One Thing the Far Right and Robin DiAngelo Can Agree On — Snowflakes

Snowflake. The Oxford English Dictionary added this definition to the word in 2018, “An overly sensitive or easily offended person, or one who believes they are entitled to special treatment on account of their supposedly unique characteristics…”

When the Right refers to us Liberals as snowflakes, it doesn’t bother me much. I’ve seen it as a way to excuse themselves from the inconvenience of caring enough about other humans to engage in stretching their world view. Easier to call us fragile, than to find the merit in caring about the needs and views of people who are not like them. Unlike a delicate snowflake, a large number of us Liberals are actually tough enough to give a shit and are willing to work on adjusting our actions until they line up with our beliefs. At least we like to think we do. So, “Sticks & stones…”

On the other hand, when I first heard about Robin DiAngelo’s book, White Fragility, I did feel bothered.

I immediately interpreted the title as an admonishment of White people’s grief about racism; our tears were evidence of our fragility. I had, and have, buckets full. Not only that, I had a vested interest in other White people feeling grief, too. I longed for it. The way I saw it, feelings of grief and even guilt were a crucial force in waking up from the sleep induced by our White privilege. We can’t do anything until we wake up, and you can only push snooze on grief and guilt for so long.

Regardless of my preconceived notions, I read the book, and realized my mistake. The fragility isn’t in reference to our authentic grief about racism, it’s about our collective defensiveness when confronted about the role we White folks play in keeping racism alive.

At this time, my anti-racism work was experiencing a new growth spurt. White Fragility was just one inspiration of many. I was feeling race, and therefore racism, more vulnerably than ever before.

They say that when you become a parent, an invisible force moves your heart into the body of your child. From the outside, you watch your child/your heart running around, and you desperately want to protect and provide. Now the mother of a Black son, this analogy was my daily truth.

Experiencing the not-so-micro-aggressions that happened to him was my biggest-yet call to action. Around this same time, Michelle Alexander, Ibram X Kendi, Dr. Beverly Tatum and so many other brilliant voices were calling upon White people to step up. It felt like their calls were piercing through more White folk’s racial fog than ever before in my lifetime. I saw the complexity of this work being distilled for us into clear steps.

#1 — Learn. Audio books, talks & interviews on YouTube, articles on Medium…there are limitless options.

With encouragement from Black friends, I began co-leading anti-racism workshops for White people. They were well-received, so we kept offering them. It is here, in these spaces, where I regularly get to see our snowflakiness reflected back to me. Don’t get me wrong, I recognize fully how much courage it takes to expose one’s fragility in a group setting, and I’m deeply grateful to every person who does, because it reveals the places that need the most work.

When it’s time for discussion, we encourage participants to voice their fears about being anti-racist, and ask them to ponder why it’s so rare for most White folks to have more than one or two close Black friends, “Im afraid they’ll think I’m approaching them just because they’re Black… I’m afraid they’ll say I have White Savior Complex… I’m afraid I’ll say something wrong and they’ll be disgusted/ think I’m clueless…I’m afraid of humiliating myself…”

At the end of this past weekend’s workshop, we’d arrived at that time when the brave ones begin to pull the curtain aside and reveal their fears and hesitations. One by one, my partner and I did our best to address them. But on this day, I noticed a particularly painful wave of desperation rising within me. If I had given it voice, it would have answered back, “But people are dying! Adults and children are being murdered — daily — on camera…folks, we’ve GOT to push past this…so WHAT if we’re called names/ piss some people off / make mistakes??”

#2 — Feel the fear & discomfort, and do it anyway. Move mindfully, and know you *will* make mistakes. It’s hard, but we can do hard things. As uncomfortable as this is, it’s minuscule compared to what BIPOC have to deal with on a daily basis.

Outwardly, I kept it cool. Inwardly, I ached. What will it take?

At some point White people have to accept that we will be checked, corrected and have to suffer occasional humiliations when we make a misstep. Racism is a cancer infecting the whole of humanity. There is no fighting it without discomfort.

#3— Be willing to listen to BIPOC* and be corrected. Arm yourself with humility and curiosity. Nothing ventured, no justice gained.

Later that night, I opened Ibram X Kendi’s workbook, “Be Anti-Racist.” He asks, “Who or what scares you the most, when you think about race?” I felt my answer rise within, a mirror, unwelcome, in my face, “Offending Black people….longing to change things, to be part of the solution, and failing…hurting BIPOC instead of helping…being seen as clueless, privileged, weak, daft, typical…White.”

There it was. My own fear. No different than anyone else’s.

So, I get it. I have the advantage of understanding the fear, while also understanding that it’s my responsibility to move forward regardless, as if my heart depends on it. Because it does.

#4 — Admit it. Most of us were raised in a racist society; we learn that language when it’s all around us.

“Hello, my name is Danielle, and I can be a snowflake. I admit that I am powerless over my snowflakey feelings, but I no longer give in to them. Thanks to groups like this one, surrounded by other people working to do better, I can process my fears so that when I leave this page I can take appropriate action — like the dedicated anti-racist I am becoming. One day, one moment at a time.”

We are not alone. And this work, this learning, is not only good for our individual brains, it is urgently needed medicine for our collective soul.

#5— Share your feelings with other non-BIPOC people who are on their own anti-racism journey. Vent and cry when you need to. Then put on your battle boots and get back out there.

I see you, Ms. DiAngelo. I acknowledge the fragility; it is well-named and I am at work, transforming it. And I see you, Far-Righters, snickering at our sensitivity. It’s ok. Knock yourselves out. I’ll take snowflakiness any day over callous self-centeredness. My goal is to fight for a world totally different than this one, for my Black child and everyone else’s. One White person at a time, one snowflakey feeling at a time, we’re working through our fear because Black lives, and our own humanity, depend on it.

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This post was previously published on Equality Includes You.

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