Kuunari

I had the opportunity to share at my church community, Fabric, this past Sunday about being an Ally. It was part of a larger sermon about taking a Risk. You can listen to it here on the podcast. 

Here is my story of risk. It is about how I started to shake up my view of my work so that I could be an ally, specifically for marginalized voices in our community.

At first I didn’t see this as “taking a risk.” I saw it as simply opening myself up to more viewpoints and perspectives that I wouldn’t normally get in my mostly white, mostly middle class job and family and neighborhood.

But then I thought about how every voice I let in forces me to rethink my own worldview and that each day can present itself with a radical reimagining of how I understand the world. That can be heavy, and hard.

And it’s easy when you are white, male, heterosexual, and cisgendered like I am to stop paying attention to those voices. Because of my privilege, I don’t have to face the same things that others do. I can ignore it.

I’m a fourth grade teacher, and my school district has had a large percentage of minority students for over a decade, but 95% of our teaching staff is white, and a large majority of those are female.

I thought simply by being male and in elementary education I was solving the issues caused by racism, sexism, etc. Here I was, able to show these students a male role model in a non-typical role. And I did fine. My students mostly did well. But the gap and problems of working in a white supremacist education system persisted.

And then I went to a number of trainings around diversity and systemic racism as my school district tried to solve the widening gap between our white students and our students of color. A prompt at one of these trainings struck me.

“Who around you has had a radically different experience in terms of race than you?”

And I looked at my friends. At my co-workers. At my family. And they were much like me. Mostly white, mostly middle class, mostly the same. There were differences, but our stories all were a variation on, went to school, went to college, got a job, started a career. And it wasn’t just race, but sexual orientation. Religion. Able-bodied. And where there were differences, they were rarely discussed.

And I floundered for a while in how to fix this. You can’t put the pressure all on the couple of friends who are different to somehow be the voice for all those marginalized.

Until I discovered twitter. As much as twitter gets a bad rap, there are some amazing things about it. I’m here to tell you it’s not just for reading our president’s thoughts.

For an introverted, anxious guy like me, it’s hard to feel comfortable meeting new people. But social media creates a space where you can hear others voices that you may not hear in the normal channels of your life.

I had joined twitter to follow soccer news, but gradually I expanded. First it was a couple of voices like Deray Mckesson, and other influential black voices. Then it was a number of feminist voices. Then Lesbian and Gay voices.Indiginous voices. And Christian. And Muslim. And Jewish. And Latinx. And trans and non-binary.

I am still looking to add new voices and perspectives as I find blindspots in who’s voices I’m not hearing.

I don’t always agree with their points, but I value hearing their stories and perspectives. I recognize they might not always be representative of a specific group of people, but I have found myself with a carefully cultivated social media feed that forces me to think differently about the world, about my community, and about the issues that face us.

And then I’m able to use that retweet or share button. I can rebroadcast their voices, their stories to my mostly Minnesotan, mostly white, mostly middle class followers and expose them to these new voices and ideas.

And I see a difference in my classroom. Whereas I used to think I was creating an open space for students to share their own experiences, this year is the first year as my class talked about celebrations that my students have excitedly shared their stories of Eid, of Ramadan, of Dwali, and Tibetan New Year. And the other students have created space for these students to share.

My class stopped what we were doing so we could watch a video of a Tibetan horse festival that one of my students wanted to share. While he was up in front animatedly waving his arms to explain each part of the video, the rest of the class was in rapt attention. Before it was only my students who were Christian who would feel comfortable sharing about their celebrations and holidays in any detail.

I used to say that my classroom was a space for all. Now I can know that it is. It’s in how my students show up each day. They all know they belong.

And I find it valuable in my personal life too. When well-meaning people share a limited perspective about an issue, I’m able to share a counter-narrative. And rather than simply sharing my opinion, I can share a story from someone else.

When my mother would complain about black lives matter, I shared the personal stories I had read online of how people of color have interacted with the police all their lives. The number of times they were stopped, or describe the videos I’ve seen of people of color interacting with the police. And now when we talk about race, my mom comes from a different place. Maybe she doesn’t still agree with black lives matter, but she sees more clearly their humanity.

Ultimately, it’s made me realize that my first job is to listen to people, rather than jump in with my opinion. To step aside to give others the chance to speak.

I’m going to leave you with this tweet from a Rabbi I follow, Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg.

https://twitter.com/TheRaDR/status/1064533370250637312

Each stage she mentions can be hard, and each stage can be scary, but each are necessary to create a world where all voices are heard and valued.