Day 9

I have recently been wondering about accountability in the time before social media; specifically around race “work.” On social media, I find myself inundated by “calls,” directing people to do x, y, and z. Compelling them to show that they are committed to this movement. We are told that White Silence is Violence, constantly, here. And the implication is that if you are silent on social media - this strange world that we all inhabit - then you are acting in a violent manner.

Social media has changed so much for us. And about the way that we engage with justice work. Here, we are meant to demonstrate our support. Here, we tell others where we stand. Here, to be silent, apparently, is to be violent. And I wonder, instead, if to be silent is to be discerning. Or if, to be silent is to be leaving space for the voices we need to hear. Is silence on social media, in particular, really the same as being violent?

I experienced this pressure, too, when I moved to St. Louis. To prove to others (who the others were, I’m not quite sure) that I was part of the movement; that I was doing my work. Everything about race work - in a way that was sustained and committed - was new to me. I didn’t really know that there was work to be done, or things for me to unlearn, until I moved to St. Louis. And when I got here, on the heels of the non-indictment of Michael Brown’s murderer, my feed became inundated with these calls to action. And I was moved by the compulsion to prove myself. Yes, I’m present. I’m here. I’m here for black lives. I’m a real black person. I care. Look at me. I can be vocal and have an opinion and call out white people. I can be angry and I can mourn and I can do all of these things for the consumption of other people. Because, in retrospect, my demonstrations did very little for me. I don’t know if they really moved the needle for me at all, when it came to my unlearning.

I kind of think that social media is a trash fire. That, after a black person dies, I watch people around me feel a compulsion to be a “good” or “woke” person. Flooding their feed with all the ways they stand for black folks. And all the work they are doing. This is how they are held accountable, I suppose. And I think that there is something good, there, about the accountability. But I also struggle with understanding who is benefitting from this show of support. When the whole Internet is flooded under the weight of our demonstrations, and the so-called transparency of our work, is it ever really possible to sift through these spaces and to learn?

A Practice for Today:

Consider the dynamic that has been created with social media. Consider the need to prove to others that you are committed. Who is this demonstration in service of? Who benefits from it? Is there a specific person you are trying to prove yourself to? Why? 

How does social media impact you emotionally, during these times? How do you think it impacts the integrity of your “work?” How do you imagine you would feel if you relinquished the need to be a particular type of person on social media? How would that change your practices around race work, if at all?

If you're not on social media, are there any other ways that you work to demonstrate your commitment to other people? How can you be curious about those demonstrations?