Correction.

“What corrections did you get today?”

Growing up, my mom used to ask me that question during our nightly debriefs while I was away at summer dance programs. She’d ask me because corrections meant my teachers were noticing me. It meant they saw I was working hard, believed in my potential, and wanted me to succeed.

Realizing that corrections were positive was not an easy process for me. As a people-pleaser, prone to wanting straight A’s and praise for preparedness (try saying that 10 times fast!), accepting criticism in a healthy manner did not come naturally to me. In ballet, my goal was perfection and receiving corrections obviously meant I was coming up short. However, talking to my mom about the corrections I received made them feel less daunting; they became challenges I was excited to tackle and lessons I wanted to learn. I realized that I’d likely never master most corrections I received—as they were often centered on foundational weaknesses that required constant vigilance and dedication to overcome—but that was ok. It was ok because so long as I was working diligently to address the shaky areas of my foundation, some days in the smallest of ways and some in leaps and bounds, I was becoming a better dancer. And becoming better is always a goal worth working toward.

Responding to correction with defensiveness is easy. Responding to correction with growth is not. It’s something I continue to work on, whether at work, at school, in random interaction, and in personal relationships. It’s something I’ve found myself particularly focused on in the midst of the Black Lives Matter revolution unfolding as I write.

Until recently, I’d never thought of myself as racist. I knew I had implicit biases regarding people of other races, but was working to recognize and change those thoughts. I knew racial slurs were wrong, so I never used them and firmly corrected those around me if they used them anyway. I worked to make my feminism intersectional, realizing my experience being a woman was not the only experience being a woman. I spoke up in my university classes when we discussed racism in the development of the field of anthropology, and never backed down from an argument with academic colleagues if they chose to excuse past racism in our field as an old way of thinking.

Until recently, I believed what I was doing to combat racism was enough. While I stand by the actions I’ve taken to combat racism, and will continue to engage in similar ways, I now realize I have so much more to learn. I have so much more to correct within myself, my worldview, and my concept of racism in general. For, as I am constantly reminded as I begin down the long road of work before me, being non-racist is not enough. Instead, I need to be actively anti-racist.

I have been, and continue to be, a participant in the Black Lives Matter movement protests around Salt Lake City (here, I am referring to the sentiment of the protests, as the Black Lives Matter organization does not organize all of the protests I attend). I attend the protests because I need correction. I don’t mean I need black people, who have been extremely aware and educated on racism all their lives, to feel like it is their job to correct me. I mean I am attending protests because I need to correct myself. I am using social media as a tool to elevate black voices and promote ways to be actively anti-racist because I need to correct myself. I am actively listening to anti-racism podcasts and to black stories because I need to correct myself. I am discussing racism with my white friends and sitting in my discomfort because I need to correct myself.

So as I’ve begun engaging with the work of correcting myself, what have I learned? Well, for starters, I’ve learned the police began as a component of slavery, designed to hunt down runaway slaves. I’ve learned that the white privilege America designed itself around at its founding, a system of privilege that roots itself deeply in slavery, has continued to flourish, particularly via redlining. Redlining, I have learned, is the denial of funds and government services to certain neighborhoods. Redlining often manifests in housing and neighborhood segregation, and infinitely increases the difficulty for black people to own property…meanwhile many white families have owned, built, and accrued wealth in property since the day our country began. I’ve learned that even though we tell ourselves America is a country built by the people for the people, it is actually a country built by white people for white people. Black history is largely absent from our classes and textbooks while the white savior complex abounds. In general, I’ve learned that in order to truly be actively anti-racist, there is so much I must first unlearn.

I’ve also learned that defunding the police—even abolishing the police—are great ideas. They do not mean murderers will run free among a system of no consequences (if we wanted that, why would we protest the police for refusing to hold killer cops accountable?).  Instead, defunding the police takes away money currently spent on police militarization and training that clearly falls short. Funds are then invested in programs like education and healthcare so we can begin to dismantle systemic racism in other areas of our country. Then, we can abolish the police system as we know it and build something better—a nuanced system of emergency responders trained in various de-escalation techniques, drug overdose procedures, rape investigation, drunk driving defense, etc. A system that actually protects and serves the whole of America instead of the most privileged parts.

Lastly, I’ve learned that though the Black Lives Matter movement is, obviously, centered on protecting black lives, it is not a black problem. It is an American problem, and one toward which white people cannot remain silent. That absolutely does not mean white people need to speak over black voices and we certainly don’t need to speak up if we don’t have anything to say. However, if we don’t have anything to say, I encourage us to ask ourselves why? Why, when the revolution is literally happening in the streets of every state in America…Why, when black people are dying at the hands of our white silence…Why, when we had no problem screaming the lyrics of Hamilton from our rooftops…Why, when we feel the need to share opinions on everything from travel to recipe inspiration to the thoughts of our pets, do we not have anything to say when it comes our omnipresent mistreatment of black communities?

Speaking up does not necessarily mean crafting a social media statement or making an Instagram Live video or writing a blog post (though if that’s what works, go for it, but definitely don’t just post a black square and pretend that was enough!) For some, it might mean making a donation to an organization engaged in meaningful anti-racist work, then writing and posting a quick paragraph about it with a link so others can do the same. It might mean calling your boss to ask for a meeting to pitch an action plan for increasing workplace diversity (but like, actually making real changes in company policy a priority so that the hiring and retaining of diverse employees is achievable and sustainable, not a check box). It might mean writing an opinion piece to a university newspaper to pointedly address the unequal access to education Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) face within our country, challenging the university to be proactive in establishing change. It might mean participating in mentorship programs and career talks at unfamiliar K through 12 schools, not just the ones within our own neighborhoods. It might mean making a family dinner uncomfortable by deeply engaging with the racism white silence has helped promote instead of talking about football. It might mean taking time away from our Netflix binge or our engagement with mainstream media or even our homework or professional lives to educate ourselves so we can become comfortable speaking about a topic we have so often either consciously or subconsciously ignored. And if that self-education involves books or classes or use of a product put forth by black people, pay for it, don’t use a free download.

And when we speak up, we will likely be corrected by people who know more than we do about racism in America. That is ok. No, that is more than ok, that is great! Because to be corrected means we tried, we have the potential to say something better, and someone has taken time out of their day to point us in a more effective direction.

To be white and stay silent is to remain compliant. To be white and stay silent is to choose to sit in privilege rather than critically engage with discomfort. To be white and stay silent is to let the fear of being wrong outweigh the importance of encouraging others, and ourselves, to do what is right.

So speak up. Speak up in whatever way, but speak up. As we work through the astounding weaknesses in our American foundation, we will make mistakes. We will be corrected. But it is only by speaking up, getting it wrong, actively listening, critically digesting, and speaking up again, that we will create sustainable, equitable liberty and justice for all. If that is not a goal worth working toward, I honestly don’t know what is.