BECOMING AND FOSTERING ALLIES AND ACCOMPLICES THROUGH AUTHENTIC RELATIONSHIPS: CHOOSING JUSTICE OVER COMFORT

Abstract

This reflective case study explores the ongoing process of developing and fostering allies and accomplices across privilege, considering how individual and systemic levels interact within interpersonal relationships. Using our longstanding relationships, we highlight key conceptual, relational, and emotional processes and strategies involved in ally and accomplice development. We consider the essential roles of self-reflection, cultural humility, action, and re-engagement after disconnections; and explore the rewards of building authentic relationships across difference, including the ability to work across difference to contribute to dismantling systems of oppression.

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Those of us who know the joy of being with folks from all walks of life, from all races, who are fundamentally anti-racist in their habits of being, need to give public testimony. We need to share not only what we have experienced but the conditions of chnge that made such an experience possible. (Hooks, 1995, p. 271)

The following article was originally drafted in 2018/19 based on a series of panel discussions from 2016 following the US presidential election. In that earlier moment, we hoped to deepen our own and others’ ongoing journey striving for consistent anti-racism in our “habits of being” through our “public testimony.” As we returned to this manuscript in the context of the current (2020) uprisings, we recognized that even in the short time since our original draft we have grown in our understandings and our action. And we recognized that if we had drafted this manuscript now, in this moment, we might have emphasized additional frameworks, or added depth in some places more than others, or highlighted issues such as anti-Black police violence. We struggled with whether to re-work and reframe to situate our manuscript in the present (2020). Ultimately, we decided to edit our introduction and conclusion and make minor identified changes in the main text to reflect the present moment. In all other ways, however, we chose to honor the original context that shaped our writing, to share a moment in our developmental journey. We offer these reflections now as we and so many others are seeking to further change and development in the hopes they illuminate some of the complexities and benefits of the emotional, cognitive, relational work that can support and catalyze meaningful, sustained transformation in our collective path toward dismantling white supremacy and enacting justice reflecting bell hooks’ vision of “beloved community” (Hooks, 1995).

We are, right now, in a period of social awakening and activation, where a growing number of people are seeking resources to learn more, seeking ways to protest and stand with Black activists and other activists of color who have been fighting for racial justice for decades. Simultaneously, history tells us that long-term systemic change to address white supremacy (e.g., Smith, 2020) is not sustained simply by activation and momentary awakening. Systemic change requires a vision of possibility and wide-spread personal commitment to that vision in order to sustain demands for systemic change. Thus, it is equally important that in this political moment, we are also witnessing a renewed attention to the revolutionary foundational vision of justice created in earlier calls by Black feminists and other feminists of color (e.g., Anzaldúa, 2002; Combahee River Collective, 1977; Hooks, 1995; Lorde, 2012). This vision urges us to transcend colorblind racial attitudes and move beyond an ahistorical celebration of diversity as multiculturalism and “equal access.” This vision offers us a possibility of justice rooted in love, love that is “a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect, and trust” (Hooks, 2002, p. 88). In this vision, there is a possibility to come together in a beloved community in which justice and equity are shared values we collectively strive and take action for, living the knowledge that none of us are free until all of us are free. But how do we realize or move toward this possibility? How do we sustain our awakening and transform our activation into ongoing commitment to take action for justice? How do we sustain beyond this moment, even, and especially, when we begin to see how very difficult change is?

One path is through personal transformation and change. As clinical psychologists, we understand that such personal transformation is an ongoing, developmental, nonlinear process that evolves over time and across contexts and includes apparent setbacks, repeated lessons, and continual effort. The ubiquity and embeddedness of white supremacy in our institutions and our socialization (including in disciplines such as psychology, human development, and education) make an ongoing engaged process of transformation particularly necessary to stay on the path to liberation and justice (Bellamy et al., 2020). For us, one way of engaging in and sustaining this ongoing process of growth, transformation, and action is through the development and maintenance of authentic relationships across difference. Experiencing authentic intimacy motivates and feeds our social justice awareness and action, while anti-racist learning and action feeds the possibility of authentic intimacy even across painful structural inequity that can naturally divide us. There are great rewards. But it is not easy.

Our goal here is to explicate the messy, often painful, relational processes foundational to ally and accomplice development, as well as related rewards and challenges for personal transformation and potentials for contributing to social justice change. Given discussion about terminology that has emerged over the time since we first engaged in these panel discussions, we want to first address our language. Many activists have highlighted the ways that the term “ally” fails to encompass the risk of standing actively in opposition to supremacist systems, and have advocated for the language of “accomplices” that would re-focus our attention to challenging systemic/institutional oppression, not only in interpersonal interactions but also in its institutionalized instantiations (e.g., Powell & Kelly, 2017). Developmental models have posited that allyship or allied behavior may be a step toward being an accomplice (https://www.whiteaccomplices.org/), providing foundation of awareness and action that seeks to avoid reifying harm and oppression. This foundation can support the risk-taking of more systemically oriented action as an accomplice. As we describe, our understanding of ally inherently incorporates action and personal risk-taking; we differentiate between actual ally behavior and performative allyship. Simultaneously, we appreciate the ways the term “accomplice” (or coconspirator; Love, 2019) highlights the problematic aspects of performative allyship or ally identity, counters the coopting of the term ally that has come to be used more ornamentally, and calls for greater focus on shared risk and systemic change. We also appreciate Lewis’s (2020) recent encouragement to reduce our back and forth over the terms we use and focus instead on what we mean when we describe work focused on solidarity, justice, and liberation. In that spirit, we explain our meaning of “ally,” and use this term to emphasize the internal, relational work that we have found to be an important part of developing our ability to form coalitions, take risks, and dismantle systems of oppression, while also using accomplice at times to explicitly emphasize the role of challenges to institutions and systems.

We begin below with a condensed review of the literature on ally development, to situate the central dialogue within the research and theory that has shaped our understandings and approach. We then briefly present our own positionalities in relation to social identities that reflect systems of power. The central part of this article is a dialogue between the three senior authors (Karen, Roxanne, and Liz) moderated by Alissa, that autoethnographically builds upon Karen and Alissa’s empirical examination of the development of allies (Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020) using our own lived experiences of developing and fostering ally behavior across differences in power. We engage the experiences and perspectives of both the developing ally and their relational counterpart occupying an oppressed status, the latter of which is often omitted in discussions of ally and accomplice development.

In this article, we have made mindful decisions related to structure. We intentionally engage the tensions inherent in intersectionality research of working within versus disrupting dominant knowledge structures (Warner et al., 2018). Although we present an initial brief literature as foundation, we then step away from the traditional approach of presenting “data” and didactically thematically analyzing it with embedded scholarly references. Instead, we invite the reader into our relational dialogue, and our developmental, relational, and emotional trajectory. By presenting our internal thoughts and interpersonal interactions without analytic interruption, we aim to hold the emotional, relational, and reflective space. We also seek to disrupt the privileged empirical post-positivist norm, inviting the reader to consider how personal experience is also epistemologically valid, drawing on the methodology of evocative autoethnography.

In sharing our own observations, processing, and mistakes as two Women of Color and two White women, we are not prescribing. We understand that there are multiple perspectives and relational development paths and that the dynamics and ways of relating that have been meaningful in our particular journeys are only one example of multiple pathways to justice. We are also not positioning ourselves as experts. We share our experiences here with humility and awareness that we are still (and will always be) in an ongoing process of growth and understanding, continually making mistakes and (un)learning. We therefore bring some fear and trepidation to this “public testimony,” as we know that even in this article it is likely we will make mistakes and have blind spots and areas in which we get caught up in our pain and our own socialization, and fail to fully see or understand. We hope the reader will bear with us as we engage in this vital “learn[ing] in public” (Keane, 2018), and might take from our sharing something that may be of use during these urgent times in finding ways to make meaningful connections to help to sustain the necessary work before us.

Ally Development Theory and Research

Early writers such as Ayvazian (1995) defined the word “allies” as people in privileged positions who take action to challenge or undermine the systems of privilege from which they benefit. As Avayzian states, “Allied behavior is intentional, overt, consistent activity that challenges prevailing patterns of oppression, makes privileges that are so often invisible visible, and facilitates the empowerment of persons targeted by oppression” (Ayvazian, 1995, p. 138). It is not enough to simply understand or enumerate one’s privileges (Lensmire et al., 2013). Allied behavior requires action against oppression. The centering of consistent action and activity means “ally” is not an identity: one is not characterologically an ally, nor does one ever achieve a stable identity as an ally. Instead, ally is an ongoing developmental process of conscientization, empathy, perspective taking, and action rooted in care. Genuine ally development is a foundation for challenging the existence and effects of oppression that may further develop into the ability to act as an effective accomplice, taking greater risks in actions oriented toward systemic as well as relational action (https://www.whiteaccomplices.org/).

