I'm an Anti-Racist Educator. It's Not My Job to Educate You.

I’m an anti-racist educator, and if you need me to explain what that means, you are exactly the person who should not be contacting an anti-racist educator. My workshop is called There Are No Stupid Questions. There are, however, questions that make a space unsafe, questions that reveal you haven’t done the work, and questions I will be sharing with your employer. Please introduce yourself with your name, pronouns, and department.

At last week’s session, a woman called Hannah raised her hand and said, “I’m here because I want to learn.” Ermmm. Okay, sweaty. And I am here because your organization paid me $6,000. Notice how only one of us arrived expecting to receive something. I asked the room to sit with that. Hannah began taking notes, which I asked her to stop doing. We were sitting.

She wanted to know what I meant by accountability. I asked what she thought I meant. She gave an answer. I said it was not my job to correct every misconception she brought into the room. She apologized. I asked whether she understood what she was apologizing for. She said she wasn’t sure. There it was. A performative apology, less than twelve minutes into a space I had worked very hard to make welcoming.

I want to be very clear that questions are encouraged. Asking one is a choice, and choices have consequences. You are free to be curious. I am free to identify you by name in the follow-up materials under “What We Are Still Seeing.” Freedom works both ways, babes. I don’t know why this is so hard for people who have had every opportunity to already know it.

Google is free

People keep asking for resources. Google is free. When Hannah returned from the break with something she had found on Google, I asked who had told her that Google was an authority. Anyone can put something on the internet. I put things on the internet professionally, so I know how dangerous it is when someone else does it. She asked for a source I trusted. I asked why she needed to be spoon-fed. Open wide, here comes the little airplane full of other people’s unpaid labor.

Another participant said he was confused by two slides that seemed to contradict each other. I thanked him for showing the group how quickly men become hostile when asked to hold complexity. He said he wasn’t hostile. I asked everyone to notice that he had now interrupted a woman twice. He put his hand down. I said withdrawal is also a form of domination. He put it up again. We took an unscheduled break so I could regulate after what he had put me through.

During the break, Hannah cried in the bathroom. I know because I went in to explain that crying in a shared bathroom can conscript other people into witnessing your distress without their consent. She asked where she was supposed to go. I said I could not do that thinking for her. This is a workplace, Hannah. Some of us are trying to heal in it.

This is a learning space

I do not believe in punishment. I believe in a restorative process in which you lose access to the group until the group feels good about you again. There is no timeline, because demanding one centers your comfort. There is no list of things you can do to return, because treating repair like a checklist is transactional. There is a fee to remain in the process. The fee is $240 a month.

A man from facilities asked whether the process ever ends. I asked why he was in such a hurry to stop being accountable. He said he had been sent to fix the projector. I said it was revealing that he considered the image on the wall the thing in the room that needed fixing. He unplugged a cable, and for a moment everyone had to look at me without the slide. I will be speaking to his supervisor.

By the final exercise, nobody was willing to speak. This is why I do this work. You could feel people becoming aware of the implications of having thoughts. I asked everyone to share one thing they had learned. Hannah said she needed more time. I said time is a resource that marginalized people are constantly asked to give. She said she agreed with me. I asked whether she was agreeing because she meant it or because she wanted me to stop. She cried again, which was unfortunate given our earlier conversation.

The anonymous feedback form asked whether participants felt safe asking questions. Someone selected “No.” I have asked HR to identify the response. If you have concerns about this space, you need to be brave enough to raise them in it. Hiding behind anonymity is cowardly, and I will not tolerate cowards in a community built on care.

My next workshop is How to Have Difficult Conversations. Attendance is mandatory for everyone who made the last one difficult. Hannah asked whether she should come. I told her it was not my job to educate her.

Paid subscribers get my free resource list. The first resource is a reminder that you could have found the resources yourself.