The Privilege of Our Geography: Addressing Anti-Black Racism in Hawaii
Like many of you, I’ve spent much of the last week with a heavy and anguished heart, watching as events rooted in racism and systemic injustice have unfolded, lighting a powder keg of protests across the country and around the globe.
In recent months, disparities of COVID-19’s impact laid bare what many already knew: that racism is a continuing public health crisis in our country, with people of color—particularly Black people—literally embodying social inequalities. Against the backdrop of the pandemic, videos of the weaponized privilege wielded by a white woman in Central Park and the killing of a handcuffed Black man under the knee of a police officer whose duty was to “serve and protect” pushed many communities to a collective breaking point.
I’ve had conversations with friends and colleagues who—like me—call Hawaii home, and are reflecting on their role in this fight. For some, #BlackLivesMatter can feel like a movement that’s happening “over there,” a mainland effort… where do we fit in the mix? For others, including fellow non-Black people of color, a more pointed question arises: What is the right way for us to show up for Black communities—here and on the continent—in this moment?
Our Privileged Geography
As insulated from the continent as we may feel living in Hawaii, we are nonetheless citizens and consumers of American society. In fact, if we pause to consider Hawaii’s history of colonization, it may help us become even more aware of the extent to which “dominant American culture” reaches our shores. We consume its movies, music, and books; we model its housing policies, health care delivery, criminal justice institutions, and public education system. Through all these means, we are subconsciously fed explanations of why some have and some do not, why some are worthy and some aren’t. We are, in other words, just as vulnerable to internalized anti-Blackness, and—with or without intention—just as susceptible to importing and exporting racism as those who live on the mainland.
The geography of Hawaii relative to the continental U.S. can, at times, create as much of a distance of mindset as of physical separation. A certain privilege comes with this geography; while cities across the continent erupt in protest and riots, we may feel we have the luxury of looking away because events of the same fury and scale aren’t happening in our own backyard. But this privilege comes with a responsibility—to recognize that, despite the distance, our fates are intertwined with Black communities on the mainland. Perhaps even more importantly, they are intertwined with our local Black brothers and sisters, who need and deserve our solidarity and support.
Embracing Our Kuleana: Acknowledging and Fighting Racism Locally
And so, it is part of our kuleana, our shared responsibility, to acknowledge this buffer, identify our blind spots, raise others’ awareness, and to effect change where we can, regardless of how small our spheres of influence might feel. These acts will look different for every person, depending on their identities and the intersectionality of those identities, and where those individuals are in their own journeys of self-awareness and social justice. For me, being an Asian American, a parent, and a traveler in the nonprofit space are the identities that resonate most with the current state of our country. Here are a few examples of ways I’m trying to show up against racism and support the #BlackLivesMatter movement:
As a non-Black person of color, I’m taking time to listen, read, and learn from Black leaders, authors, and activists. Yes, I can share certain experiences in being a fellow POC, but there are also things I know I cannot and will not be able to understand about the lived experience of being Black in this country. Ibram X. Kendi, Kimberle Crenshaw, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and Mary Frances Berry are among those whose words are really speaking to me right now. Ericka Hines and Desiree Lynn Adaway are sharing rich resources and asking difficult questions, in the best possible way. And The Popolo Project has a terrific reading and resource list, #PopoloSyllabus, that provides history and context on Black people in Hawaii that I’m turning to for local perspective and understanding.
I’m reflecting on how, as an Asian American, I can be a better ally to the Black community. I say this in full recognition that racism—specifically anti-Black racism—exists in the Asian American community. I know, because I’ve seen it firsthand. I recommend Dear Mom, Dad, Uncle, Auntie: Black Lives Matter to Us, Too as a starting point for finding language to generate conversations with those close to us, and 20+ Allyship Actions for Asians to Show Up for the Black Community Right Now for concrete steps we can be taking to support Black brothers and sisters. The Coalition of Asian American Leaders has also published a powerful Open Letter to Community.
I’m talking with my kids about race, racism, and anti-Black racism. I don’t hold any illusions about “colorblindness” being a goal. We can’t address what we don’t acknowledge. I feel it’s important for my children to understand the history of race and racism in this country, and the ways in which anti-Black racism in particular is baked into our institutions, policies, and societal structures. Talking with kids about race is the first step toward helping the next generation do better.
I’m working to actively integrate discussions of equity, power, and privilege into my work with the local nonprofit community. This has taken different forms, from co-facilitating a workshop on Identity, Power, and Privilege at last year’s Hawaii Alliance of Nonprofit Organizations conference, to pushing my nonprofit clients to recognize power and privilege dynamics between themselves and the communities they serve. Many of us in nonprofit and philanthropic spaces ostensibly seek to advance social justice; we all benefit by holding one another accountable to walking the talk, and continually lifting a mirror to the disconnects between our organization’s words and its actions. These disconnects are visible not only when we fail to listen to community voices, but also in the way we fund people and causes, who we hire, and who sits on our boards.
Advancing Equity and Social Justice Is Not a Zero-Sum Game
Without a doubt, many people who live in Hawaii are themselves members of marginalized groups, and many carry identities burdened with their own sets of societal expectations, prejudice, and assumptions. But right now is not an “either/or” moment—it’s a “yes, and” moment. Regardless of our own identities, we can recognize the importance of this time in addressing anti-Black racism. Advancing equity and social justice for Black communities doesn’t diminish efforts by other groups to drink from those wells. Rather, at this moment, advancing equity and social justice for our Black brothers and sisters feels truly aligned with two fundamental Hawaiian values: pono, righteousness, and lokahi, unity.
How is your Hawaii-based organization showing up in this racial justice moment? What is your organization’s kuleana in raising awareness about, and fighting against, racism locally?