Confessions of a (temporary) ‘Karen’
Last winter I was invited by Fuckup Nights Montréal to share one of my failures. The point of these events is to ‘deconstruct our perceptions of failure’, by inviting entrepreneurs to share the messy reality behind their apparent success.
I told the story of what can only be described as my brief ‘Karen’ phase — though thankfully that word didn’t exist then. This was a few years before the Black Lives Matter movement became more widespread, around 2016.
First, I didn’t understand why it was called Black Lives Matter rather than All Lives Matter.
Yep.
At the time, I was the director of WeDoSomething, the non-profit I founded in 2015. I worked with Indigenous communities, asylum seekers, refugees, and other marginalized groups to counter stereotypes and promote inclusion and belonging: I thought I knew what the world needed.
I felt that by designating Black lives only, the movement reinforced our separateness and excluded White allies who cared and who could amplify the BLM movement. Logical, right?
Absolutely, when viewed through the lens of a White woman who is accustomed to being valued and included in most spaces. Not so much when viewed through the lens of Black person who is systemically targeted for discrimination and racism, and not treated as though they matter — unless it’s to entertain us with musical or sports skills. Black lives are rarely, if ever, allowed to dominate the public space.
At the time I felt uncomfortable, righteous and a little offended. I was experiencing what is now known as “White fragility”, described below:
So I asked my (non-Black) gay friend who knew I wasn’t a complete twit to explain why the movement was called Black Lives Matter rather than All Lives Matter, which he did without mocking my ignorance*.
*For those of you who still ask yourselves this question, BLM is the equivalent of shining a spotlight on something that has never been true in the history of the United States (and we are not that much better in Canada): Black lives have not been treated as though they matter. Black Lives Matter is a wish, a prayer, a reminder, and a demand.
It’s not that I’ve never felt excluded or experienced the (very strange) feeling of been the only White person in a crowd (in India and in Trenton, New Jersey), but I treated these experiences as exceptions. I assumed that I should have access, that I belonged anywhere and everywhere.
This was the beginning of me understanding what privilege means. The scholar and anti-racism activist Peggy Macintosh uses the ‘invisible knapsack’ to illustrate the concept of privilege:
I have come to see White privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets which I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was ‘meant’ to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools and blank checks. — Peggy McIntosh, Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack
Another way of looking at privilege is to think of it as what we don’t have to deal with: privilege is the absence of bias and barriers to access that are imposed upon a given group and which they do not have the power to change — and which are often invisible to those outside their group.
Now back to my story.
At around the same time, I came upon a post on Facebook in which a Black person was complaining that White people kept showing up at Black Lives Matter protests. The post had received hundreds of Likes and dozens of supportive comments. I don’t see what the problem is, I thought to myself. This means the movement is catching on! And isn’t not wanting White people at your protest kinda racist?
I generously shared my concerns in the comments and urged them to include their White allies rather than complain about them. I even added a James Baldwin quote to make sure that these clearly confused Black people would see things my way (it pains me to admit this).
It did not go well.
Here I was, an (obviously) enlightened White person trying to help, only to be told that my intervention was ignorant and unhelpful. Shocking.
I remained in my righteous bubble until I read some of the other comments on that post. Someone wrote: Why do these White people stand at the front of our protest with their signs? This is our movement. Don’t they even have the grace to support us from the back?
That hit me.
I asked myself, would I do that? And the very uncomfortable answer was, very possibly yes. Enter a wave of discomfort swirling in my gut that got me thinking about the space I took up in the world. I realized that I was only comfortable in certain roles (like leading, directing, organizing) and not others (like following, supporting, not knowing what’s coming next, feeling out of the loop). It occurred to me that my reactions to this movement might have as much to do with my need to be included and to be a ‘doer’ as with fighting injustice and racism. And that I was, possibly, what is known as a “White saviour”.
‘The White savior complex, also known as White saviorism, is an ideology that a White person acts upon from a position of superiority to rescue a BIPOC — Black, Indigenous, or person of color — community or person.’ — What is White Savior Complex?
I began to understand that, ironically, my privilege was a disadvantage because it made me blind and deaf to the norms, cues, needs and traditions of the community in question. I was now sitting at the back of the class, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
So I started looking into how people learn. The Hierarchy of competence illustrates it perfectly: I had started at the bottom in Unconscious Incompetence — I was ignorant of my ignorance. These experiences increased my awareness and moved me up into the next stage: I was now uncomfortably conscious of my incompetence/ignorance.
Luckily the Fuckup Nights crowd laughed at all the right moments, and didn’t boo me out of the room.
So here are 5 lessons I learned during my (have I mentioned brief?) pre-Karen ‘Karen’ phase. These lessons helped me conceive Versus, which equips people to do what I had to do: critically examine their own thinking, challenge their worldview through dialogue, and be open to learning. If I’m lucky, this won’t be the last time I discover my blind spots and ignorance. I will never again assume that I know how to “help” someone.
1: There’s a difference between helping and supporting:
Sometimes helping someone can take away their autonomy and smother their right to express themselves their way. Supporting is witnessing, and asking, what can I do? I see now that expecting to be included and/or placing oneself at the forefront of someone else’s movement represents another form of domination, and was in this case, an extension of White supremacy* (not the right-wing kind), even if it was well intentioned.