Ally development theory and research suggest that the foundations of effective allied behavior include a comprehensive understanding of systemic oppression and privilege, the impact of systemic oppression on people experiencing marginalization (Caldwell & Vera, 2010; Reason et al., 2005b; Smith & Redington, 2010; Thomann & Suyemoto, 2018), and awareness of the ally’s own personal positionality within the system (Bailey, 1998; Clark, 2010; Edwards, 2006; Reason et al., 2005a, 2005b; Washington & Evans, 1991). An understanding of the system includes understanding the concepts of oppression and privilege, the ways they are embedded into our cultural institutions (e.g., education or health care), the historical experiences and related contemporary legacies of those in the oppressed status, and the lived experiences of oppression and privilege today. Ally development also requires understanding how one’s own life has been shaped by the system in ways that offer unearned benefits, and awareness of how one either maintains the system or has the power to act against it (Duhigg et al., 2010; Getz & Kirkley, 2003; Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020); it requires an understanding of personal positionality that goes beyond simply naming identities.

In relation to race, for example, White people seeking to be allies need to develop awareness of their own race and the powerful role race plays in all aspects of life in U.S. society, the privileges they have, and the ways that those privileges relate to their complicity in maintaining oppression and their responsibility for resisting and challenging racism (Rowe et al., 1994; Thomann & Suyemoto, 2018). Understandings about systematic racism and one’s own positionality include interpersonal empathy as well. For example, White people must develop empathy for the pain racism causes People of Color (PoC; Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020). Similarly, awareness is necessary among PoC who seek to be allies across relative or ascribed racial privilege. Essential awareness includes recognizing the complicated ways that racial oppression and white supremacy differently impact each racialized group and acknowledging the ways that one may have relative privilege based on their racial affiliation (Tawa et al., 2013) or other intersectional statuses within groups (e.g., nativity privilege within racialized groups; Suyemoto & Donovan, 2015). Imperative to this awareness is an understanding of how the dominant group ascribes relative privilege to different groups of PoC to foster divide and conquer approaches. Such differential privileging encourages internalization of racism against one’s own racial group and discrimination against other groups of PoC that prevents solidarity. PoC invested in cross-race allyship must also develop empathy for the experiences of racism that are unique to other racialized groups and the ways oppression is enacted intersectionally (Suyemoto & Donovan, 2015; Vasquez & Magraw, 2005).

As mentioned, alongside understanding systemic injustice, taking action is critical to being an ally or accomplice (e.g., Asta & Vacha-Haase, 2013; Ayvazian, 1995; Case, 2012; DiStefano et al., 2000; Mio & Roades, 2003; Reynolds, 2010; Washington & Evans, 1991). Action can take different forms including public activism such as protests, petitions, and rallies; supporting people who experience marginalization; and working with privileged people to foster ally understanding and action (Asta & Vacha-Haase, 2013; Case, 2012; Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020). Research findings have emphasized that working with people in both spaces, privilege and marginalization, is essential (Asta & Vacha-Haase, 2013; Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020). While examined primarily in relation to White people needing to take action to address White racist attitudes, and actions, ally action also relates to relations between PoC from different racialized groups, as in recent calls for Asian Americans to address anti-Blackness within Asian American people and communities.

Relationships are central to each aspect of developing and acting as an ally. Social justice is related not only to practical resources but also to procedural and relational justice (Prilleltensky, 2012). People are often drawn to social justice work because family or role models instilled it as a value and/or a relationship with a person experiencing marginalization opened their eyes to injustice (Caldwell & Vera, 2010; Munin & Speight, 2010; Russell, 2011; Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020; Thomann & Suyemoto, 2018). Relational interactions are also central to developing awareness of systemic oppression and one’s own role in the system. For example, participants from four studies identified processing new learning with others as important to developing more awareness about oppression they did not experience and their own privilege (Broido, 2000; Caldwell & Vera, 2010; Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020; Thomann & Suyemoto, 2018). Actions that people take from an allied position are inherently relational, as people work to support, amplify, and advance others experiencing marginalization and foster understanding or awareness in people with privilege. Researchers have also found that people may need to be invited to engage in ally action to start (Broido, 2000; Case, 2012; Reason et al., 2005a). A support system of like-minded peers can help sustain continued engagement in action and provides individuals with a space to process mistakes so they may act as more effective allies in the future (Suyemoto & Hochman, 2020). Finally, building authentic relationships across difference is itself an action that resists the systemic oppression that inherently divides people to maintain power for some and not others (Reynolds, 2010; Tawa et al., 2013).

The research described above indicates that effective ally development and action must also be inherently intersectional, meaning attending to the ways that systems of privilege and oppression interact, such that experience is complicated not only by potentially additive effects, but also by the ways that the intersectional experience of, for example, a Black woman has aspects that are essentially qualitatively different than Black men or White women (Crenshaw, 2017). This does not mean that we must always consider all identities and oppressions simultaneously and with equal emphasis (which we see as an impossible task). It does not mean that we can never focus our attention or lens primarily on one system of oppression (e.g., race rather than class), or on a primary experience within a system (e.g., anti-Blackness rather than racism writ large). Similarly, intersectionality does not mean that we must always consider in depth the influences and meanings at all levels of power as well as their complex and extensive interactions. It does not mean we can never focus our analysis primarily on interpersonal interactions (as psychologists tend to do) or cultural analysis (as anthropologists tend to do). We can (as we do here) have a relative focus on race, racism, and interpersonal interactions. However, an intersectional analysis does mean that we need to actively engage the core ideas of intersectional frameworks as we do this.

In considering the relational development of allies, this means centering power and privilege in action, rather than seeing identity categories as determining or monolithic. It means engaging the complexity of relational power and privilege, because most people are not wholly oppressed or wholly privileged. It means centering the ways people maintain or resist social inequality within and through relationships, considering the ways interpersonal relationships are shaped by cultural and structural power, and addressing the ways relationships foster the maintenance of oppression or can be the means to resist power at these other levels. Even in approaching the writing of this paper, we are engaging multiple levels of power. We are aware that we are stepping out of the disciplinary (pun intended—the discipline of psychology and the ways that academia imposes narrow epistemology through disciplining/punishing or privileging specific kinds of approaches) norm of academic writing by offering a subjective and interpersonal dialogue. We also see this approach as part of our intersectional praxis, emphasizing relational (inter)actions and attempting to bridge the personal and political, the scholarly and the activist, the (inter)personal and systemic.

This praxis also involves our awareness of the connections between who we are as individuals (in relation) and who we are as psychologists and educators. In this article, we speak about our personal relationships, relationships that initially emerged and continue both within the context of professional settings, structures, and expectations and outside these settings. A part of our relational development as allies and as fostering allies relates to our own commitments to modeling for our students and psychology trainees the critical inquiry and praxis that is central to being anti-racist, to being better educators and practitioners because we have a greater understanding of power, privilege, oppression, and resistance that is fostered through authentic relationships across privilege.

Assumptions and Positionality

This paper is not only a dialogue amongst us but also an interaction between us and you, as readers. Thus, we begin with some assumptions that we hold about readers. We are working from an assumption that readers believe racism and systemic oppression are real: we are not going to present the argument for the existence and negative effects of racism. We assume most readers are well-intentioned and value diversity, equity, and social justice. We also know that even with good intentions, engaging issues of privilege can be painful, perhaps particularly at this socio-political moment, when emotions are running high and material consequences are so in focus. We acknowledge that racism is not the only kind of oppression or marginalization and that racial identity and the system of racism intersect with other systems of oppression. We also acknowledge that racism writ large is related to but different than anti-Blackness, and resistance to both (together and differentiated) is necessary to achieve racial justice. We focus particularly on race because it is central in our relational development across privilege, and a relative focus allows us to discuss complexities in depth. We are also aware that it can be particularly difficult to engage one’s areas of privilege when one is caught in the pain of one’s own oppression.

A central foundation of ally development is that positionality matters. We therefore always start our panels with introducing some of our identities, although we recognize that such naming cannot capture the complexity of our intersectional experiences.

