We are living in terrifying and exhausting times.
Example one: A man police believed to be responsible for a deadly shooting in a Louisville, Kentucky-area Kroger supermarket on Wednesday is in custody.
According to the arrest citation, Gregory Bush, 51, “pulled a pistol from his waistband and shot (a man) in the rear of the head and again multiple times as he lay on the floor.” The man, Maurice Stallard, was the father of Kellie Watson, who works for the city as the mayor’s chief racial equity officer. He’d been shopping for poster board with his 12-year-old grandson.
Later, in a confrontation with an armed bystander in the parking lot, Bush said: “Don’t shoot me. I won’t shoot you. Whites don’t shoot whites.” He then drove away.
Example two: Also on Wednesday, Bloomberg Law (registration required) reported that the Justice Department had informed the U.S. Supreme Court that businesses can discriminate against workers based on their gender identity without violating federal law; specifically that current civil rights protections barring sex discrimination on the job do not cover transgender people.
Example three: Suspicious packages containing what appeared to be pipe bombs shocked the nation and dominated the news cycle as they began appearing at the offices of critics of President Trump and CNN. Among the mail bombing targets, so far, are former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, former president Barack Obama, former CIA director John Brennan, current billionaire George Soros, former attorney general Eric Holder, Rep. Maxine Waters, D-Calif., actor Robert De Niro, and former vice president Joe Biden
All this was just yesterday.
We are all under an extraordinary amount of stress. But if my conversations with raceAhead readers are any indication, people worried about equity and inclusion are feeling these times particularly acutely, worried about renewed threats to their lives and livelihoods or those of others with whom they’re allied. I spoke with an exceptional partner-track professional recently, a Latin American immigrant with an enviable set of credentials, who has been unable to reassure her colleagues and direct reports that they are safe and welcome in a country that has become openly hostile to their very existence. They know they are not, and want to leave the U.S. and she sounded exhausted.
There are no easy answers except to keep doing the work and fanning the flames of courage when you find it, particularly in public leadership. (How long does it take to put together an open letter or an amicus brief? Asking for an underrepresented community.)
But it also seems like a good reminder to both check out, and check in.
First, check out of the fray if you can, and take care of yourself in whatever way works for you. (Saying ‘no’ to things is a good start, I’m told.) Then when you can, check in with the people around you.
For that, the best advice I’ve ever gotten comes from David Kyuman Kim, a professor of religious studies and American studies, and co-founder of Love Driven Politics, a collective of academics, artists, spiritual leaders, and other bold souls who are dedicated to exploring loving and humane responses to the anger, divisiveness, and cynicism in American politics.
When things are difficult, he says, “We have a responsibility to draw our attention to co-workers, to community members and ask a simple question—‘how are you doing?’” he says. “And then listen, really listen, as if you don’t already know the answer.”