Under an Umbrella, Together
By: Ted Neill
Tags: Communication, Social Justice, Racial Justice, Dialogue, BlackLivesMatter

Under an Umbrella, Together

While on a bike trail with a friend over the weekend, I spotted the statue pictured below.

Photo by Ted Neill

As statues went, it’s no Michelangelo’s David. It’s mildly charming as lawn ornaments go — I guess. I found it later online for about 3,000 USD. I imagine part of the expense is due to the value of the bronze.

Given the choice, I definitely would choose to spend my money differently, but as we all know, taste varies.

But here was where it got uncomfortable. My biking companion that afternoon, Karina, was a social worker and a woman of color. While we took a water break, taking in the view of Lake Washington, I found myself regarding the statue in silence. It was there, in the corner of my eye, a few yards away. But I was uncertain if I would mention it to her at all. Honestly this came from a sense of not knowing how she would react to it.

Over the years I have known her, we have had numerous conversations on gender, racial injustice, and all various types of privilege and forms of oppression. Given previous conversations, I played out a few scenarios in my head depicting how Karina might interpret the lawn art:

Scenario 1: She might roll her eyes. Interpretation: It’s kitschy and an “interesting” way to decorate one’s yard. Conclusion: It’s not worth further comment, let’s keep looking at the gorgeousness that is Lake Washington.

Scenario 2: She might notice the boy figure appears to be holding the umbrella’s shaft higher than the girl is. Interpretation: While this could be seen as chivalrous in a traditional sense, in a feminist lens we all know chivalry is a prison disguised as protection. After all, chivalry is predicated on and perpetuates the notion that women are weak (“I’ve read my Marilyn Robinson and the Bird Cage Theory” — he says smugly). Conclusion: The statue oppresses women.

Scenario 3: On the other hand, she might note the girl holding the base of the umbrella. Interpretation: The girl is actually bearing more weight of the umbrella holding it at this point. She is actually doing the hard work of protecting the two of them while the boy only appears to be doing so. At first glance, this could be seen as empowering, but on further reflection it’s likely emblematic that women, for centuries, have carried a greater burden — socially, emotionally, and physically — than their male counterparts, while it has traditionally been the men who receive the accolades and advancement. Conclusion: The statue is a monument to patriarchy.

Scenario 4: She might respond in a myriad of potential ways I couldn’t foresee. Interpretation: TBD. Conclusion: Unknown.

I ended up saying nothing.

I share this anecdote, and my overeager paralysis by analysis, slightly tongue in cheek. But only slightly. My resulting silence, my perseverating, is emblematic of the spot a lot of well-intentioned but inexperienced white people, or anyone coming from a position of privilege, might feel they are in when entering into to conversations around diversity, equity, and inclusion.

This mental effort, the additional cognitive load one might feel as they think about all the various points of view, the divergent interpretations, can feel, exhausting.

“Welcome to being a person of color in America,” many of my friends would say with smugness to match my own, before directing me to W.E.B. DuBois’ definition for double consciousness.

But this effort is what we’re called to make, if we’re serious about dismantling racism. So is the risk of embarrassing ourselves, or just the sheer discomfort of messy, vulnerable conversations that may take us in directions we have never been before.

I think it is because of this fear of messiness that we have people (who call themselves allies) that settle for the more visible but empty gestures that call attention to their “wokeness” but don’t truly do much to dismantle racist systems (see virtue signaling). I heard this eloquently expressed by Mary Hall-Williams on the Deep End Friends Podcast recently when she lamented the allies who would gladly show off the bruises they received from rubber bullets while protesting racial injustice on the street, but who remain silent when a black or brown colleague in the work place is being treated unfairly.

The former is dramatic and public; the suffering is acute but predictable and over quickly. The latter, well, that is harder to judge. Standing up for a colleague might put one’s livelihood at risk, might risk your reputation, might incur retaliation from “management.”

Ms. Hall-Williams is right, I think a lot of people would take a bruise, which they can show off to their friends and assuage their racial guilt with, rather than messing with their pay check.

And that brings me back to Karina and the opportunity I missed to get out of my own head, stop supplying hypothetical answers for her, and simply ask, “What do you think of that?”

Photo by nappy from Pexels

Speaking for myself, I like the familiar. I like the security that comes from knowing the answers. But as a privileged white male entering into the space of allyship, I’m not always sure how to support without making a mistake. But to let that hold any of us back from engaging in this work is not acceptable. I can’t think of a single area of knowledge where “not knowing” was an acceptable excuse for not exploring. In chemistry, engineering, physics, mathematics, biology, psychology, astronomy, sociology, medicine — you name it, it’s the not knowing, it’s the ignorance on our part that is intolerable that drives us to investigate, to seek answers, to quench our curiosity, to realize a more enlightened world. It’s the only way to find the truth.[1]

Put another way, the one, 100 percent way to ensure we remain ignorant, is to shrink away from questions, even the ones that make us uncomfortable — especially the ones that make us uncomfortable.

Our pursuit of equity, racial justice, and racial reconciliation should be no different. There are a lot of things we-who-are-just-coming-to-this-fight do not know. But that should never hold us back from inquiry, from curiosity, and from seeking the truth, as messy, uncomfortable, and humbling as it may be.

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Footnotes: [1] This comes with the caveat that we, as white allies, cannot always put it on our friends of color to educate us. That is not fair either. We need to avail ourselves of existing resources to educate ourselves first. Our friends and loved ones of color are likely already expending enough extra energy just to survive and remain sane in an increasingly insane world.

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Ted Neill, MPH, is a writer based in Seattle. He has written extensively on HIV/AIDS in Africa and the Greatest Generation. His recent novel, Reaper Moon, examines the intersection of faith, politics, and racism during a global viral pandemic. His YA novel, Zombies, Frat Boys, Monster Flash Mobs does the same . . . except with zombies, frat boys, nerds, and ninjas — something for everyone, right?