I grew up in a “savior” culture. A culture that taught that we had found the one and only way. We had the right answers. Our job was to save anyone who did not hold to the same values.

This has damaged me. And it has brought much sorrow and suffering to minorities and the earth that holds and sustains us all. Savior culture is steeped in pride and arrogance. It alienates and belittles all who are other.

White people, we are not saviors. We are not the answer. And we clearly have not found the way. Not when that way excludes, pushes down, and shushes those who are suffering. Or tells them how they should speak about their suffering. What they should or should not do.

healing or hurting

If someone comes to you, wrapped in trauma and shaking in fear. Blood dripping, tears flowing. Do you interrupt them and tell them the correct way to cry or the right words to use? Do you bring up your own pain and remind them that everyone is wounded? Or, do you drop everything, hold them, and listen to them while you bandage their wounds? Can you sit with them in their pain? Or do you become angry with them instead of their oppressors?

When we bear witness to trauma, we can either love or lecture. Hear or cause further harm. Protect, or persecute. We cannot do both.

Think about it for a minute. About all the ways you and I have been a part of a culture that tells the traumatized how they should react to their trauma. We criticize marches and slogans, speeches, and movements. We are so offended at Black knees kneeling to get our attention that it took a white knee kneeling on the neck of a Black man to wake us up. Most of us haven’t given it enough thought to realize that the anger and the violence that sometimes surfaces during times like this are because of us. Because of our failures. Kimberly Jones explains this well in this video. How we broke the contract.

on the edge

I look around me today and I see the world on the edge of its seat. Collectively on edge. Leaning forward. We’ve grown weary, to the point of exhaustion, fighting a very visible battle against an invisible virus. Maybe people have more time on their hands because of COVID. Or maybe we’re just ready for a visible, tangible thing we can do. Perhaps the air itself has been cleared of all the many things that clutter and take over our lives. Whatever it is, we find ourselves on the edge of our seats, taking in a big breath and coming together like never before.

My little city has had at least one rally, march or protest every day since George Floyd was murdered. And we are not alone. This could quite possibly be the largest civil rights movement globally, as all 50 states and more than 50 countries have joined in.

This is not our moment

But, white people, we must be careful not to shut down the voices of the traumatized. This is not our moment to pick up the mic. And while we must speak up, our conversations should center on learning from the Black leaders of the movement. Now is the time to let our backs be the floor of the stage. Our hands holding up the mics for others. Let’s freely offer our sweat, blood, and tears, but let the voice be the voice of Black people. This is not our moment to shine and it certainly is not our moment to save. It is our time to be quiet and listen. To swallow our words instead of correct or criticize.

Jo Luehmann says it so well.

White people cannot lead the fight against white supremacy… To explain why, I’ll compare this to patriarchy. The fight against misogyny should be fought by men too, but imagine men on panels posing as leaders that are fighting against patriarchy. Haven’t they had enough to say on this? If you can’t feel racism in your bones, if you cannot feel the oppression of living in a world made for whiteness then you can’t lead the fight against that oppression. You cannot be an expert. We need you to join the fight, but please know your role here.

Jo Luehmann

Jo has many wise words and I encourage you to follow her here and learn from her.

what we can do

This is not to say that we should be quiet and ignore the movement. Stay in our comfortable homes and let others do all the work. Silence is a form of violence. I’ve found myself wrapped in it often enough to know that silence is painful to those who are suffering. No, we must speak up. Now more than ever. But we must take care not to shape or control the narrative. This is not our moment.

When we must correct, let us correct our fellow white people. If we must challenge, let’s challenge each other. If we must motivate someone to do better, let’s motivate each other. Because we can do better than this.

Now is the time to let our backs be the floor of the stage. Our hands holding up the mics for others. Let’s freely offer our sweat, blood, and tears, but let the voice be the voice of Black people.

Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.