How We Show Up Matters
How do I show up? It’s a question I have been asking myself for the last several months. In April, as COVID-19 swept across the globe and took a foothold here in the U.S. my immediate response was fear-- fear of catching the coronavirus or that it might affect the health of my loved ones; fear that my husband’s income would be affected and that we would have to move from our new home. There was also a fear of the unknown, of how things might change. Would we be able to congregate in public again? Would sporting events and concert halls, museums and parks reopen? And if they did, would they ever feel as wonderful as before?
So how did I actually show up in the face of coronavirus: to be completely honest, I didn’t. I do not have a job that puts me in direct contact with the public. So, I did not have to show up like many other essential workers did, risking my health in order to ensure my income wasn't lost. I am also not a health care worker, so I did not have the burden of showing up to work 18 hour shifts to ensure that we as a country experienced the least amount of coronavirus deaths and as many Americans as possible were able to return home to their families. In fact, over the past 3 months I have hunkered down in my comfortable home, working from my comfortable home office, visiting the grocery store as infrequently as possible, and essentially riding out the wave. I didn’t show up at all.
Sure, I might pat myself on the back for not venturing out more than absolutely necessary. I might rest easy convincing myself that I sacrificially concerned myself with the health of others by remaining inside; that the crisis didn’t require my response nor, really, my attention. Yet, here I remain 3 months later: a poster child for failing to show up.
But what of now? As both peaceful and violent protests rage across our country and world; as voices for justice, equality and human dignity cry out; as grief and pain remain on display across social media and on our television screens, how am I responding? Am I showing up differently this time?
To be perfectly honest, the answer is not really. Sure, I send out posts of resonance with the current moment. As a BIPOC and mother of a black son, I share in the grief, pain and anguish of my community. I repost and retweet the words of those out on the front lines of this struggle. But have I really shown up?
So how did I actually show up in the face of coronavirus: to be completely honest, I didn’t.
In the past week alone there have been hundreds if not thousands of posts and blogs sharing the 5, 10 or even 25 ways members of the dominant culture can show up as allies in the struggle of BIPOC. They make references to books, articles, songs, and poems that articulate the causes and cures for our nation’s disease. Yet, there is a resounding thread that runs across all of these resources, and that is a call to just show up. Here are just a few:
Show up and listen. Listen to the stories, the experiences and perspectives of the victims of hate and racism in this country.
Show up and learn. Learn of our nation, and world’s history of racism AGAIN. You may think you know this history, but so often what we know is a comfortable version of the undeniable and ugly truth. So, yes, we still have much to learn.
Show up and act. Calls to action are everywhere, but the common theme among them is just do something. Check your privilege and how it is exercised in the world. Join a protest or start one of your own. Have the hard conversations with friends and people of color- even when it is hard and uncomfortable.
While these are only a few simple calls to action, they are all a version of showing up. Yet, as a black woman I have done few of these. One thing I am learning in this process is that I, even as a woman of color have enjoyed my own level of privilege. Growing up in suburban, gentrified areas of Southern California, I was privileged enough not to have to face the challenges that come with urban life. I had access to safe and well-resourced public schools, fully funded sports and extracurricular activities, access to outdoor parks and green spaces, and the security of a large and warm home. I also enjoyed the privilege of a well-educated family. In my family education was important. In fact, it was assumed that college was just the next thing you did after high school. Anything else just wasn’t an option. My mother and aunt both have PhDs and so we were well equipped and supported when it came to learning. If we needed supplemental coursework or tutoring, that was available too. Growing up, having a solid support system when it came to our education was just assumed.
With that foundation, college, career and a middle-class life came easy. You see, what we fail to recognize is that privilege, once assumed, is like the building of a house. In the beginning, every brick that is added to the foundation is easily identified. You can still count the first, tenth and maybe even hundredth brick. But after that, they begin to blend into one another as brick after brick soon become a wall, and then a room and then a house. You simply forget that had it not been for those first few bricks being laid just right, the rest of the bricks could not have been added on top so easily. The walls would simply start to fall in on themselves.
One thing I am learning in this process is that I, even as a woman of color have enjoyed my own level of privilege.
And so it is with privilege. Like bricks brought to a building site, they remain in a pile until someone picks it up and uses it. Privilege must be assumed and then consumed. And like many people not of color, I forgot that privilege could also be given away. It could be sacrificed and shared.
As followers of Christ, our job here on earth is to show up. In exchange for our salvation we are asked to show up and represent Christ here on earth. We are asked to show up as His hands, His feet. We are called to extend mercy, offer grace, fight for justice and love unconditionally. All of these require the giving of ourselves, and to do it fully we must be willing to give of whatever privilege we have.
Don’t get me wrong, I have showed up at times throughout my life. I have worked on behalf of global women’s rights, on behalf of minority religious communities around the world, and even on behalf of family, friends and neighbors who needed some of my privilege to help them in situations where privilege was required. But when it comes to issues of race and racism, in large part I have opted out. Like many white people, I have enjoyed my comfortable privilege, rationalizing it as the result of my character, intelligence or hard work. Maintaining this false narrative has allowed me an even greater privilege, the privilege of holding tight to the amount of privilege I have for the benefit of me alone. I have given almost none of it away.
I can admit that there has been a dereliction of duty on my part. I have spent most of my life choosing to be comfortable, and by extension to make those around me comfortable. For most of my life I rarely engaged in the difficult conversations over which relationships, access and even jobs could have been lost. At least that is what I told myself. I also told myself that the risk was not worth taking.
The start of Ideos changed all that. Though an organization, Ideos was my moment of being called out. It was my reckoning. As a follower of Christ and leader, I now realize I no longer have a choice in whether or not to show up. My faith compels me to do so. The only question I now face is how: how will I show up in the face of hatred and injustice; how will I show up in the midst of grief and pain; and how will I show up amid racism and death?
As an individual and as an organization, we are still figuring out how we will show up in today’s challenges as well as tomorrows. We are still figuring out what space we will inhabit in our pursuit of radical empathy. We are also figuring out the call to action that we will add to the litany of those already voiced. However, one thing I do know is that I and we will show up. That I and we will offer whatever help we can to ease harm, that I and we will stand as a bridge over troubled water, and that whatever privilege and power I and we have, we will endeavor to give it away.
As a follower of Christ and leader, I now realize I no longer have a choice in whether or not to show up. My faith compels me to do so.
Should you fear on any level that in the offering of your privilege to others you will lose any aspect of the things in life you enjoy, let me assure you, you won’t. If there is anything I have learned it is that privilege is an limitless well. There is no chance of it ever drying up. I can also assure you that like love, privilege has an exponential return on investment, though not in the traditional quantitative manner, but the qualitative. Imagine a world where privilege is not only limitless but where everyone has an equal portion, where everyone has the opportunity to truly pursue a life of liberty and God-given joy. What a beloved community that would be.
So welcome to the new Ideos, a movement of reconcilers pursuing radical empathy as a path towards reconciliation and the healing of a divided and polarized world. I hope you will join us on this journey.
Should you fear on any level that in the offering of your privilege to others you will lose any aspect of the things in life you enjoy, let me assure you, you won’t.
And if there is only one thing I hope you take away from this, my 4th President’s Perspective, it is that how we show up matters. Our children, our communities, our country, and the world are watching to see if we will show up and listen, learn and act.
So ask yourself, how will you show up?