Liz: I identify as a White cisgender, heterosexual woman and am married to a cisgender man. Thus, I experience privilege with regard to race, sexual orientation, and gender identity, in addition to experiencing sexism. I also have a privileged economic and educational background: I come from a middle to upper middle class background, and both of my parents received PhDs. I do not have any known disabilities. I identify ethnically as eastern European American and Jewish and religiously as Buddhist. I also have the privilege of U.S. citizenship. Even within our shared privilege as academics, I have additional relative privilege in that I have historically studied areas that are more centered in the discipline of psychology.

Alissa: I identify as a White, European-American, cisgender woman, and I am married to a cisgender man. I grew up middle class with some experiences of suburban poverty. I do not currently identify as having any disabilities, but my life has been shaped by experiences of familial major mental illness. I was raised Jewish, which played a significant role in fostering my value of social justice. I hold U.S. citizenship privilege.

Roxanne: I am a Black-identified cis-woman of multiracial descent (Black, Asian, White). My Black identification is tricky since I am oftentimes perceived as Latinx. When I was young and trying to fit into U.S. predefined racialized boxes of the time, multiracial was not an option, so the naming is an evolving process for me. I am an immigrant, born and raised until the age of eight in Guyana, a British colonized English-speaking country considered part of the Caribbean despite its location on the northern tip of South America. I have U.S. citizenship and education privilege. I currently have class privilege, although my family experienced financial and food insecurity in our early years in the U.S. I am married to a White heterosexual cis-man from the Midwest. Our partnership conveys heterosexual privilege. We have two children. I am able-bodied. Serious mental illness is a part of my family story.

Karen: I identify as a queer multiracial Asian American woman (Asian and White), a Person of Color. Ethnically, I identify as Japanese European American. I was born and raised in the U.S. in the northeast and particularly at this moment am very aware of the privileges I have in relation to citizenship, immigration, and nativity. I identify as pansexual. However, I have heterosexual privilege in my life because I’m married to a straight, cisgender White man. My class background is middle class, complicated by the intergenerational legacy of the Japanese American WWII camps, and the fact that my mother grew up in extreme poverty in southern Texas. I have significant current class privilege. I am currently abled, although my development has been shaped by personal and familial experiences with psychological disability and mental illness.

An important contextual piece of shared positionality is the privilege we have as psychologists, including our ability to share our perspectives through a published journal article and the ways that context shapes this particular dialogue. Furthermore, our emphasis on relational processes makes the contextual aspects of our relationships relevant: Karen and Liz have been faculty colleagues at the University of Massachusetts Boston (UMB) since 2000. Roxanne joined the UMB faculty in 2004. Roxanne and Karen continued to collaborate and write about social justice after Roxanne left UMB for Kennesaw State University in 2007. Liz and Roxanne reconnected when the four of us came together for this ally development work. Alissa is a recent graduate from the UMB clinical psychology doctoral program: Karen was her doctoral mentor and Liz was her clinical supervisor. Liz and Alissa have also supported each other’s development as White allies. Roxanne and Alissa know each other through this joint work.

Perspectives on the Relational Meaning of Ally

“To act as an ally is to be willing to choose justice over comfort.” _(KLS)

Alissa:

Focusing on the relational aspect of allyship, could the three of you share the negotiations that happen internally and externally? What does having an ally, acting as an ally, and fostering an ally mean to you? Although I’m asking you to pick these pieces up separately for clarity’s sake, we know these concepts are really inseparable, as the privilege and oppression we experience is always shifting based on the context and the people with whom we interact.

Karen:

At its base, for me, to act as an ally is to be willing to choose justice over comfort. This, for me, is the central foundation because existing in systems that are oppressive can’t be comfortable. There’s no way to not be caught in it, so you are either “comfortable” because you are denying it, which is an option only easily available to those who are privileged, or you are struggling against it, which is painful from privileged and oppressed spaces. Practically and relationally, allied behavior requires continuously working to see what is invisible, to understand the difference between intention and effect, to be willing to value the perspective of others and to truly listen, even when what is being said is unknown or counterintuitive, or even painful.

Having an ally means having someone who has my back, someone I can count on to struggle with me against oppression. You’re struggling with me interpersonally, negotiating the systemic issues that inevitably unfold between us, and you’re struggling with me systemically, by my side. The struggle exists whether I am oppressed in relation to you or whether I am privileged. But of course, the struggle is different depending on one’s position. This difference is often glossed over, but an ally understands that the risk and the cost is much more severe for the person who is oppressed and an ally is willing to negotiate that actively, consistently, and constantly in our relationship and beyond. Just as importantly, an ally will struggle for the same justice, even when I’m not there. They’re not doing it for me, but because it is the right thing to do, because of their own integrity. It’s not an abstract thing, it’s an action thing, a personal thing. Lately, though, I have also been aware that my meaning of an ally or accomplice is not only someone who shares and works toward similar justice goals, that there is also an authentic love that is also part of our commitment and relational integrity. This level of ally or accomplice that we are talking about here entails a deep personal trust.

When it’s a cross-oppression ally, like with Roxanne, it’s still about struggle and trust, but it’s also different because the privilege we have relative to each other is within the system of white supremacy. It is ascribed privilege: neither of us is in the position of holding the power of the privileged group. So with someone who is oppressed “like me” (e.g., oppressed by racism as a PoC) while simultaneously oppressed “not like me” (because Black people and Asian American people have very different experiences of racism), an ally is also someone who will relationally push back, somebody who will push my growth and point out my blind spots, who will remind me that I have spaces that are privileged as well as oppressed, and that privilege is really complicated and contextual, sometimes relative, sometimes ascribed, and always intersectional.

Liz:

I want to acknowledge that “ally” is not a position I hold or any expertise that I embody. Even the word ally or the term “allyship” is difficult because it implies a fixed identity, rather than a constantly evolving, dynamic process. For me, this work involves having a strong intention to turn toward and clearly see the reality of oppressive systems that I benefit from as a White person (and in other areas that I have privilege), and to take action based on that awareness that will serve to dismantle those systems, in whatever ways I am able. I recently heard Brittany Packnett (Cunningham) encourage people to “spend their privilege” – I like that phrasing to think about the ways that I might use privilege that I didn’t earn to work toward justice and equity. In practice, this means that I try to engage in allied behavior in a variety of different ways, both relationally and systemically.

My experience of trying to be an ally is that I am always making mistakes and trying to come back from those with the intention to see more clearly and act for justice more effectively (and to repair those mistakes relationally when I can). It is an ongoing process, not a static identity. Also, I have learned that sometimes a response that was experienced as ally behavior by one person isn’t received the same way by someone else, or in a different context or time. So, acting as an ally often means understanding the specific contextual experience for a particular person and relationship. And also means acting when I don’t have that knowledge; or learning that my understanding still led to problematic actions that I need to repair and change. Trying to act as an ally involves tolerating complexity and apparent contradiction.

One example is making space, not taking space, such as not assuming that I, in my privileged position, would be the one to define ally behaviors. In fact, I find myself uncomfortable trying to define ally here. At the same time, speaking up can also be an important action, particularly with others who have privilege. So sometimes, like contributing to this article, my attempts at being an ally involve stepping forward instead of back. One way that I may be able to engage in dismantling systemic oppression is by sharing my own fumbling experiences of trying to be an ally, in the hopes that my mistakes and my learning may benefit people with privilege who want to step into ally intention and action. Because awareness alone isn’t sufficient – these systems are so pervasive that we all need to engage in action in order to create the just, equitable society that we deserve.

Roxanne:

Acting as an ally, having ally intentions, for me means doing the hard work of making our society more just from my (your) place of privilege. Seeking to be an ally is a journey without a defined destination. There’s no ally badge to earn. It’s always a work in progress. Sometimes I am my best self on this ally journey, many times I’m not. I try hard to learn from my mistakes and do better next time. This work is more than wearing a pin or sporting a T-shirt with a catchy slogan. That’s the easy part. I’ve encountered a lot of so-called allies whose work starts and stops with these fashion choices. I call this “ornamental allyship.” Actual ally behavior is very different. It’s about being in the slog of unlearning deeply imbedded societal messages about privilege and power. It’s about being vulnerable, accepting missteps, seeking knowledge, expressing cultural humility, and, most of all, taking the risk to challenge injustice (and to promote justice) through action, even when you’d rather not make waves or are scared of blowback, of doing it wrong, of being called out. It’s about showing up and sitting in the pain of another’s oppression without making it about your pain or your need to be taken care of.

