“But I’m not racist”: Black Panther, Wakanda, The Spear, The Shield, & ‘The Anatomy of Trust’.
Last week I saw Black Panther twice in theaters and both times, I lived! (Seriously, RUN and go see it and yes, I will probably see it again at least three more times.) [SPOILERS AHEAD]
It is truly a master piece in storytelling. Right smack in the center of the story is the wit, joy, creativity, humor and fears of black people’s humanity large and in IMAX. It’s a cultural event for all people the likes of which the world has never seen on screen. And while the film is very much a love letter to black America that challenges us to unpack our Black American inheritance I keep coming back to this thought: the creators of the Black Panther character Stan Lee & Jack Kirby are both white men. While I’m enraptured by how unapologetically black Black Panther is, I cannot shake the idea that this massive outpouring of black joy, black empowerment, black heroism and the gloriousness of the fictional nation of Wakanda and all it’s complexity and splendor was born from a germ of an idea conceieved by two white men decades ago at a time when it was inconvenient for them to do so. I cannot overlook this black brilliance was conceived by a joint effort from white artists, the resources mostly white corporate sponsors and the genius of a black director at the helm steering the ship, nor do I want to.
In the film Agent Ross played by Martin Freeman is injured in the field taking a bullet for Lupita N’yongo’s character Nakia. She pleads with Chadwick Boseman’s T’Challa “He took a bullet for me.” to which, Danai Guriria’s powerful Okoye responds with the levity of a general, “That was his choice.” She highlights the understanding of the painful cost of inviting ‘good white’ people into safe black spaces. After much protest from Okoye, Boseman’s titular charcter decides to take Agent Ross back to Wakanda to use their superior technology to save his life.
In the pulse-pounding climax of the film, while the black women use their wits and might to defend Wakanda and T’Challa uses his powers to restore order to his kingdom, Agent Ross is given orders by Letitia Wright’s super genius/16-year-old black girl, Princess Shuri to help defend Wanda but never expressly tells him the all important how. Ross is forced to do what many well intentioned “allies” seldom want to do: figure it out. When an opportunity presents itself, Agent Ross hops into the cockpit of a remote operated war plane and uses his skills as a former fighter pilot to stop a shipment of high tech weapons from being dstributed around the world by Michael B. Jordan’s deeply complex and not so villainous Killmonger. When Ross comes under heavy fire, Shuri emplores him to escape or else he may be killed. Then, Ross makes a decision, he risks his life to help protect the people of Wakanda instead of prioritizing his own personal safety.
In the film, Ross is far from a white savior at the center of most stories, in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He’s a fringe supporting character, a government agent working to protect American interests and no one elses. He makes many mistakes in his journey from instrument of American control to freedom fighter for which he pays for and is often the butt of many of the films funniest jokes. And it’s in this act of willful self sacrifice the film reminds white people very bluntly: There is no such thing as allies, there are only accomplices.
Like Okoye, I have to be very discerning about which white people I befriend and invite into my heartspace. Unfortunately, my safety depends on it. A friend of mine jokingly (and not so jokingly) assumed because I’m very vocal about doing the work of anti-racism that I couldn’t possibly have any white friends. He was pleasantly surprised when I told him I do — I have many. He then shared with me his personal litnus test on how he chooses which white people he chooses to become friends with. My friend quipped, “The only white people I befriend are my Floorboard Friends.”
“Floorboard friends?” I asked, confused.
“Yeah, it’s a simple test. If they wouldn’t have been willing to hide my black ass under the floorboards during slavery, we can’t be friends. How that translates to today is: if my white friend is not willing to put themselves at personal risk to practice anti-racism then we can’t be friends. This means putting themselves at risk emotionally, financially, reputationally, and even physically. This might look like protesting beside me, standing between me and a police officer and documenting an encounter, acting as a shield in conversations about race with problematic white people so I don’t have to, donating money to organizations that do anti-racism work or choosing to have uncomfortable conversations during Christmas dinner and a whole bunch of other stuff. But if they aint risking something, if they aint willing to put themselves on the line to dismantle oppression… I can’t trust them.”
That conversation gave me language for feelings I didn’t know how to yet articulate.
“But I’m not racist!”
Every time I hear a white person say this, I always immeadiately ask, “Okay, so what are you actively doing to dismantle racism and effect change within your sphere of influence? In what ways do you use your skills and resources to practice Anti-Racism?”
And then, without judgement, I listen.
Almost always, I’m met with either silence or stuttering or someone counting off how many black friend(s)/co-workers they have and repeated nervous uses of the word “diversity”. But what I really hear them saying through their fumbling is a really uncomfortable quiet truth: “Nothing. I do nothing to ACTIVELY dismantle racism. I just do my best to be a good person and pray that’s enough.”
It makes me wonder: Why are there so many white people who believe they are immune from the influence & effects of racism?
White people indeed believe in their heart of hearts they are not racist. It’s an unfortunate by product of one of the hallmarks of whiteness & privilege: individualism. The ability to opt in and out of a larger group culture at will. With the privilige of individualism comes the false belief in one’s good intentions offers them immunity from being an agent of harm.
And then, I’m reminded of a quote I once read somewhere online.
“If overt racists are the spear of white supremacy, silent white people are the shield.” -Unknown. (I wish I could remember the author of this quote so I can credit their genius.)
