Rebecca Burrell

How Can I Use My Privilege to Make Change?

Posted by Rebecca Burrell, May 24, 2016 0 comments


Rebecca Burrell

I’m a white person who is consistently grappling with my assumptions and privilege. For those of us who hold power, making institutional change is a humbling, confusing, unbelievably nuanced, and sometimes it’s even a scary process. It aggravates my Imposter Syndrome and I would be lying if I said I’m doing anything more than fumbling my way through this.

And yet, working toward racial equity feels like the most important thing I can do.

I believe that equity statements are vital tools for beginning this work. Publicly stating the intentions to which your organization wants to be held accountable is a brave thing. But it’s each individual’s personal commitment that turns the statement into action; that makes it real.

Each one of us who is already working in the arts field has a unique role to play in this sector-wide transformation. So, how can we use our power for good?

I’m a young professional working in an organization where I have no explicit authority, so I have had to be really thoughtful about identifying the source of my power. In addition to seeking out any conceivable equity trainings (that is a given), my first steps have looked something like this:

  • I examined what commitment looks like. White folks working in the institutional world are generally in the privileged position of being able to choose when we want to think about race. But equity isn’t a jacket you can take on and off. Commitment to this work requires a complete transformation of how you think and exist in the world, or you’re merely a tourist hanging out in the fakequity zone. Is racial equity something I only want to address when it’s convenient?
  • I asked for a seat at the table. I thought I could contribute meaningfully to the equity committee at my organization, but it was comprised entirely of department managers. Even though I’m not a manager, I put in a request to join the committee. It turns out that that barrier was only imagined. My presence prompted a greater conversation about committee membership, and this paved the way for other non-managers to be involved.
    Once at the table, I also had to learn to be bold enough to speak up when something mattered to me. In our polite administrative world (maybe especially on the West Coast) we—still, inexplicably—continue to avoid change by not calling out the elephants in the room. This is an easy thing that I can do out of love for our collective success, and not out of a desire to shame anyone. (I recommend reading this recent blog post about the wrong and right way to call someone out, or in.)
  • Better yet—I created my own table. The Portland arts community was lacking a community-wide conversation about racial equity. While convening this kind of conversation didn’t make sense in the scope of my day job, I helped to form an emerging arts leader network for Portland (PEAL), which gave me a platform to do so. In partnership with Candace Kita and several other brilliant PEAL members, we hosted our first session on equity this March, which attracted attention and participation from folks at all stages in their arts careers, and even a few folks from other sectors, and there will be more sessions to come, with a focus on hiring practices. (Check out the summary of the conversation here.)
     
  • I’m working to create better hiring practices at my organization. I’ve become obsessed with hiring practices because I’ve seen what great change it can prompt within an organization, and it’s sometimes the easiest thing we can do to make a big difference. It also means that any of us who are part of hiring panels can become radical advocates for diversity.
  • I’m learning to recognize when I need to make space for others. At the end of the day, equity work is really not about me. At all. It’s about how I can use my position to make things a little bit better for people who haven’t benefited from our system in the way that I have.
    And as a white person, there are distinct limits to where and how I can advocate for communities of color. I need to continually gauge when it’s appropriate to step aside entirely and let someone else lead or speak.

Of course, this work will never be done, so I continue to add to this list new opportunities to educate myself, to speak up, to ask for help, to be open to feedback, to create new policies, and to encourage other white people to examine their assumptions.

How will you use your privilege to make change?

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