Personally, having an ally means not having to carry the weight of challenging oppression by myself, especially when I’m The Only. When I don’t have an ally, I feel caught between the cost of speaking up and the cost of remaining silent, both of which exact a hefty toll. Having allies means I can breathe, I can look to someone else to speak up knowing that their privilege protects them from paying the same price as I would. Having an ally means I can be my full(ish) authentic self, I can have genuine responses to oppression, whether that be crying or raging, versus stuffing my pain out of view in order to perform in this particular way so that I’m heard (maybe), so that I’m seen (maybe).

For all the benefits, getting to the point where I experience someone as a true ally is hard. I often look at potential allies and think, “Can I trust you really?” When I’m being generous, I can see that the system creates the barriers to authentic connection. But I can’t always be generous, particularly if I’m in pain. It’s like, “Okay, you’re with me now, but what will I do if you make some huge mistake? Or let me down? Or don’t show up when needed? Will that barrier, that huge wall that protects my heart, go up again? Will I be able to come back and rebuild?” It’s a constant questioning of the privileged person and of myself.

Alissa:

What I’m hearing from each of you is the sense that being an ally is a constant, ongoing journey and that someone who hopes to be experienced as an ally needs to be working both to understand the oppression they don’t experience and to actually do something about that oppression. It’s important to sit with and not push away that learning even when it’s uncomfortable or hard.

You have all also emphasized risk-taking. That people with privilege, while they are taking risks, are ultimately taking less risky risks than someone oppressed doing the same thing. Risk also comes up in relation to fostering allies and having allies because it involves trying to trust that someone is willing to learn and stick with you, knowing that if they don’t show up it will be a real let-down, maybe even more painful than if you hadn’t taken a chance on them in the first place. That’s something I’m going to hold on to when I’m trying to act as an ally: that however uncomfortable it feels, I have so much less to lose, and that someone opening up to me or asking of me, or even getting upset with me and calling me out, is truly a gift of trust and belief.

Taking the Risk of Trust and Vulnerability

“Giving the gift of possible change.” _(RAD)

Alissa:

This work is not easy, and I think sometimes people avoid it because they are afraid or it feels too risky. I’m wondering if you could share some lessons you’ve learned and experiences you’ve had about navigating the risks, of trying to negotiate being, having, and fostering allies, and what you’ve taken away from being in that process together.

Relationally Negotiating Racial Privilege and Oppression

Liz:

When I started as faculty, I thought of myself as someone with a commitment to social justice, and I think I would have described myself as understanding racism as both interpersonal and systemic. Looking back, I think the second part wasn’t particularly true. My understanding of racism was more that it’s important to me not to be racist, and I would stand against someone who was being racist in some obvious interpersonal way. But I was really, really not seeing the layers upon layers (some of which I see now, some of which I still lose sight of or don’t see). I had this wonderful new colleague (Karen), and at some moment after a department meeting, we started a conversation in the mail room, like one does, in which we were talking about privilege. I thought, in the midst of my own White privilege (which I didn’t realize at the time), it would be really helpful if I shared with Karen my thought that the word “privilege” might make people feel bad, and I wondered if we should use another word so that people wouldn’t be so defensive (it’s really so mortifying to recall). I (now) have a lot of theoretical things I could tell you about defending White fragility and why I said that, but I said that. Karen, for whatever reason, made the choice to give me what Roxanne calls “the gift of possible change.” So Karen and I spent what seems in my memory to be three or four hours discussing this. At some point we were sitting on the floor. [Karen: Not in the mail room.] Not in the mail room, no. There was a moment that it became clear we should perhaps move into an office and close the door. Over the course of this conversation, Karen explained why my feelings or the feelings and comfort of White people with privilege were perhaps not the central concern when talking about or addressing racism.Before this conversation, I didn’t understand how much my perspective was inside my narrow experience, which I was socialized to see as an important source of information on something I knew nothing about because of White privilege. So, that was extremely humbling and extremely important, and really helped me to shift into a space of learning and of not knowing, and to really start to see the endless ways that my privilege shields me from the pain of oppression. I have to be engaged in a really active process of looking for the reality of oppression, all the time. I need to be intentional about making sure I’m exposed to less biased, less White-centered information. I try to continually ask myself what perspectives are being left out and ignored, and recognize that my first reactions may often be the product of my socialization to center Whiteness, or to defend myself, so I have to question them.But, it doesn’t feel good because, as a person with privilege (as a White person in the case of race), I know I’m missing things, and I also know that inaction is complicity. So, you have to act anyway, even as you continue to try to know and see more clearly all the time, and that’s terrifying. I don’t love telling that particular story [about the word privilege]. I don’t love going back to that moment, but that moment is essential. As sorry as I am that Karen had to have that conversation with me, if I hadn’t taken a risk to be talking to her, I might still be continuing to think that I had some relevant insight that people shouldn’t use the word privilege because it might make other people feel bad, as opposed to learning that my expectation that I shouldn’t feel bad about oppression and injustice was the problem to be addressed.It’s an uncomfortable process, especially if you’ve been raised in this biased society that makes you (as a White person, as a person with privilege) think that your opinion is valid information about everything, even when you don’t have experiences or education on that topic. It has been extremely challenging for me to see the ways that I’m part of maintaining systems of oppression and part of causing pain. Thoughts will arise like “No, I didn’t do that” or “I didn’t mean that” or “It wasn’t really that bad,” and I have to work on not responding to that reactivity and instead figuring out how to really listen and (un)learn, and not center my experience or my comfort. It is also deeply rewarding to reclaim my humanity in that I am able to see the reality of oppression and pain and stand with those who are experiencing it, rather than perpetuating the illusions that white supremacy promotes.

Karen:

What’s interesting about this story for me is that for years I didn’t remember this had happened. It wasn’t until a student in my race class told me that Liz had told this story to them as an example of cultural humility, that then I was like, “Oh yeah, I remember that now.” [Liz: It wasn’t unusual for you.] It wasn’t unusual. [Liz: I know.] It didn’t make a major emotional impact on me because it was so common. The way Liz said it wasn’t aggressive or confrontational. But at the same time, it was hard. When you made that comment about not using the word privilege, my internal response was more complicated than what came out, of course. I was a bit incredulous, a bit angry, and I was tired. I was tired of needing to explain it. And then this other part of me recognized the good intention, and wanted to genuinely connect, or at least see if it was possible. But I wasn’t sure how that would go.So, part of me thought about just letting it go, kind of rationalizing the hurt from what you said and the invisibility I felt, maybe saying something indirect, or smoothing it over between us. That happens a lot. And when we, as PoC or someone struggling with less ascribed privilege, rationalize and smooth it over, we do that because we’ve gotten the message that you, as someone who is more privileged, don’t really want to hear the bad stuff, you don’t want to experience or engage that. From the inside point of view, it’s really that you want me to deal with that by myself, you want me to take it somewhere else, to hold the pain or anger about oppression within myself, alone, so you can be protected and more comfortable.Even when that expectation isn’t there as much, when the more privileged person is more open to hear, there is an expectation that the oppressed person finds a way to package the response. There is this conversation about calling in and calling out, right? That you are expected to call people in as a PoC rather than call people out. But this means that you carry the burden. I have to manage my pain, package it and tie it up nice, and say to Liz, “What you said really hurt me, and I know you didn’t mean to, and I know that you’re trying really hard, but this is how it felt to me”; outside I’m expected to say “You’re so well-intentioned.” But inside, I’m screaming, I’m crying, or I’m raging. I know that the rage is not just from this one interaction, and maybe doesn’t “belong” to this specific privileged person and interaction, but it is still there.

Roxanne:

I challenge, more often than not, this problematic, systemic oppression, and I do so holding in my heart that I’m giving the gift of possible change. At the same time, I try to disconnect myself from the other person’s follow-up behavior. If I’m invested in their response, then I get really caught in having to package my comments in a particular way, unless we have developed a more genuine relationship, or I see a possibility—then I might take the risk to hope.

