Say their Names. Hear their Voices.
By Michelle Tenner Cantor
For months I have been reading, listening, processing, and trying to determine what wisdom I can provide around the prevalent social injustice and police brutality in our country.
As a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion consultant, I feel like I should have some special insight, but the truth is there is no wisdom that can console or reconcile the killings of:
Tamir Rice
Eric Garner
Javier Ambler
Manuel Ellis
Elijah McClain
Ahmaud Marquez Arbery
Breanna Taylor
George Floyd
And there are the countless others not listed, but who are mourned by a mother, father, brother, sister, son, daughter, friend, colleague, and community every day.
For what it is worth, all I can offer are my personal feelings, experiences, and goals. I will not be able to change people’s pain or bring back these beautiful lives that should have had hope and opportunity rather than fear and suffering. But I can do my best to learn, listen, and use my voice and privilege to elevate the issues and participate in the solutions.
Right before Covid-19 hit like a ton of bricks, I went on a trip to the South called the Civil Rights Journey, sponsored by Jewish Federation of Detroit. Together, a group of 40-plus Jewish women ranging in ages from 45 to 85 spent three days visiting locations that are of key significance to understanding our 400-year trajectory of systemic racism and social injustice toward Black people.
As a hands-on learner, I was eager to see some pivotal locations where history was made. As a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion professional, I have an above-average acumen of racial inequity, but I know that I have a lot of room for growth as well as a responsibility and commitment to learn more as an American, a professional, and, frankly, as a white person.
This commitment was solidified when I listened to Bryan Stevenson speak at the University of Pennsylvania’s 2019 graduation. As a Jew, Stevenson’s message – that our country cannot heal and address racism until we as a country own up to our history of slavery and the trajectory of systemic racism that has persisted ever since – really hit home.
I thought about how although far from perfect, Germany has owned its responsibility for the Holocaust. As Jacob S. Eder wrote in Time Magazine in January 27, 2020, “As far as Germany’s institutions and intellectuals are concerned, there exists a broad consensus that the country has confronted its crimes and learned its lessons. Major cities boast impressive monuments, museums and centers dedicated to the study of antisemitism and the Holocaust. Germany’s institutions illustrate a conscious and responsible approach to dealing with past sins. Some observers, like the American moral philosopher Susan Neiman, make the case that it’s time for the rest of the world to begin ‘learning from the Germans.’”
The Holocaust and its atrocities are common knowledge and understanding in my home. “Never again” is a frequent saying among Jews and fuels us not only to take care of ourselves, but to show compassion and give back. The Hebrew phrase Tikkun Olam, which means “repair the world,” is a key concept of Jewish culture and values.
How much do we discuss slavery in my home?
But as much as we are focused on repairing the world, how much do we discuss slavery? Lynching? Jim Crow laws? Mass incarceration? I can say in my home, relative to the amount of family dinners during which we discuss, debate – and yes, bicker – over vacations, work, relationships, politics, and even social justice, little time has been given to Black history and its present results. I have relied on my children’s schools to provide the necessary history and context – but these topics are not given the time, introspection, or relevance in our public-school curriculum that they merit. And to make matters worse, it’s implied that everything got magically better after the Civil Rights Movement.
So, inspired by Bryan Stevenson and the opportunity to learn alongside my mother and sister and experience a “hands-on” opportunity, I embarked on this civil rights journey.
Over three days with Billy Planer the founder of ETGAR 36, we visited key sites. In Atlanta, we attended services at the church of Martin Luther King Jr. and his father; toured the National Center for Civil and Human Rights in downtown Atlanta; and met with the COO of Fair Fight 2020, an organization founded by Stacy Abrams after her state’s 2018 Gubernatorial election to protect voter rights and reduce voter suppression. In Selma, we walked across the bridge where, almost 55 years to the day, Alabama State Troopers violently assaulted civil rights activists upset at the wrongful death of Marion resident Jimmy Lee Jackson and the denial of their constitutional right to vote. That tragic day has become known as “Bloody Sunday.”
