How September 1977 Made Me an Activist

This isn’t a post with coaching tips. This is a post about activism. Activism led me to coaching because I see constantly how people martyr themselves and their health and well-being for the sake of their activism. But here’s the thing -if you are burned out, if your battery is not charged -you have nothing to give to the movement. Changing that dynamic is a huge reason why I coach. Now, about that activism….

Today is Mandela Day, which is celebrated on Nelson Mandela’s birthday. He would have been 102 if he were still alive. The cause he fought for - an end to apartheid - was my political awakening. 

In 1984, when I was in 9th grade, I stumbled upon the book “Biko” by Donald Woods, at the library. Up to that point, I hadn’t been very political (other than my petition to move the 8th grade dance to a different night because it conflicted with the Billy Idol concert).

For those that don’t know (or haven’t heard the Peter Gabriel song), Steve Biko was an anti-apartheid activist and Black Consciousness Movement leader in South Africa. He was jailed in September 1977 for his views and actions. He was interrogated and brutally tortured by South African police. They killed him six days after his arrest. 

It was through this book that I learned about apartheid, about the history of South Africa, and about Nelson Mandela. To say this book woke me up out of my deep slumber would be a massive understatement. I was outraged. I was indignant. I was stunned that most of the people I knew were not talking about the scourge of apartheid on a daily basis. I started reading and learning more. I found the people in my town who cared - those who protested daily at the state capitol building to urge the US to divest any interests in South African products and companies and to push for the end to apartheid. I joined their efforts.

It was my first taste of activism. I loved everything about it - the petitions and the bullhorns and the sign making and the learning and fighting for something I believed would make the world a better place for others. I loved educating my fellow high school classmates about what was happening halfway around the world from us. In 10th grade, a white family from South Africa moved into our neighborhood. I was on their doorstep within 24 hours announcing that, “we need to talk.” (And, actually, we had a really good conversation, but oh my teenage forthrightness.). I was engaged, enraged, and so very naive.

Anti-apartheid activism woke me up to racial injustice, but what I failed to see was the injustice right in front of my face. I didn’t hear what my Black friends were called by others. I was taught by society to cross the street and hold my purse. I was told what parts of town to avoid, and I did. I didn’t understand the civil rights movement or its history, or the fights for desegregation and affirmative action that were happening daily in city and state institutions. I did not question the de facto apartheid of my Midwestern hometown. I didn’t question it because white supremacy and privilege is the water we swim in and when you’re swimming in water you might not realize that it’s really polluted until you find yourself in clearer waters. Or until someone says to you, “Hey, did you know your water is full of toxins?” 

Luckily, I kept reading and learning and eventually I started to see the fishbowl of racial inequity in my own neighborhood. But, it took far too long, in my opinion, and there’s so much that I still don’t see or realize. So much that I am blind to because I am still learning how to see.

Here’s the coaching part. I could feel guilt and shame about what I didn’t see; my past actions; what I don’t see now. Sometimes I do. But, more often I am so very grateful for the opportunity to learn, for being held accountable, for being corrected. Because I want to get better personally. And I want to do my part to tear down the institutions and systems that uphold racism and white supremacy in my childhood hometown, my chosen town, in our country and in other countries like South Africa. As Brene Brown says, shame and accountability are two different things. I should and must be held accountable, but I will not get bogged down in the quicksand of shame. That quicksand will pull you under and keep you from doing the necessary work to unlearn racism and change systems and power structures.

I’m going to use this Mandela Day to engage in activism in my own town; to question where my tax dollars go, to use my voice to change the injustice right here at home. I hope you’ll join me.

XO,

Patty