Karen:

It’s hard to package it, to manage the White fragility. I shouldn’t have to do that, right? And sometimes I don’t manage to do it. Sometimes I don’t package the pain well—sometimes it will be anger or rage, sometimes it will be confrontation or conflict, sometimes it will be inconsolable sorrow that just sits in the space between us. And sometimes it will be a gentle and careful “calling in” with good framing and educational explanation. That takes a lot of effort, and the expectation of calling in means the burden of holding the pain while maintaining relational connection then falls almost entirely on the oppressed person. And the expectation of that over time can make me angry.So why do it? For me, it’s because I want a real relationship, I want a genuine relationship. There is a piece about genuine caring, and another about recognizing that I’m going to be in that space of getting called in or out too because I also have areas of privilege. So, how is it that I would want that to happen when it’s me? I feel like there’s a certain kind of responsibility, that is less about White fragility and more about wanting a real connection.This is what drives the initial risk for me. And after that, it’s really about what happens next. Is there an action that is done differently next time? Is there a question that is asked about what could actually change? So, it’s an experiment. When Liz listened to my response, it showed me a possibility, for her, for us. I could see her struggling with it, but she stayed with me. And then she actually changed her approach, she took from that interaction a realization of the need to learn more, to de-center the White experience, her experience—and she showed that through things like engaging in more dialogues, taking more risks, independently reading and seeking out information about race and racism, changing her syllabus. So the possibility of an authentic relationship, a whole-person relationship, grew.

Roxanne:

I learned about this interaction between Karen and Liz during our first ally panel presentation. I had no idea that their relational ally journey started this way. I appreciate the complicated emotional calculation Karen had to make about whether to engage Liz or not. I can’t thank Karen enough for her willingness to be vulnerable and Liz’s willingness to receive what Karen risked to offer. Their labor in that moment and afterward meant that when I showed up to UMB years later, I had a very different experience of Liz, one that consistently made me feel seen, heard, and valued as a Black woman. There were many moments, for example, that Liz strategized with me about using her White privilege to challenge racism in shared spaces so I didn’t have to risk doing so or risk being first. Liz’s understanding of the consequences of her positionality compared to mine and her actions that stemmed from that understanding created the foundation for a genuine and deep relationship between us. I can’t imagine such a relationship would have been possible without Karen’s initial efforts. This ripple effect is one of the important benefits of fostering allies.

Liz:

This is also one of the most powerful benefits of working to develop as an ally, for me. No matter what, when Roxanne joined us, I would have wanted to be a support to her and I would have abstractly understood that she was facing racism in a range of contexts. But without the ongoing learning and growth that emerged from that moment with Karen, I wouldn’t have been able to see Roxanne as clearly, communicate that to her effectively, and make efforts to stand with her in response to racism. Developing my amorphous, well-intentioned attitude toward racism and injustice into a more nuanced, deep understanding of lived experiences and embedded systems of oppression and of ways that I can use my privilege to address inequities has been transformative for me. Most importantly, this learning has allowed me to build meaningful, growth-enhancing relationships with Karen, Roxanne, other colleagues of color, and my mentees and supervisees of color. There really aren’t words for the depth of my gratitude.

Relationally Negotiating Relative and Ascribed Racial Privilege and Oppression

Roxanne:

In the very beginning of our relationship, over 15 years ago, Karen and I decide to take a bus to a conference on racism we were both attending. What will become important later is that this conference purported to explore racism through an expansive, multicultural, and intersectional lens. We didn’t know each other well, and there was a lot of projection about what kind of person the other was. I’m not sure how long we were on this bus. It felt like eight hours. [Karen: It was less than five.] Really? Okay, wow … but it felt like an eternity because of our heavy conversation, which I unknowingly instigated when I said, “I’m so excited to go to this conference. It’s my oasis.” Karen looks at me for a while before responding, “I have a really hard time at this conference.” I’m like, “Why would that be?” She says, “Because it’s a multicultural conference, and there are so few. But here (at this particular conference), it’s a very Black-White conversation, and I don’t always feel welcomed. She goes on to share how an exclusive Black-White framing of racism, as she saw done at this conference at the time, can be experienced as denying and rendering invisible the racial trauma and oppression Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders experience, as denying her experience.Let me stop here and say that in my fantastical re-creation of this moment I immediately shift to a place of deep understanding, because that’s the type of ally I wish to be. In truth, it was a lot less pretty. It was hard for me to hear Karen. Her comments felt like a rebuke of the conference, yes. But it also felt like a rebuke of me - how could I not see this really big thing when I’m supposed to “get it?” Adding to the intensity, I admired Karen deeply, she was senior to me AND on the committee that hired me (did I mention my position at UMB was as a clinical cultural psychologist?). I didn’t want to disappoint Karen or be revealed as an imposter. There was also a part of me, and this is very, very hard to admit, that didn’t really see any problem with the conference being a Black-focused space even though it purported to be an inclusive place for PoC broadly. Moreover, up until Karen brought it up, I had never considered how an exclusive Black-White framing of racism could eclipse the experiences of non-Black people of color, because I had internalized this exclusive Black-White framing in my own understanding of racism. I did not understand at that point how such a framing advances the divide and conquer strategy of white supremacy. So, instead of sitting with Karen’s truth and my pain about her truth, I tried (repeatedly) to convince her that her experience was wrong, that the conference actually was an amazing uplifting space for all PoC, that it was an oasis for her too if only she’d open herself to it a bit more.As we go back and forth, Karen appears to get more and more upset with me. I know I’m upset, confused as to why we’re even talking about this. I start getting hot, literally, start feeling pressure to smooth things over. Karen will likely vote on my tenure case, and here I am arguing with her on a bus with 30 strangers who can hear our every word. I want to make the discomfort stop by agreeing with her, even though I don’t fully see what she sees. At the same time, I could sense Karen was taking a great risk in sharing her experience with me, and that something important was on the other side of this conversation if only I could stay in the slog long enough to get there.I don’t remember deciding on the latter, but that is where I end up, probably with Karen’s considerable help. We grapple the rest of the ride with our different ideas about the conference but also the larger issue of the ways in which perception is tied up in positionality and relative and ascribed privilege, the ways white supremacy undermines solidarity, empathy, and relational authenticity across racialized groups. We talk about what having each other means to our experience of UMB, the scariness and imperative of seeking truth over comfort in our interactions, and our desire to foster a relationship grounded in honesty and justice. When we get off the bus all isn’t perfect. But our conversation had created an opening. It helped that I spent the entire conference seeing exactly what Karen had talked about. There was no hiding from the truth she gifted me.

Karen:

One of things that Roxanne doesn’t say is that this is a central story for me, too. I’d been struggling for a few months with this particular conference with Asian American and Native American colleagues. Trying to sort through complicated stuff, because, on the one hand, I loved this conference because it was a central space focused on PoC, with more inclusion of issues related to all PoC than I ever experienced at mainstream conferences. And I knew that Black psychology is so marginalized and the costs of racism for Black people are so high. At the same time, I felt really invisibilized there. I was struggling with how it could be both liberatory and marginalizing, and wondering if there could be a possibility of focusing on Black psychology and the costs of racism for Black people and inclusive of other PoC so as not to re-ify our oppression and support the divide and conquer strategy.So when Rox said what she said, it all bubbled up for me. But at the same time, I was scared to say anything. I didn’t know how to do it. I was scared that she would think I was saying that there was no difference between us, or that it wasn’t important to address Black issues. I was scared that if I told her my experience, she would think I was simply being anti-Black. I was also scared that she would dismiss me and dismiss Asian American experiences of racism, something that had happened to me in previous interactions. I was just beginning to understand about divide and conquer, but I didn’t really have the analysis, then, to language the both/and. I didn’t know how to convey that I felt a Black-specific space could be really important to her or to me, and that the way this conference was an oasis for her was real and vital and valuable and that it was simultaneously painful to me because it was not framed as a Black-specific space. That what was explicitly communicated to me was that this was a place where I, as an Asian American could feel seen and held and welcomed, but what was implicitly communicated was that my experiences as an Asian American were invisible and marginalized, and therefore not part of racism and anti-racism. I didn’t have the conscious awareness of how the invisibility and dismissal of my own oppression as an Asian American was explicitly constructed within white supremacy to maintain anti-Blackness, to invite my internalization of anti-Asian racism and my collusion with white supremacy to prevent solidarity. So, I couldn’t see how to express my perspective and maintain our connection as both women of color.It was also particularly hard because Roxanne was a new colleague, a PoC in a space that didn’t have other PoC, that had some emerging allies like Liz, but where I’d already encountered some pretty challenging interactions. So, I saw Roxanne as a person who would be a connection and support. Someone “like me.” But also “not like me.” Because I also wanted to be a good ally to her. The risk was very high—what if I ruptured this relationship that I really needed in the White dominant space? But what if I didn’t say anything and just swallowed the feelings—would this be the kind of authentic relationship I really needed? It was a hard conversation, and I was grateful that she was willing to hang with it.The part that she doesn’t tell is that at the end of that first part of the discussion, she turns to me and she says, “So, what are you doing about anti-Black racism in the Asian American community?” It was a good moment, but a hard moment. I felt panic when she called me out. I thought, “Oh my god, she’s right,” and I felt ashamed. I may understand the importance of the conference addressing Black experiences, but what was I, personally, doing about it in my own community, especially in relation to areas where I had relative or ascribed privilege. I’d fallen into not working to see the privilege, because I was too caught in my own pain of oppression. So, I wasn’t (to my shame) ready to fully engage how important it is to address anti-Blackness specifically, as distinct and in relation to racism writ large. I wasn’t able to see or speak to how important it is for me, as an Asian American (and specifically a multiracial Asian American) to work my own ascribed privilege and address my own internalized anti-Blackness.I think this is an aspect of intersectionality that doesn’t receive enough attention, that it’s not only binary, privilege vs not privileged, because oppression is complex and multilayered. My own experiences of marginalization and vulnerability also made it difficult for me to see the ways I had other types of privilege, not wholly separated from race but not racial privilege, until she told me. I didn’t “see” Roxanne as junior to me and hadn’t (again, to my shame) thought at all about the power I might be deploying as a senior colleague. She called this out just by naming it. So we have this hours-long bus ride which is super intense, but by the end, I was less scared. Not because it was magically resolved, but because we could stay with it. My fears didn’t come true. We could hear each other, and make mistakes in our response, and then try again. So the crux, then, was taking the risk to name it and then the issue was, again, what’s the response.