In Montgomery, at the Equal Justice Initiative, we toured the Legacy Museum, which brilliantly illustrates the progression of racial oppression from slavery to mass incarceration; and visited the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, which honors, documents, and represents the more than 4,400 African American men, women, and children who were lynched between 1877 and 1950. We also toured the Rosa Parks Museum, where the Civil Rights Movement began with the Montgomery bus boycott; and the 16th Street Baptist Church, where in 1963 four young Black girls, Addie Mae Collins (age 14), Cynthia Wesley (age 14), Carole Robertson (age 14) and Carol Denise McNair (age 11) were killed in a bombing by the KKK.
Throughout every museum and every monument, and while walking the Selma bridge and crying at the Memorial for Peace and Justice, three key themes kept running through my brain:
I am sorry:
I am sorry that our country is so cruel
I am sorry that it is so easy to go about our privileged lives and not internalize how history and our societal constructs favor white people
I am sorry that my family has not talked enough about our brutal past and present and how it impacts daily lives
Why?
Why are these incredible historical sites, museums, and memorials not lined up with visitors? In the same way schools host field trips to Washington D.C., visits to Atlanta, Selma, and Montgomery are a MUST for understanding our country’s past and present, and a powerful force to change our future.
Why are we not talking about race past the Civil Rights Movement? Racist systems, attitudes, and behaviors did not suddenly end with the Civil Rights Act of 1968.
Why are we not discussing and addressing mass incarceration and its disproportionate impact on the poor and people of color?
It is time to get really uncomfortable:
In my workshops about unconscious bias, we discuss and commit to individual action items that get people out of their individual comfort zones. One of the most powerful ways to slow your brain down from unconscious biases and stereotypes is to have authentic interactions and relationships with people who are different from you. These interactions help get your brain to stop relying on autopilot, societal messages, and stereotypes.
Well white people … it is time for us to get really uncomfortable and start owning up to how our country’s cruelty did not begin and end with slavery. We just created systemic racism in different forms — lynching, literacy tests, Jim Crow laws, red-lining, mass incarceration, and police brutality. (Unfortunately, this list is not exhaustive.)
It is time to make our own personal pledges and start driving and creating change. Here are mine:
My personal and professional pledges to do better:
My pledge as a white American:
I pledge to continue to listen, learn, and advocate. I pledge to hold up the mirror daily and recognize my privilege – how much easier my life is in many ways simply because of the color of my skin.
I will respectfully ASK the uncomfortable questions of myself, friends and family about race, power, and privilege so we all can hold the mirror up with honesty and integrity.
My pledge as a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion professional:
I pledge to continue to work with organizations and individuals and get them out of their comfort zones. I will not pretend to be an expert on race, but I can use my DEI and Change Management expertise to highlight the racial inequities in America. I can help open our collective eyes to the burden of our country’s past and present that we all must own and change. As in the last few months, I will continue to provide and facilitate a safe space that enables honest, candid, and yes, uncomfortable conversations about race in America and its impact in the workplace. I am thankful to those who have been willing to be open and vulnerable. We all have learned so much from each other!
My pledge as a parent:
I pledge to make my kids uncomfortable and have us learn, listen, and discuss together. I will instill that they have a responsibility as Jews, Americans, and white people to make this country more equitable and a better place for the marginalized.
When we are in a situation to travel again, I will take them to the places that I visited in the South. Just like the group of women learned, discussed, and cried together on our Civil Rights Journey, I will do the same with my family.
My pledge as a Jew:
I pledge to say their names. As a wise friend pointed out, saying their names is important. It shows they matter. I realized I was holding back because I did not want to show disrespect by leaving a name out. But then I was reminded of Yad Vashem and the Justice memorial. To walk in these masterful, respectful and beautifully intentional spaces and see the names of those we know perished, has a power and impact that is indescribable. It honors those we can document, and even those we cannot.
And so, when I go to Temple and say the Mourners Kaddish (the Jewish prayer that honors the deceased) for my father and for the six million Jews who perished in the Holocaust, I will also say:
Tamir Rice
Eric Garner
Javier Ambler
Manuel Ellis
Elijah McClain
Ahmaud Marquez Arbery
Breanna Taylor
George Floyd
How many more names will we be forced to say before we Americans reckon with our past and the way it has poisoned our present?