Ever since starting my blog and research about vegan feminism and intersectionality in general, I’ve come across the topic of how racism intersects with other forms of oppression and how veganism is still seen as something invented by white people for white people (which is of course nonsense).
Not that I wasn’t aware of it before, but it painfully brought to my attention the topics that I wasn’t writing about on my blog. If I wanted it to be truly about intersectionality and complete liberation, I realised, I needed to talk about racism as well.
But like so many other white people, I felt too insecure and scared of saying something wrong, of being confronted with my own internalised racism. And like other survivors of childhood abuse, I felt an overwhelming sense of shame that paralysed me.
So what has changed since then, making me publish this? I don’t really know, but somehow the desire to open up about it and be seen in my flawed truth, my human imperfection, has become stronger than the fear and shame.
Recently I wrote a review for The Vegan Society about the Our Henhouse podcast, which has weekly interviews with vegan advocates from all kinds of professions and backgrounds (and which I can only recommend). I listened to a lot of inspiring people there, and one interview that really stood out to me was the one with Michelle Rojas-Soto, the managing director of Encompass (listen to it here).
Michelle and the host Jasmin talked about a training program offered by Encompass (the DEI Institute), which is all about empowering people of the global majority within the animal rights movement.
All of the interview was enlightening, but it really stood out to me when Jasmin perfectly described white people’s guilt and the helplessness they feel about allyship, by “desperately” turning to people of colour and crying “But what do we do?????”
Finally I understood why I had come across so many articles and comments by people of colour, getting angry about white persons who asked them for the answers of how to be a good ally. I always thought that it was the good intention that mattered, but now I see the absurdity of this role reversal – the ones in power feeling powerless and overwhelmed and expecting the oppressed to tell them what to do.
The contrast and seeming contradiction of this emotional helplessness and the social position of power are one of the many reasons why a trauma-informed awareness of intersectionality is so important. We can only understand this behaviour when we realise that privilege usually comes with emotional neglect (which doesn’t excuse anything!).
The fact is that privileged people don’t learn about oppression, because they don’t experience it. Sadly most parents don’t make their children aware of any social injustices, because they have no awareness themselves or make the mistake of believing that not making their children aware of it, will protect them from it (the opposite is true).
My point is that this harms children. If you are in an oppressed group, then obviously knowledge is power. But even when you are on the privileged side, not knowing what harm you contribute to, harms you as well (obviously this should never be compared to the harm that victims experience). You are kept from growing as a person. You are kept from fulfilling your potential. You run the danger of becoming abusive. You are restricted in your humanity.
And if you do become aware of it, you have no internal resources for dealing with it. Because this shit society/the kyriarchy really doesn’t want you to be an ally. It wants everything to remain as it is. So your discomfort plays into their hands.
Therefore privileged people who have an awakening and want to become an ally are thrown back developmentally to a stage of emotional childhood – the stage where someone SHOULD have told them about systems of oppression and what to do about them.
Which means that the most important thing for allies is the internal work. They need to empower themselves on the inside. This is what I discussed last week in my interview with vegan film maker and author Emma Schwarz – if you don’t feel comfortable, if you don’t know your triggers and what makes you feel good, you won’t be a good activist. You need to help yourself, before you can help others (cue the air plane oxygen masks metaphor!).
But the problem is, of course, that privileged people have the luxury of not needing to be an ally. There will be no social repercussions if they choose to ignore oppression for all their life. To have this choice is a prime example of privilege. Because victims of oppression can never ignore or forget their oppression.
After listening to the interview with Michelle, I went on to read some of the essays written by participants of the DEI Institute (find them here). And these made me want to write my own essay.
It was the experience that in my heart I knew I had needed all along: To see other white people make themselves vulnerable and talk about what made them feel uncomfortable, how they wanted to be an ally, but these were the things holding them back. Not excuses, defensiveness, or hypocrisy, but raw, honest authenticity and a commitment to accountability.
This was the match that started the fire and made me feel like I could do this as well. I felt like I didn’t have to be perfect, to know what to do; no, I could just show up as I was. And the wonderful thing is, that when we do that, we can be an inspiration to others, who feel similarly.
So this is me taking that first step, which is the hardest – saying “I want to be an ally, but I have absolutely no idea how to do that.” I am aware of some of my internalised racism, I am aware that there’s a lot that I’m not aware of at all, and I am aware of how that internalised racism intersects with my personal trauma history, which makes things extremely complex and partly dangerous to tackle them.
But I am committed to doing this work, because I care. And I know I will fall back into “I don’t have the space for this work right now, I have too many struggles of my own” and then beating myself up for it. The hardest part is holding your own shame and self-blame with compassion. It’s a work in progress.
And it’s hard to see yourself making the same mistakes in your privileged identity that you see others make and that infuriate you in your oppressed identity. For example, I cringe at the similarity between my helplessness at allyship as a white person and the same thing in some men being clueless about how to be a feminist ally.
On the positive side, this awareness helps with empathy in all directions.
So what do I do now? I will listen and I will continue to be open about my own internal work. I'm already experiencing how educating myself is nurturing my growth. Watching Syl Ko's presentation "On Black Veganism"was absolutely mind-blowing (watch it here).
And I want to use my privilege, my space, to share the voices of others - as Claudia Rankine wrote in her essay about asking white men about their privilege (read it here), "space itself is one of the understood privileges of whiteness", and I've become hyper-aware of how true this is for all forms of privilege (especially as a homeless woman).
I’ll end with a quote by Aryenish Birdie, the founder of Encompass, which really touched me:
“The thing is, for white folks, facing white supremacy is extremely uncomfortable. But it is those times when you are most uncomfortable that you know you’re doing the difficult work of facing and fighting white supremacy.
So if you are a white person and you’re reading this, and in your heart you truly want to do racial equity work, you are welcome here.”
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