Roxanne:

My recollection is Karen pivoted immediately. Like, in the actual moment she was able to see my point. It was an incredible example of an ideal way to respond when being called out. Her openness to my perspective made me look at my own defensive responding to that point. I definitely wasn’t a good example of anything. I’m still ashamed, mortified even, that I needed to be trapped on a bus with Karen for hours on end before I could move, could see her point and her pain. I choose to touch this place of shame as a personal reminder of the ways privilege among PoC can be relative and contextual and can keep us from recognizing our own ignorance and our complicity in upholding a racist system.

Karen:

My experience was that you moved even in the moment, by hanging with the conversation. You struggled with it, but I could see you wanted to hear me. It was a major beginning, a trust.I had the benefit of that trust when you called me out at the end of the ride. I had the benefit of the hours of watching you struggle with the shit we were both caught in, with the pain of racism that we’d both internalized for ourselves and about each other. It made it easier to hear you. But mostly I changed later—like shifting my teaching in Asian American Studies to speak much more about anti-Black racism in the Asian-American community, about coalition building, and about more complex intersectionality of race and ethnicity or addressing intersectionality more in my research. And more explicitly engaging my status privilege with untenured folks and the ways that interacts with my ascribed privilege because I am Asian American and not Black. It’s still a work in progress, and especially in this moment (2020) I am so aware of how much more I need to learn, the collusion I need to interrupt, and the actions I need to take more proactively and consistently to address anti-Blackness generally and in the academy.

Roxanne:

It means a lot to hear that you felt I moved too, even in the moment. It’s not exaggeration when I say that bus ride was transformative for me in a variety of ways. It put me on the path toward a more inclusive vision of social justice that has enabled me to widen my narrow conceptualization of racism and to become more aware of my complicity in advancing the divide and conquer strategy of white supremacy, more committed to being an ally to the AAPI community as well as other oppressed groups, more attentive to experiences of AAPI and other non-Black PoC in my teaching and anti-racist actions, more hopeful about having cross-racial allies. Like Karen, my (un)learning is a constant, ongoing process that entails finding the path back to my ally intentions when I inevitably lose my way. At the present time (2020), as I act against anti-Black racism while also struggling, for example, to hold space for recognition and action against rising anti-Asian American racism and invisibilization, I am cognizant of how far I have come and how far I have yet to go. That I am aware of the struggle in holding the both/and, even as I realize I have more work to do, is a lasting gift from that bus ride, as is the foundation it laid for a life-long friendship with Karen that I cherish.

Alissa:

What stands out for me in these stories is that your interactions aren’t all about getting it right, but are, instead, about staying with each other and working through the dynamics because you value both justice and each other. And that what happens after is crucial. Either someone is just saying the right things, and being an ornamental ally as Roxanne says, or that person actually goes and learns more and changes their behavior. It’s a lot of work, but that also means there are a lot of ways to stick together and to walk the walk. People don’t have to get it perfect the first time, and it doesn’t have to feel great, but we have to be willing to move in our understandings and show up.

Continual Engagement: Cycles of Connections and Disconnections

“What a terrible thing to feel settled and comfortable in this oppressive system of white supremacy.” _(LR)

Alissa:

You all have been really upfront about the work that is necessary to have these relationships, so what keeps you coming back to them? And how does coming back and being in relation with each other change over time?

Roxanne:

When those authentic cross-racial connections are made, like between Karen and me, it has such depth, partly because such connections are unusual and partly because there’s a sense that the world’s going to shit and the hate we’re seeing is who we actually are. Our connections provide a little bit of hope against this despondency. It’s not a floodlight of hope. It’s a light beam of hope. But I’ll take that light, I’ll ride that light beam, because it’s a balm against the trauma of the moment. In that deep connection, though, it can be scary to continue to challenge. Isn’t that weird, that the deepness happens because of the risk and the vulnerability, but then the relationship becomes so important that the risk and vulnerability become scary. I love these women so much that it’s hard when there’s a disconnection moment. But authenticity requires having bus ride moments again and again.

Karen:

Here’s a beam of hope: There is a flip side of the story that Liz tells, just as there was a flip side about the story that Roxanne tells, about what it means to actually engage the privilege, that really centers how what comes next is most important—not only in the moment, but over time. Over time, after that first conversation about privilege, Liz would come to me and say, “Can I talk to you about this thing that happened with a student of color,” or “Can you help me understand dadada?” That happened a lot in the beginning, and then that moved to, “I know that there’s a lot going on, and I’ve read or I’ve sought information on this, but would it be okay if I talk with you and get your view?” So, you can say, increasing awareness, more of her own homework, less burden on me, that’s awesome. It’s also a piece of, “I (Karen) invest in this because we move forward together.” So, it’s less of a burden because the change happens.But then, at one point, Liz said, “Is it okay if I call you? I have a question about an interaction with a student.” I’m like, “Yeah, fine, call me.” She calls me and she starts to tell me this thing that happened with a student who came to her about an upsetting racism-related interaction with another White faculty. The interaction triggered her and she was upset. Then, she stops in the middle of a sentence, and there’s deadness on the phone, and I’m like, “What?” She’s like, “You know, I just realized that I really shouldn’t be talking to you about this. That I don’t need information from you, I was actually looking to work through my own feelings about it, and I really should be talking to another White person about how I feel about this. So, I’m really sorry.” I was like, “Oh!” She’s like, “I think it’s just going to be triggering for you, and unloading, so I never should have started, and I’m sorry,” and we ended the conversation. It was a really interesting moment for me, because it was a moment of like, “you really recognized what this is like for me, and that there are things that you can do other than look to the PoC to address this, or validate it.” [Liz: At first, I didn’t remember this story.] Yeah, but for me it was a rare moment with a White person of realizing that she could see and understand, that I didn’t have to explain it all the time, and instead she was proactively thinking of what my experience, as a PoC, might be like.