To recognize our own blind spots, we need dialogue skills so that we feel equipped to talk to — and listen to — people who see things differently from us . This is how we challenge our own ideas and fight algorithms that feed us perspectives we already agree with.
*Ask yourself: who/what do I care about deeply and how am I showing my care: am I trying to rescue them or am I open to learning from them and supporting their choice?
2: Explore the roots of your need to help/support:
It’s not for nothing that my non-profit is called WeDoSomething: I cope with grief or injustice by taking action. In my personal life, I’ve often felt the need to solve problems for others, in part to make myself feel less anxious about their suffering. This can be both useful and unhealthy: it’s worth recognizing the roots of our need to help others. Understanding this about myself gave me compassion for my own grief about situations I’ve lived in which I was afraid, and had no power.
To explore our own motivations, we need critical thinking skills + emotional intelligence, i.e., self-awareness and the ability to question our own beliefs and behaviours.
*Ask yourself: how do I affect the people around me? And how am I reacting to the people/situations around me? Where do my strongest reactions come from?
3: Don’t let discomfort become defensiveness.
We all mess up. We all say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing and we pay the price by feeling shame or deep discomfort: our biology primes us to react defensively, it’s a natural response. When this happens, be kind to yourself, so you can react differently. And consider that sometimes the way people react to us has nothing to do with who we are as individuals, and everything to do with the pain of the community they identify with.
In times of conflict, the way we engage with each other is often guided by the mega-identities we represent, rather than the individuals we are (Israeli-Palestinian; Black-White; Men-Women-Non-Binary, etc). Practice being uncomfortable without becoming angry or defensive: it is the most loving form of activism there is, both for yourself and for others.
“If emotions were a car, taking you on a journey through your life, emotion regulation would be like being in the driver seat of emotions, rather than in the passenger seat. You are more in control of the twists and turns of the journey. You decide which path to take in each situation, rather than sit by and be a passive observer of the journey!” — The Emotional Body
How do we practice this? It takes emotional self-regulation, one of the hardest and most important skills for navigating both our online and our real lives without being in a constant state of reactivity. This skill is also key to being a good digital citizen online: it allows us to engage with each other respectfully on social media, rather than reacting aggressively to posts and viewpoints we disagree with.
*Ask yourself: How often do I notice an emotion I’m having and decide not to let it guide my actions? How do my emotions show up when I go online?
4. Avoid name-calling:
If someone had called me a Karen or a White saviour while I was in my ignorance, my shame might have become defensiveness rather than curiosity. No matter how well terms like “Woke”, “toxic masculinity”, “Karen” or any other label describes someone, using these will not make them open to listening or learning, and instead risks pushing them further to the side you’re hoping to change.
To prevent ourselves from falling into this trap, we need social awareness skills (another form of emotional intelligence), which means trying to understand the other (no, this is not the same as agreeing with them) rather than attacking them.
*Ask yourself: how do my individual actions affect our collective togetherness, our society? Do I want a more divided society that points the finger at ‘others’, or one that values respect for differences? How can I adapt the way I communicate under pressure to reflect my wish for a more just and inclusive society?
5. Be someone’s Dumb Question Answerer:
At some point, someone will ask you a question that is, to you, incredibly ignorant. You can either use one of the disparaging terms above and enjoy a surge of righteousness, or you can fan their curiosity, and be a bridge person. If you come from the community the person is ignorant about and don’t want to educate them (fair enough), then tell them that you’re not the right person to ask and that this subject is way too close to home for you. Maybe even thank them for being curious.
NB: try not to ask someone from the community you don’t understand to explain themselves to you. Ask a wise friend, watch a documentary, Google it first.
To offer this to others we need to feel safe, and to believe that if we treat “others” better, we will be treated better too. Only then can we practice more emotional intelligence in the form of relationship management: “the ability to communicate clearly, connect with those from other cultures, and manage conflict.”
*Ask yourself: have I ever been unaware or ignorant? What happened for me to become aware and informed? How can I respect my own boundaries while not disrespecting people I find ignorant?
These lessons — along with running WeDoSomething for five years, organizing 18 fun-raiser that raised money and awareness for communities in need — form the foundation of my work today, Versus. While WeDoSomething organized events that acted as a bridge between communities that would otherwise never meet, Versus equips people to become bridges, capable of turning towards each other despite their differences, with respect and care.
Versus teaches individuals, workplaces, schools, and institutions how to address divisive issues and build common ground, using inclusive communication. We teach essential ‘soft skills’ that AI will never master: critical thinking, emotional intelligence, civil dialogue, media literacy and digital citizenship. Each of these shapes our worldview and influences the way we interact with each other.
And each of these is essential for the workplace, for collaborative leadership, resilient cultures, inclusive innovation — and for a healthy democracy.
How else can we address the challenges and opportunities of our post-pandemic, multigenerational, multicultural world — if not together?
If you’re interested in finding out more about our program, email us at hello@wedosomething.org and sign up for our newsletter for announcements about upcoming events.
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