When I hear white people say “…but I’m not racist” what I really hear is “…but I’m not the spear stabbing people to death. I don’t use the N-Word. I don’t use threats or violence. I treat people fairly. I’m just trying to keep my head down, be a good person and not have to confront the shame of my American cultural inheritance. I’m not the greedy bank destroying people’s lives, I’m just a beneficiary of it’s policies. And if I try and stop the bank from hurting you I’ll be alone and vulnerable and they’ll turn around and come after me. As long as the spear is stabbing you I don’t have to be uncomfortable or confront my blindspots and they won’t turn on me. You understand, right?”
If I’m honest with myself, I do, because I understand the paralyzing power of fear and shame. However, I also understand the power of vulnerability and the ability to show up and be seen especially when it’s emotionally inconvenient and terrifying. Unlike white people, POC often do not have a choice when it comes to ‘showing up’ in conversations around race. We have to show up and speak up; our survival and safety depends on it.
Author, Shame & Vulnerability Researcher and Viral TED Talk phenomenon Dr. Brené Brown gave an incredible talk on Oprah’s ‘Super Soul Sunday’ entitled, ‘The Anatomy of Trust’. (I’ve posted the link to the talk below.) In it, she defines trust as “Making something important to you vulnerable to the actions of someone else.” She goes on to break down what she calls ‘The Anatomy of Trust’ into smaller, easy to understand components. She coins the acronym “B.R.A.V.I.N.G.” which breaks down to BOUNDARIES, RELIABILITY, ACCOUNTABILITY, VAULT (or confidentiality), INTEGRITY, NON-JUDGEMENT, and GENEROSITY. To understand the specifics of each of these components I highly recommend you watch her video. Click below:
So what can white people do to drop the shield and disarm the holders of the spears?
In my opinion, I don’t want them to drop the shield. I want white people to turn around and use the shield to defend those who need it most: the marginalized.
How?
Build trust.
Choose to show up and be seen. Share your stories and double down on passionately listening to the stories of others (especially those different from you with whom you may disagree). Listen and assume each other is the expert of their respective stories. Make mistakes. Police your impulses to blame or shame one another. Hire black people (especially black women) and give them the full support and resources at your disposal and get out of their way. Interrogate your discomfort. And most importantly, use Dr. Brown’s Anatomy of Trust as a road map to connection and empathy. We can build trust…
— By honoring and respecting the boundaries of POC. This can look like respecting spaces POC create for themselves or not wearing culturally specific hairstyles and calling it ‘a hot new trend’ or it can look like not wearing someone else’s culture as a costume at Halloween.
— By forfeiting the comfortable distance of being an “ally” and instead rolling up your sleeves and being a consistently reliable accomplice in the same way Agent Ross did in Black Panther.
— By taking accountability for your inevitable mistakes, your privilege, and for your active role in your own self-education around race & privilege — understanding anything you want to know about race & privilege is a google search away. Like the film demonstrates, it’s not POC’s responsibility to teach you how to help. It’s your job to take the initiative and use the skills and resources at your disposal to create a solution so when the opportunity to help presents itself, you’re poised and ready.
— By respecting the vault/confidentiality of the stories POC share with you. Knowing when to ask questions or when to shut up and listen through your discomfort. Sharing our stories is an offering of trust. The least you can do is believe us when we say ‘ouch’.
— By choosing integrity when it’s convenient to look the other way or staying silent in moments of witnessing moments of oppression. By choosing to do what’s right over what’s fast fun or convenient. Sometimes that looks like challenging someone using racist language at Thanksgiving dinner and some times it looks like asking why Amy in Human Resources is skipping over applications with “ethnic sounding names”.
— By practicing non-judgement in the current conditions of POC and how we choose to express ourselves through the multiple traumas caused by white supremacy. By replacing your judgement of POC with deep empathy and curiousity. Also, and equally important, by offering that same non-judgement to yourself as you learn to unpack and sort through your own relationship to your racism & privilege.
— And lastly, by generously assuming the best in the words and actions of POC as opposed to generously assuming the worst in POC. By generously trusting the leadership and critiques of women of color. By reminding yourself that black women have always been the moral compass of America for generations and offering your resources and sweat to black women and then get out of the way.
At this point, I’m no longer disappointed in the short comings of white people’s relationship to race & racism. I hope for the best in them but always plan for the worst in the systems they often knowingly or unknowingly protect. I wish I didn’t have to do this but for my own safety (both physical, psychological & emotional) I have to.
All I can do is allow myself to stay open and lead uncomfortable dialogue within my sphere of influence with deep compassion. I can keep an ember of faith in humanity. I can show up and be vulnerable and lead where I can and hold those around me accountable. And I can write.
There’s no way Stan Lee & Jack Kirby could have known when they created the character of the Black Panther it would be the spark of a cultural movement generations later. What Lee & Kirby did is one of the most important things white accomplices can do to help aid POC in the work of anti-racism. Build or buy the car, hand POC the keys, and shut up and get out of the way. I can hope that one day, white people will begin to understand that there is no “opt out” button to white supremacy. There is only racism and the never ending work of anti-racism. There is no middle. While I won’t hold my breath, I can only hope that those “good, well-intentioned white people” learn that without the shield to protect it, the holders of the spears doesn’t stand a chance against the collective work of all of us.