Liz:

It’s extremely painful to see the harm caused by systems that I benefit from. I think there are places for me to be with that pain. So, I’ve cultivated relationships with other White people who are invested in anti-racism and addressing our complicity in white supremacy so they can make space for my pain and keep me turning toward the pain of oppression, rather than colluding to help me avoid it. I have a “White tears” thought in my head a lot – that I don’t want to burden people who are suffering much more with my pain about privilege and realizing I’ve caused harm. It’s really important, I think, that I make some choices about when to share my difficult emotions about the realities of racism and my experiences as a person with racial privilege with Karen or other PoC.On the one hand, Karen is my close friend, whom I talk to about things that are hard for me, and whom I also talk to about systemic oppression, so it makes sense to share that I’m upset. But then I have that moment of realizing “I’m doing something hurtful” because I’ve interrupted whatever Karen is doing and asked her to attend to the pain of racism for me, a White person with racial privilege. And I just didn’t see that hurtfulness initially. Even though my desire to talk comes from this love and trust between us, talking about pain connected to my privilege adds additional burden to Karen. Trying to be an ally, for me, means taking that cost into account as well. Trying to figure out how to hold that complexity is part of being authentic.But authentic is not necessarily going to be comfortable. Just in general, trying to see what the entire system has helped you not see, there’s nothing comfortable about that. There’s nothing grounding about that – it’s really unsettling. So, it’s important to understand that the unsettled, uncomfortable feeling doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong – be grateful you feel unsettled. What a terrible thing to feel settled and comfortable in this oppressive system of white supremacy. I want to choose to be unsettled, to choose justice over comfort, as Karen said. So, that’s complicated, because we often take our emotional response as information. So, specifically, we experience feeling good as a sign that we’re doing the right thing. And yet, as a person who’s socialized to not see the way that the world actually is, I have to face this discomfort to have the integrity of seeing the world as it actually is.

Karen:

For me, this relates to the issue of authenticity individually, but also in relationships. I think that relationships across privilege are either easy or authentic, especially in the beginning. It’s really hard for them to be both. It’s not that you can’t have authentic aspects, but I think what we mean here by deeply authentic is like, can I be a whole person with you? Can I share my full experience, including my experience of oppression, or the ways in which our relationship mirrors the systemic oppression? Can I share with you my uncertainty about a microaggression I experienced, or will you come down like, “Yeah, it was really not that bad, you know they didn’t intend that”? Can I share with you my uncertainty about a microaggression I experienced from you? Can I be angry about oppression? The pain gets connected to the anger because turning it into anger helps to place it outside where it belongs. The rage is real, it’s justified—but is it tolerable to you? I already struggle with so many messages that my anger and my pain are just my weird reactions, messages that are created to maintain the hierarchy and racial oppression. So I need to hold on to the truth that it is a perfectly reasonable and rational response to oppression to be enraged. Will you support that truth? The more I trust somebody, the less I have to package it. To a certain extent, if you’ve seen me rage about racism, it suggests that I trust you a lot more than other people. If you’ve seen my anger and pain about your racism, it suggests that I trust you even more. [Roxanne: It’s full-on love.] Yeah. But I know it’s not easy. It is asking a lot.

Liz:

It’s such a precious, tender thing to be able to make room for and receive someone’s raw pain, particularly someone who is harmed by a system that doesn’t harm me, that actually protects me. I am so grateful to be trusted with that kind of vulnerability, when I know that there are relentless messages to cover that experience and that it won’t be held and heard. I want to say that I always receive it with the grace, care, and respect it deserves, that I do so effortlessly because I am able to hold this full context, and the reality of their lived experience in a racist world, and so I can always be the person I want to be and receive this pain without reacting.And that isn’t the truth. Sometimes, I’m able to effortlessly receive these expressions when I’m fortunate enough to be trusted this way. And often, now, many years later, I’m able to act this way, regardless of what’s arising for me internally. But the reality is that I feel a lot when PoC share their experiences with me, and I don’t always respond the way I’d like to, even now. When Karen or Roxanne, or another PoC expresses raw emotion about really terrible things, I think my socialization is so deep that I have a lot of automatic thoughts like, “Are you sure it wasn’t really about something other than race or oppression?” Or when it’s me “But I didn’t mean to ….”. I think these thoughts serve the function of distancing me from the pain, alleviating my sense of guilt, and lessening my awareness of racism and other forms of injustice, and so they come up quickly, and they are compelling. They also take me out of the awareness of reality, and so I am committed to working not to let them distract me from the truth that I know.At my best, I think those things, but don’t say them. But I certainly say them sometimes, or say something else that isn’t just listening and holding their pain first. When I deflect instead of listening, and I can hear myself or see it in the other person’s face, then I will quickly apologize and try to turn to listening again. Or sometimes that apology might come later when I realize what happened. The major thing I think I’ve learned to do is just shut up and listen, even if it’s really hard for me to listen, even if a lot of thoughts are arising in my head and I can feel myself wanting to rebut a point or state a different perspective or defend myself or talk about how it’s making me feel. I try to let all those reactions arise and just continually refocus on listening and hearing, remembering why I’m so socialized not to hear what this person is saying, or to want to deny their pain because I feel pain in response to their pain. So I try to bring those skills and really listen to what Karen, Roxanne, or whoever I’m speaking to is expressing and take it in as best I can.

Karen:

Sometimes I think it’s unfair to ask so much from Liz, from people in privileged positions. Because I know it’s not their personal fault, that they are socialized and caught in the system as we all are. But then I also know that for someone with genuine ally intentions, it isn’t their fault, but it is their responsibility. And it is part of the foundation of trust and authenticity in a relationship across privilege. But it’s not easy. I can tell when I’ve stressed Liz or I’ve created a disconnection. And in the beginning, I was worried that that disconnection might become a rupture.But, that’s what we get better at, coming back and reconnecting. To me, that process is really the complex and ongoing thing of having intimacy across privilege. When we talk about this as a panel, it’s one of the things that we’ve realized that is not seen. Instead, people think that there’s just this great ally relationship and it always feels good between us, and it just happens. When really, it’s a process of a shitty interaction related to privilege and oppression and then working through this shitty interaction. And then sometimes it’s working through the working through. [Liz: Yeah.] I think the thing is, coming back to it later, right?

Liz:

Right, sometimes that first time, it didn’t go well, or I wasn’t really ready. If it’s really intense, I have to sort it out in my head and make sense of it later, when there’s not a risk that my sorting it out will be invalidating and harmful to a person who is in an oppressed position where I am privileged. And then I can come back and talk more when I’ve sorted some of my reactivity out and I’m more able to hold the full complexity of our positionality and our relationship.

Karen:

It’s easier for me to come back when the interaction hasn’t been actively invalidating. So I appreciate the effort to listen first. It makes it possible for me to come back with a more complex understanding later, an understanding that holds the both/and—that we are negotiating privilege and oppression and in a genuine relationship where it’s important that I see and validate the parts of your experience that aren’t about your privilege. Because it is rarely just that. Sometimes I also need to hold my response and come back because I’m seeing only through one lens, like the lens of race, and not seeing other things, like how we are both professors or both women.

Liz:

Another challenging part is when I make the same mistake again, even though I really meant to do better. Because the systems of oppression are all around us, and they’re inside us, and just because I see them so clearly in a moment and I am committed to not colluding with them or enacting them doesn’t mean I won’t get caught off guard again and make the same mistakes, or new mistakes with the same impact. As time goes on and I keep working on seeing what the system makes invisible to me, I get better at seeing things, and yet I still miss things. If I’m tired or overwhelmed with something in my life, then I’m more at risk of missing things, and I need to pay more attention. And, as Karen said, we get better at coming back to each other, back to the repair after we’ve had a disconnection. And still, even with all the practice, the moments of disconnection are scary, as Roxanne said.

Roxanne:

There’s this thing about authenticity and about an authentic emotional experience that is resonating with me. Like when Liz was talking about needing to present in a certain way and keeping back the White tears. I both get how white fragility maintains racial privilege and experience pain when Liz says that. It’s hard to hear that someone I care about, who I experience as a person willing to be in the slog with me, who is pushing through it with me feels they can’t bring their full emotional response into our interactions. You (Liz) are that person in my mind, and the thought that inauthenticity is the price you might have to pay for being in this relationship hurts me.

Liz:

But, I’m not only in relationship with you, right? [Roxanne: Yes, so true.] It’s complicated. Karen had this moment of talking about the ways that we are always individually in relationship and systemically in relationship. Those things are always both happening. The systemic part being embedded in our relationship sucks, it’s shitty. And, for me at least, just the tremendous gift of being able to at least be both is transformative.

