of my children or me, so I can go days or weeks without even thinking about the inherent white supremacy of school systems.
The main character in Sandlot wasn’t aware that he was missing out on something important until the neighbor pulled him out onto the field. I’m incredibly thankful for the people of color in my orbit who are pulling me onto the field, knowing that I’m pretty inexperienced.
2. The reflection happening in private direct messages or in isolated Twitter discussions is fine for white people, but it leaves people of color out of the healing process. Also, white folk tend to center themselves in the discussion (like I’m doing right now on my website, more on that later).
Marian used a great illustration to describe this:
Imagine we’re in a crowd of people and some are stepping on other’s feet. Eventually, they cry out, “Quit stepping on my feet! It hurts!” The foot-steppers could respond in a variety of ways that don’t actually address the hurt they’ve caused:
What? I didn’t notice I was doing that. I’m not the kind of person who would step on feet. If you don’t like it, move your foot. The real villain is the people who designed such a narrow hallway! That’s why feet are getting stepped-on!
The best response is, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better,” and address the hurt you’ve caused by stepping on feet.
Twitter is great for this; BIPOC Educators are being very honest about how white folks can step up. Give these a read.
I have no good reason why I haven’t been engaging in #ClearTheAir chat on Twitter, where my peers are addressing hard topics publicly. I’ve been telling myself that I don’t have time, but in reality, I just didn’t want to figure out how to jump in.
image: popsugar
3. The challenge for me is a white person is to de-center myself while “doing the work” (the work of addressing injustice, both personally and systemically) and being public about it. Holding those two values at the same time is tough.
Too public, and I risk appearing performative.
Not public enough, and I risk appearing complicit, like I have no issue with things-as-they-are.
In my case, Marian pointed out in our phone call that I appear to care a lot about how I am perceived online and off. She’s right; I’m entering a season of interviewing for Admin jobs and there’s a 100% chance that the interview panel will find my blog or Twitter feed.
So far, I have been airing on the side of quiet and inviting. My goal is not to showcase my woke-ness so people of color will award me the badge of “Good White Person.”
My goal is to talk about equity in a way that encourages further conversation face-to-face.
I own a Black Lives Matter T-shirt, but I won’t wear it to a job interview. Kicking in the door and forcing a difficult conversation will likely make things worse in any sensitive discussion.
So for now, I’m speaking calmly about systemic oppression of BIPOC and unfair policing and inequitable discipline practices and ways to improve capital-e-Education for all students, because all of those are important to me. Once people are listening, then we can begin doing the hard work of changing hearts and minds, both in my fellow white people and in myself.
If you’re reading this, you’re welcome to join me on the field. I’ll go first, even though I have no idea what I’m doing.
image: imdb
~Matt “Awakening and Talking About It” Vaudrey
UPDATE 28 March 2019: The day after this posted, Ijeoma Oluo dropped this masterpiece, which makes a strong case for the exact opposite approach of what I advocate in the last three paragraphs.
Clearly, I still have much to learn and much to think about, but I’m leaving this post as it was. Like everything else on this site, it’s a cairn left on my journey, and I’m not going to sterilize it.
(…Dammit, I just re-centered on my white feelings again. Bye.)
1. Bill describes it well here
Thanks, Matt, for the open reflection. I imagine that being a consultant provides its own challenges in doing this work, as your livelihood is tied to perception and client ‘happiness’. Your willingness to be honest and upfront about your thoughtful process is a good model. And thanks for sharing Marian’s role in the process, and her great example of stepping on people’s feet (why do we need examples like this, though??).