Black lives matter. Then, now, and always.

I’ve had words simmering in my mind for a week (weeks. months. years). Knowing I needed to attend to them and give them shape; uncomfortable with the reality that they could never be anything but imperfect, and even more uncomfortable with the knowledge that only the privilege I’m steeped in allows me brain space to care about how my words are received.

I know that I am not alone in my position as a white woman who has been in an evolving relationship with anti-racism for most of my life. I hope I am not too alone in my understanding that even as a person who works to dismantle racism in the (many) ways I encounter it, I am still a white person. In this country, that means I have benefited immeasurably from systems that were built to protect my privilege. That those systems were designed to breed racism in people like me. That they succeeded. That I am tasked with spending my lifetime unlearning behaviors and thought patterns that work against everything I want for my family, my community, and the world at large. 

I believe strongly that I have a responsibility to give space to black and brown voices in this moment; that one more white voice will only be an imperfect, and potentially (probably?) problematic tone to add to a cacophony of rage, dismay, guilt, shame, and anguish flooding the internet right now.   

And also.

If I don’t own my discomfort publicly, and address the work I’m doing in a visible way, I feel complicit in keeping the structures from crumbling. I offer this not as a way to hold myself accountable, because I need to do that no matter what, but I’m hoping that sharing will help hold other white people accountable, too. I know that my black and brown friends and people in my community are forging ahead in the ways they must – to protect and defend themselves and their wellbeing, their families, and their communities. I do not want them to also be burdened with the responsibility of leading us through the work of unlearning racism, too. Even though many are doing just that. Even though I am profoundly grateful when they do. 

So, here’s what I’m working through (have been working through, will continue to work through, in perpetuity):

When I heard that George Floyd died calling for his mother, it gripped my heart and my stomach. I had a visceral reaction to that connection between mothers and sons. A connection that means more to me in my life experience than anything I else I have or will know. In February 2017, in a darkened room, I learned that the baby I was carrying was a boy. His father and I looked at each other with surprise and delight, because while it didn’t matter what sex he was, it was amazing to know more about him. Not long after I began to think about the responsibility I would have in raising a white man. My son checks all the boxes of privilege at all points of intersection at this point in his life. The systems all around him were built to support his success, to make it easy for him not to notice when others are marginalized or disenfranchised. And so we must follow through on teaching him to recognize imbalance in those systems, to listen deeply to people with different life experiences, to work to bring others with him into spaces where they will be heard and known. Representation, awareness, discussion, occupying spaces that are predominantly black, where we can listen, pay attention, practice the skill of empathy: love and understanding. This is work that starts when our children are born. We don’t wait for them to start asking questions. We facilitate situations where understanding and empathy are critical.

And also, I am critically aware of the staggering amount of work we have to do in the dance world—specifically in institutions of higher learning. I am calling on my colleagues in dance in higher ed to join me in doing the hard work of dismantling white supremacy in dance education: decentering whiteness and serving our students and communities through complete dance education. We can do this in ways that make good on the skills we bring to the table: curriculum development, storytelling, artmaking. And we also will do this by listening and making space for voices that know more than we do about how to do this. 

I’m going to step back now. I have a lot of listening to do. I’m extremely grateful for people in the black community (in particular, so many black women) who are providing direction right now. These are people living with trauma every day, and they should not be burdened with the emotional work of educating people who have benefited from the same systems that oppress them. So when they choose to do this work anyway, they need to be heard.

Black lives matter.

They matter.

They matter.