Karen:

I think the challenge is that it’s always both/and, and this is what I mean when I say we are all always caught. It’s not only addressing the oppressive environments and dynamics or only the relationship. It’s always both, because we are shaping an authentic relationship between us as individuals who care deeply for each other, and we are doing so within a system of power, privilege, oppression, and hierarchy that is damaging. We can’t take our relationship out of that system, or take the systemic socialization and dynamics out of the relationship. If it’s always about, “I’m a PoC, I’m oppressed, and so you should accommodate that oppression,” that’s not a genuine authentic relationship either, because then, I’m always only a PoC, and she’s always only a White person—we are not then whole people relating together. But it’s also not the case that we are equals in this society.The other thing is the centrality of intersectionality. As a PoC, a woman, queer identified, I experience oppression. But I’m really aware that there are areas in which I have privilege, such as education, social class, ability. And within the areas I am oppressed, dynamics of privilege and oppression are complex and relative to others who have different intersectional experiences. So, if I am only about advocating against my own oppression and fostering allies from my oppressed space and always angry about that or about how White people (for example) aren’t doing enough, then I’m also not living a life of integrity because I’m not working my own areas of privilege and growing as an ally. I have to engage the areas that I have privilege, too. And this helps me connect to folks who have privilege where I experience oppression.I think you can choose to not have that level of authenticity, individually or relationally, and sometimes this is necessary. But for me, it’s worth it to take the risk if I can see the possibility, because of the person I want to be and the kind of relationships I want to have. I think it’s also worth it in terms of systemic change because if we never take a chance with anyone, I don’t actually think it’s going to change. Other people might think that you can change it systemically without ever developing intimate relationships across privilege, and then it will trickle down, but I think it ultimately has to go both ways. It has to go up from the relationships and down from the system at the same time. When we have authentic moments, when we resist the disconnections and denial that maintain the hierarchy, this is struggle, this is itself resistance against oppression and white supremacy. Struggle doesn’t have to be bad.

Alissa:

This is a process that the three of you have been in together for years, and I think you so beautifully illustrate that it is never-ending, that the system is still there, that there are more layers to peel back and work through, that doing so with people is a give-and-take because we are all more than a single identity and all caught in the system. And that at the end of the day we can gain this amazing gift of living our lives in line with our values, feeling like we are our authentic selves, and developing these genuine relationships that systemic privilege and oppression were designed to prevent us from having.Being in relation with the three of you and getting to experience what these authentic relationships feel like has inspired me to intentionally try to create contexts as I move into new spaces (e.g., internship, post-doc, my new faculty position) that allow for this kind of vulnerability and trust-building. I am continuously recognizing and reminding myself that even as a trainee and now (2020) early career professional I have protections as a White person that my colleagues of color don’t. So I try to hold that in mind to proactively motivate me to take risks and speak up even when it might feel scary. I have found it helpful to have explicit conversations early on with my colleagues in which I acknowledge my own privilege and state my willingness and intention to use my privilege in ways that move toward racial justice in our setting (e.g., speaking up in group spaces as needed, wanting to hear when I’ve misstepped or caused harm, or being an ear for a colleague of color whose experienced racial harm). This wasn’t always easy. It often felt like a risk to start those conversations. And yet, in my experience so far, those conversations have laid a powerful foundation for moving forward together in our relationship building and our coalition building. Then, of course, the most important part is following through on those conversations with my actions with these colleagues and within the system with White people in power. Such as listening when I’ve made mistakes, responding in ways that don’t center my anxiety or seek reassurance, but focus on the mistake itself, and trying to do better next time. Checking in with folks about things that happened to them and how they would like me to step up or step back, so I am taking their lead rather than inserting myself in some paternalistic way. And speaking up from my own space, on my own behalf of wanting an experience of justice and care together, for myself and others.In this way, building on my learning of the dynamics we’ve discussed here, I’ve found that even in brief year-long training/career experiences, I’ve been able to foster deep authentic relationships with my peers that have been meaningful and sustaining. My experience is that if we can create solidarity from risk taking and vulnerability across privilege that centers care, we can more effectively push our organizational settings to reckon with and try to address the ways that white supremacy and institutional racism inevitably show up. The solidarity protects us as individuals and makes our voices and impact stronger because we’re working together in skillful ways that can only be possible if we attend to our differential privilege. Being able to witness the process the three of you have gone through together has enabled me to develop my own process of being vulnerable, taking risks, and taking actions to form authentic relationships across race.

Finding the Way Forward

“If we can create solidarity from risk taking and vulnerability across privilege that centers care, we can more effectively push our organizational settings to reckon with and try to address the ways that white supremacy and institutional racism inevitably show up.” _(ALH)

We hope that sharing some of the complexity of our relational process as we negotiate becoming, fostering, and growing as allies and accomplices illustrates the multi-faceted dynamics inherent in the development of awareness and (un)learning that many have described in the ally literature. Given the ways social inequality is systemically embedded, developing authentic ally-centered relationships requires navigating relational differences in worldview and privilege; rejection of either/or binary thinking; and consideration of the contextual, shifting, multi-level, and intersectional nature of power and privilege because relationships always exist personally and systemically simultaneously. This process also requires relational praxis in confronting oppression, as well as taking risks inside valued relationships. Oppression is painful, making the relational negotiation also painful, as characterized by disconnections and re-connections across the divides of privilege and oppression.

We realize that we offer our stories of relational struggle at a painful moment where intersecting and ongoing racial and viral pandemics sit on top of centuries of oppression and violence. How easy it is to turn inward, to turn away from each other and the challenging emotion such a time brings. Turning toward each other across difference and privilege and power is the harder path. At the same time, the reward of authentic relationships, accessing our own and each other’s wholeness and humanity, and living with integrity brings hope and possibility of enacting personal and systemic change – it is bell hooks’ vision of beloved community manifested.

To be clear, we also agree with Reagon (1983) that there is an important distinction between building coalitions to meet social justice goals with those who are different than oneself, and spaces that are nourishing and provide a sense of “home.” On the one hand, we see how important it is to not expect “home” (Reagon, 1983) or “beloved community” (Hooks, 1995) in all our social justice action work. We need to be able to do the work with people who don’t love us, who aren’t ready to reciprocally offer us “care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect, and trust” (Hooks, 2002), because justice is too urgent and important to wait for every relationship to have that kind of love. Simultaneously, we have an overarching vision of the inherent intertwining of justice and beloved community. And we have found that the kind of relational investment we describe here helps us hold that vision even in the midst of challenge and pain. It is not possible with everyone at every moment, but when it is, it grounds us in hope, providing a foundation for building further deep connections, as well as allowing us to act in coalition without home in other contexts and work toward a shared goal of dismantling white supremacy.

For us, developing awareness of systems of oppression and taking action directed toward dismantling those systems are not only what it means to us to be good, kind, whole, responsible human beings, but are also fundamental parts of our professional roles as educators, as scholars, as mentors, as psychologists. This speaks to ways in which our social justice advocacy and allied behavior cannot be solely personal work, in areas where there is less risk. This work also cannot be only an “add-on” to our professional activities when convenient or safe – it must be central and integrated in all contexts of our lives. Because social inequality is systemically embedded, awareness and navigation of relational differences in worldview, access, and privilege affect, for example, the teaching, mentoring, supervising, studying psychological processes, providing therapy, and developing preventions and interventions that are our professional activities as psychologists (American Psychological Association, 2017, 2019; Vera & Speight, 2003). The personal and relational processes we describe above have powerfully enhanced our ability to be skillful, responsive, effective, equitable, and just professionals who are continually learning, growing, and working to disrupt systems.

Beyond our hope for this article, our hope for this special issue of Research in Human Development is to develop applicable understandings and exemplars of the processes of ally and accomplice development and of fostering such development across the lifespan. We seek to further illuminate the processes and nuances of allyship, offering models, examples, and analysis that may serve as resources for those aiming to advance their own and others' development and engagement in social justice resistance, including increased risk-taking for dismantling white supremacy and other systemic oppressions. We hope this issue will be a critical addition to the growing number of important resources available at this time of national activation and awakening, because the way forward will look different for different people in different contexts with different positionalities. There is no prescriptive path, although we might wish for one. Finally, there is danger now of amplified despondency, exhaustion, and doubts that anything we do makes a difference. Change, however, requires each of us to continue troubling the waters of privilege and oppression. As such, it is our greatest hope that we might receive inspiring articles for this special issue focused on ally and accomplice development that will ignite curiosity, reinforce commitment to actions that disrupt white supremacy and other intersecting systems of oppression, and widen visions of what is possible through our individual and collective efforts toward a more just world.

Acknowledgements

The authors wish to thank the many colleagues, students, scholars, and activists who have contributed to their growth as developing accomplices and advocates for social justice.

Disclosure Statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors.

Data availability statement

Data sharing is not applicable to this article as no new data outside of that available within the article were created or analyzed in this study.