Distinguishing Performance From Action

Header art courtesy of the talented @shirien.creates

As voices swell around the world advocating for racial justice and Black liberation, I feel more hopeful about real change happening in regards to systemic racism than I have in years— since Trump got elected, to be exact. It’s exhilarating to see all the support for the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement, though disheartening to know that this wasn’t sparked from words and wokeness but rather from the tragic killings of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor, among so many others. While it is astonishing that so many people never deeply examined the racism in their own country before, I guess it’s better late than never at all.  

Social media is an incredibly powerful tool for spreading awareness and advocating. On Instagram, it’s fantastic to see so many users posting resources where people can re-educate themselves on American (and world) history, share statistics, talk about microagressions, sign petitions, and donate to racial justice organizations. I truly believe Instagram has been helpful in advocating for BLM and making people who were ignorant of the Black experience rethink their opinions, while also helping people eager to aid the cause connect with efficacious methods to do so.

However, Instagram is a deeply performative platform. It is social media, after all. And jaded as it may sound, I don’t truly believe that every single brand or person posting something about the movement has done so from a place of sincerity. For some, I think the motivation stems more so from a herd mentality of following the current buzz and fearing the appearance of intolerance.

That’s why I think that actions in this case are so much more important than words. This sounds like an obvious statement to make: of course actions speak louder than words. But I think it’s worth reiterating all the same. Because it takes 2 seconds to repost an Instagram story with an informative carousel of information. And while this is helpful in its knowledge-sharing way, it takes a lot more time and effort to do the real work of, for instance, rethinking biases in yourself and having conversations of the same aim with others.

Despite this fact, I’ve seen a lot of people on Instagram calling out their followers— either directly or indirectly— for not speaking out enough on the platform about BLM. I’ve gotten the impression that some people make snap judgements about others’ views on racism based on their Instagram activity! Which for me is a bit hallucinatory. And dangerous.

Has performance really become the main value of society?

I find it terrifying that people are judging other people’s opinions on racism based on their Instagram. Do I really need to prove the fact that I’m an anti-racist ally to everyone who follows me? And if so, is this not a bit narcissistic? The implication is that I should devote 10 minutes making sure that my hundreds of followers (most of whom probably don’t care) are aware of my personal thoughts on this matter, rather than devoting this time to something that is actually educational or beneficial.

Social media is extremely curated, so how can anyone understand anything significant about another’s beliefs based on their Instagram feed, without speaking to them?

For example, I donated to a racial justice organization, I just didn’t post about it. I signed multiple petitions demanding guilty officers be charged for Black murders, I just didn’t post about it. I had a conversation just last week with a Mexican friend about racism in the US, I just didn’t post about. My first response when I do these things isn’t to post about them on Instagram. I just feel weird about it for some reason. And while I totally respect and admire the people that are very active about antiracism on Instagram, it’s not a very intuitive method of expression for me.

While social media can and is a great platform for advocacy and spreading awareness, it’s also one dimensional. Consequently, I don’t think it’s fair to take an issue as deep and complex as racism and expect everyone to unpack it on their respective Instagram accounts. People are very different, and that means they all have different ways of responding to issues they care about.

My actions speak louder than my Instagram account ever could. Instagram doesn’t know that I’ve been an ally for years. Like when I’ve had conversations with older white family about their problematic views on poor people of color, teaching them about housing and education discrimination so they could see a different perspective. Like the various times I’ve sat in Black slam poetry readings and listened to spoken word about white oppression; although I felt ashamed of my skin color in that environment I kept going anyway because I knew it was important. Like how I took an African American history class in France as an exchange student and covered this horrifying, tragic history from an outsider’s perspective, feeling the disgust of my classmates the entire time.

Like how I cried and cried with a Black friend one night about the pain she deals with as a Black woman. How my college years were shaped by the close Black friendships I formed there, and the Black roommates I lived with. How I learned. Because I wasn’t always educated about Black issues, but through my friendships I changed and formed opinions. I learned about why confederate statues are painful, I learned about the disrespect of cultural appropriation, I learned about the politics of a Black woman’s hair and the pain she goes through growing up and having it straightened and covered and gawked at.

And I’ve learned more joyous things too. I’ve learned about Kirk Franklin, and soul food, and silk bonnets, and much more. In college I was blessed to discover the beauty of Black culture. It is a resilient, vibrant, gorgeous thing, but also a bruised and beaten thing.

I’m elated that the Black cause is picking up so many new supporters and voices. I hope things finally start to change for the better. Though I worry that this sudden surge of interest by the white community could lose steam in several months. This is why I wanted to explore my thoughts here on the big source of dialogue that is social media.

Because how are all these experiences, all these learning lessons, I just shared transferable to an Instagram post? If they are, I don’t have the tact to make the translation.

I don’t want those reading to think I’m drawing on past experiences as my own way of performance. I’m listing my experience to show that the real day to day work of connecting with people goes so much further than social media. It has the potential to go straight to the heart. And while I do believe that Instagram is a powerful method of contributing to the conversation, it should not be the only conversation, and we need to find a more sustainable way to keep the momentum of this movement going once brunch pictures outnumber BLM posts on Instagram. Because in the end what will change the daily reality of Black people in this country isn’t just symbolism and quotes and acknowledgment of solidarity. It’s bringing people from different backgrounds together. It’s changing the massive systems that govern how we live. Such as eliminating housing discrimination, giving more funding to education, allocating certain resources away from police departments, and creating better access to public health. As well as the individual work of supporting Black businesses, examining our own prejudices, and educating ourselves on the racism systemic in our society.

Resources

I know I can do much more to help the movement, which is why I am so inspired by the work advocates are doing and the people marching in the streets. Being in Lyon, France right now I can’t march with protestors, but there are things I can do to be of use, even in an individual way. And if anyone reading this is interested in resources to help, here are just a few ideas to get inspired:

1. Support organizations that empower the Black community, such as these two below.
   1. The Loveland Foundation provides Black women with access to mental health professionals and resources. To donate, click here.
   1. The Okra Project seeks to address the global crisis faced by Black Trans people by bringing them healthy, home-cooked, and culturally-specific meals to Black Trans people in need.  To donate, click here.
2. Sign Petitions
   1. Change.org is a great place to start, as you can find a cause that resonates with you.
3. Educate yourself
   1. Here is a super great, 6 minute informational video on housing segregation
   1. An article covering the basics of the historically significant Juneteenth.
   1. Listen to the NYT podcast 1619 wherever you stream podcasts, and read about the award-winning 1619 Project.
4. If, like me, reading is your thing, here are some of my favorite books by Black authors or about Black women:
   1. Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (a richly written story about the lives of two Nigerians and their experiences with the west that I couldn’t put down)
   1. Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston (lyrical prose that left me breathless)
   1. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot (a fascinating nonfiction account on how the cervical cancer cells of a Black women named Henrietta Lacks were used to create incredible advancements in polio vaccines, cancer research, gene mapping, in vitro fertilization, and more)
   1. The Help, by Kathryn Stockett (if you liked the movie, you have to read the book!)
   1. The Secret Life of Bees, by Sue Monk Kidd (the heartwarming and heartbreaking book that spurred my love for honey)
   1. An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones (As the writer in residence at Chapel Hill in 2019, I had the pleasure of meeting her and hearing her speak about his novel, which explores the marriage of a couple when the husband is falsely accused of the rape of a white woman)