Man in the Mirror

When Michelle and I got married, she had me vow to always ask before taking food from her plate. She didn’t just ask for that commitment in a private conversation. She asked in our wedding ceremony, in front of hundreds of our friends and family members. Of course, I made the vow. 

Keeping it has been harder than expected. At times, it’s felt like the hardest commitment I made that day. I love food. And for some reason, the food on a family member’s plate has always looked much better. 

When I broke this vow in the early years, I believed in the magical power of the apology. Take from her small but sacred pile of fries? “I am sorry.” Finishing the last of her leftovers without asking? “I am really sorry.” 

Eventually, I started realizing how hollow an apology can be. Especially when the troublesome behavior does not clearly change. I also realized that my apologies didn’t just fall short for Michelle. They fell short for me. 

When not paired with action, apologizing had no power to help me get better. It delayed, rather than fueled, the actual work of growth. 

Fortunately, my gluttony has slowly been transformed into generous cooking, a shift I attribute to the alchemy of partnership. Rather than taking the last of the fries, I have learned how to make potatoes delicious in a dozen different ways.

Old habits die hard. But the more I cook, the stronger my new habits become. Slowly but surely, my stews and soups are getting better. I am spending less energy eyeing nearby chicken nuggets, and more time chopping onions, garlic, and ginger.

Competing Versions of Whiteness

While lifelong learning is not a given, it is imminently possible. Who we are today does not automatically determine who we will become.

One skill that’s essential for growth is owning our mistakes. It’s vital in both our private and public lives. When we can recognize our shortcomings, we can also see a future where they no longer govern us, where today’s frustrations are just a mile marker on the long road to becoming something more.

In racial justice work, admitting error is a foundational skill. And this skill is especially important for white Americans, given our long history of stealing much more than fries. We must always ask: Are we open to owning our past and current behavior? And will we do the work required to get better? 

I believe our nation is now witnessing two competing versions of whiteness, with two diametrically opposed relationships to growth. 

On the one hand is a growth-resistant version of whiteness. It is the path of those who double down on bad behavior and are willing to undermine anything that challenges their stance. This version fiercely denies reality; suggesting that there’s no need to face history or admit the gravity of shared challenges. 

The other version of whiteness is growth-focused. In this version, surfacing past errors is a precondition of progress. Facing history is what allows relationships of the present to be transformed, so that new possibilities and patterns can be brought to life. It is a never ending invitation, firmly rooted in both reality and hope. 

Which version of whiteness will win the day? The answer will have immense implications. It will be settled not just in our social systems, but in our own thoughts, emotional habits, and actions.

Growth-focused whiteness gained incredible momentum in 2020. Through the vision, courage, and leadership of the Black Lives Matter movement, millions of white Americans became more willing to name and take action against injustice. Books on anti-racism were bought like never before. Companies, from Visa to Nike to Amazon, declared solidarity with Black communities. Our core ideas about how to make communities safe were called into question. 

Yet the specter of stagnancy is real. This specter hasn’t just appeared on the footsteps of the capitol, but in our own hearts, minds, and comfort zones. It shows up everytime we gloss over our own failings, ignore the unpolished parts of our heart, and the deep limitations of the systems we lead. 

Truth Precedes Reconciliation 

Rather than challenge the traffic of my own beliefs, I’ve often just kept driving along, even when it was in the wrong direction.

One project where my shadow was on display was ‘Bridging the Divide,’ which I spearheaded in 2014 while co-leading a set of youth violence prevention programs in Chicago. My official goal was to build trust and understanding between Chicago Police Officers and the young people they are meant to serve. Less officially, I designed the project to boost police officers’ support of local juvenile diversion programs, which we were also driving forward.

Some powerful moments, friendships, and stories emerged from the effort. But my underlying thinking was flawed. And, consequently, so was the program itself. In a sea of 12,000 uniformed officers, I was helping to create temporary safe spaces with a small handful, while ignoring larger department culture and strategy. 

I deeply wanted to make Bridging the Divide work. But I allowed myself to be overly hopeful about what kinds of changes were possible. And I sustained that hope, even when negative data appeared; when I heard the ways tactical officers routinely disrespect their community policing colleagues and when no greater commitment to juvenile diversion emerged. In hindsight, the effort was a kind of system-level apology but with no real commitment to new behavior. 

Here is what I learned: It is imminently possible to bring youth and police officers together for personally meaningful conversations. But as long as policing is strategically bound to a regime of removal and punishment, rather than reconciliation and repair, any such effort will only have momentary benefits.

Bridging the Divide’s shortcomings should not have been a surprise to me. Chicago is a city that has actively altered its crime statistics for political purposes. It pays out millions of dollars to victims of police misconduct every year, topping $100 million in 2018. And it has routinely conducted off-the-book interrogations of Chicago residents. These were all ongoing realities during the project period.

Nonetheless, I was surprised. I made the mistake of confusing the brilliance and wisdom of individual police officers with the openness of the department itself. The project had noble intentions but misguided ideas about power and systems. 

It was working only at the interpersonal layer of change and, even then, only to a very limited degree. The project failed to counter the deep racism that depicts people of color as inherently dangerous and enables their removal from society en masse. It did nothing to repair the damage created by our longstanding punitive approach to safety.

When we acknowledge the depths of that damage, another version of safety becomes possible. One where trust is restored because systems no longer treat communities like targets, but as the rightful leaders in the daily work of peacemaking. One where mass incarceration policies are upended and we invest in human thriving where it is most needed. And one where the trauma of both residents and public safety professionals is given full room to heal.

Beyond the Shores of Effort

When we focus on just one layer of change, we risk seeing white supremacy reappear in new forms, as it did when slavery transmuted into Jim Crow laws, when backlash against the Civil Rights movement fueled mass incarceration, and when the reemergence of white hate organizations followed the retirement of our nation’s first Black President. 

If we make room for deeper truths and empower new versions of ourselves, then healing and growth are indeed possible, both at the individual and societal levels. Yet without the capacity to own our mistakes, we have no power to make adjustments when things get off track. We will continue to only see the flaws around us, rather than factoring in the deep biases within us. 

Looking in the mirror, I can see the danger of my penchant for idealism, my intensive focus on the bright side. I can see the ways I’ve often reasoned away negative data, instead of having the courage to process pain. But I can also see my growth. How I’ve learned to ground my hope and bridge the divide within myself; the one between my own limited understandings and the unlimited wisdom enabled by honest reflection.