Last summer I had a path-shifting moment on my anti-racist journey when I found a link on my Facebook page to an event in Louisville, Kentucky, celebrating the life of Anne McCarty Braden. Braden was a white southerner who was becoming a civil rights activist about the time I was starting first grade. I had never heard of her, so I launched an afternoon google-fest to find out more.
In 1954, Braden and her husband, Carl, bought a home in Louisville's suburbs, intending to sell it to a black couple. For this act, the state of Kentucky charged the Bradens with sedition. The state convicted and sentenced Carl, but Anne secured his early release through a speaking and fundraising campaign that would make any true organizer smile.
Somewhere in the list of hits from my search, I found a review of Refusing Racism: White Allies and the Struggle for Civil Rights by Cynthia Stokes Brown. As I read an excerpt about the notion of "white ally," I felt like my soul-molecules were jumping with joy -- a sure sign that this was an important idea for me to explore (and a good reason to order the book)!
A rich flow of thoughts and feelings began even before the book arrived. By the time I read the first few pages, it served mainly to validate my take on the importance of the white ally concept, and to introduce, in more detail, the lives of white people who had begun the anti-racist journey ahead of me.
At some point I want to blog in more depth about spaces my Braden-google opened up and how I see it as path-shifting. For now I'll try to summarize what I see as key insights, using my relationship to the work and path of Martin Luther King, Jr. as an example.
I have read a couple of Dr. King's books. A few years ago I spent several hours in Atlanta visiting his boyhood home, sitting in Ebenezer Baptist listening to his speeches, and exploring the MLK Center where I saw words and images that inspired, uplifted, nauseated and even terrified me. It amazed me that a man so young, in so short a time on Earth, discovered and spoke so much of a truth that is valid for all people. King's words and work inspire me in a universal way, much the same way as the lives of Gandhi or Mandela.
When I imagine what will be required day to day for me (a white woman born and raised in the American Midwest)to keep my feet moving on the anti-racist path through a holler in east Tennessee, the brightness of Dr. King's flashlight starts to fade. In my research of the white ally concept, the realities of my whiteness in a racist society anchored into new depths in my soul.
Why was I so relieved to find out about Anne Braden? How come I didn't find out about her until I was a senior citizen? Because the society I grew up in was (and is) no more keen on teaching its citizens about the Anne Braden's of America than it is about copping to the pervasive structural racism that King, the Bradens and hundreds of others devoted (or lost)their lives to expose and abolish.
As a white person with white privilege, the life experience I bring to my anti-racist journey is worlds apart from the experiences of people of color. To travel this path as a white person exposes me to hidden truths of history, and this truth admits to the soul the sharper, painful edges of anger, sadness, despair and guilt that historical secrets are meant to prevent. Some of Anne Braden's writing speaks to the pain that oppression imposes on the oppressors -- this helped me to symbolize my own and allowed me to finder higher ground.
Here's what I'm thinking: if white folks on anti-racist journeys don't have access to the stories of white allies who came before them, we don't have role models for anything other than being an oppressor. Without positive images and possibilities, there is great danger of getting so stuck in negative energy that the work itself will be (consciously or unconsciously) sabotaged. What a deal that would be for a society that desires (consciously or unconsciously) to maintain white privilege!
P.S.: Happy Black History Month! More posts to come!