“I think that when we get attacked by other men, that’s the cost that you pay for being an advocate. As an ally, you’re supposed to take the bullet so that other women don’t have to. If you’re not willing to pay that cost, then you are not ready to join the movement. Because women have to take backlash all day, every day, so why is it okay for them to take it, but you’re too afraid to take it, as a man, when you’re in the position of power?”
Guys who have sincerely been trying to figure out how we help fight sexism, this interview with former NFL player Wade Davis is for you. Great insight.
“How do you reconcile your love for someone with the revelation that they have behaved badly? I don’t know the answer to that.” — Savannah Guthrie
Just the other day, I made the tongue-in-cheek comment (referring to how we raise our kids) that “consequences are so 1999.” But we have to have standards of behavior and consequences, though. It’s one of the hallmarks of civil society, and it feels like we’re at a point of reckoning here in 2017.
#MeToo is a movement forged in both solidarity and individual bravery. I am saddened that is so pervasive, more distraught by the number of people who could have done something about it and didn’t. We all have to say enough is enough, even if it means calling out these behaviors in places of power, our families, and our friends. Even if you’re not a part of the problem, please be an active part of the solution.
Working in technology, a field where men significantly outnumber women, these issues are particularly acute. This article about Sheryl Sandberg is a good primer on what men can do to be allies in the workplace.
“I know there’s pressure not to be a dorky, try-hard male feminist stereotype; there’s always a looming implication that you could lose your spot in the club; if you seem opportunistic or performative in your support, if you suck up too much oxygen and demand praise, women will yell at you for that too. But I need you to absorb that risk. I need you to get yelled at and made fun of, a lot, and if you get kicked out of the club, I need you to be relieved, and I need you to help build a new one.” — Sheryl Sandberg
My mind is working overtime after attending a campus racial justice allies and advocates training this morning. A few initial thoughts and takeaways:
1) When we stereotype and/or expect certain cultural norms, those that don’t fit our stereotypes or norms often mute themselves in order to fit in. The quote that stuck with me was, “We go through our days dead.”
2) It’s ok, almost preferred, to be uncomfortable as we have real conversations around race and discrimination.
3) Get to know who you are, where you came from, and the societal constructs that give context to your vision. We can’t really change our organizations and communities until we know where our own minds and hearts are.
4) Personal relationships are the key to real justice. When we get to know others as humans, not as labels or stereotypes, our willingness to ignore the injustices they suffer goes away.
5) Engage in dialog, not debate. Put down your need to defend your position, listen and converse.
In the weeks following the presidential election, I felt unhinged. I tried to find my words in posts about being an ally and being told I wasn’t doing enough. My daily stress levels, partially self-inflicted, were unsustainable. I walked away from social media because I couldn’t see straight through the fear that saturated my feeds.
I needed some quiet.
I needed to be quiet.
I needed to let the silence answer a question for me. Where do I go from here? How do I find my voice in our national discourse? Continue reading Finding my voice in “We the People”
Wearing a safety pin is just a way for white people to feel good about themselves.
I read those words a couple of weeks after the election, while a silver safety pin graced the collar of my jacket. I’d been wearing the safety pin given to me by a friend as a symbol of love for and solidarity with family, friends, and strangers who felt betrayed and frightened by the rhetoric of the victor. So many people who looked like me — white men — had voted decisively against them. I was angry, embarrassed and honestly crushed that so many people who looked like me voted for the candidate who publicly disparaged women and minorities. I wore the safety pin not to feel better, but to somehow say to others, “I’m not one of them.” Continue reading I’ve retired my safety pin