It is time to move past allyship.
Do you know why the murder of George Floyd was different? Do you know why the world collectively said, “No more”? I’ll tell you: It was COVID-19.
When Ahmaud Arbery was murdered on February 23, 2020, many people were still high on the new-year vibes and focused on their resolutions. Then, Breonna Taylor was murdered in her sleep on March 13, 2020. People were upset by yet another Black life taken by white police officers, but they didn’t have time to focus because of Covid.
The stories of Ms. Taylor’s plans to be a nurse were overshadowed by uncertainty over a health crisis. Her murder was the same week that most people started to shelter in place. The news cycle moved to Covid panic, leaving little room for rage at another police murder. About two months later, on May 25, 2020, the world changed.
You can’t unsee that video clip. You can’t unhear George Floyd calling for his mother. It was everywhere. The shock. The pain. The realization of the lack of value for Black life. We were sitting at home hearing the stories, watching the clips, seeing the disturbing images on TV and our phones, and talking about it.
We were at home. We were experiencing trauma at home.
When someone sits in discomfort long enough, the only reaction is to do something about it.
For once in modern times, white people were forced to sit in the discomfort of seeing yet another Black person lose their life at the hands of police. White people couldn’t go to brunch. They couldn’t take their kids to soccer or summer camp. They couldn’t travel or even make their Instagram followers jealous with a picture-worthy meal because the pandemic kept them home.
When someone sits in discomfort long enough, the only reaction is to do something about it. And that’s when we saw white people leaning into allyship. White people were at marches and protests. White mothers were in tears thinking about how Mr. Floyd could have been their child. Conversations were happening in the workplace, where leaders and employees alike were looking for ways to donate to Black Lives Matter, the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, and any organization bailing out protesters.
The “Summer of Allyship” had begun.
As someone who runs an organizational development firm with a specialization in diversity and anti-racism, I was busy. I worked for 19 days straight to deal with the demands of companies around the world who wanted to do better. Our public workshops were full. I did a series of Q&As for white women to ask me any questions they had about how to show up for Black people in the space of social justice, allyship, and reckoning. I became their Black friend and social media confidant. It was a wild summer!
But right around mid-August, I started to see less participation in my workshops, where I was barely able to get 15 people. Even though we were still in a pandemic, there was this distraction of getting ready to go back to school, whether virtual or in person. Those return-to-school feelings took away white people’s passion and interest in being allies and learning how to be anti-racist.
Soon after back-to-school, the election was in full swing. The world was watching the debates. “Did Trump really say that?” “Look at that fly on Pence!” “Did he just do a rallying cry for the Proud Boys?” Yet again, we saw this wave of people saying we needed to be allies by voting for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. So the Summer of Allyship feeling came back: “Oh, Georgia needs us to flip the Senate? We’re there!” There were donations and people were phone banking to help Georgia and its numerous Black women who saved the day. You could almost hear the collective whisper: “We’ll show them, this will fix everything.”
When Vice President Harris was sworn in, I was constantly asked how I felt — you know, because I’m a Black woman. I told many people I didn’t cry; I was happy, but I knew what this meant for BIPOC, for me, and for my work: It meant that white people would now feel permitted to no longer be uncomfortable. It meant the Summer of Allyship was fun, but now there were elected officials who were going to do the work for them. White people felt they did the work, but what people forget — intentionally and unintentionally — is that the work is never done.
President Biden and Vice President Harris are a step in the right direction, but their efforts will not go as far as Americans believe until there is systemic change to dismantle white supremacy at all levels.
We need to talk about anti-racism and move away from allyship. Allyship is static, or complacent. If it moves, it’s a wave. It centers white privilege, allowing for breaks and moments to coast for comfort.
As a Black disabled woman, I never get a break. I could literally be on vacation and be discriminated against from the airport to the hotel.
As I go through TSA, my hair is patted down because the machines cannot see curly-textured hair. At the gate, I’m judged for boarding during pre-board because I don’t look like I have a disability. In first or business class, I’m asked if I’m in the right seat. Upon arrival at the resort, the front desk staff is shocked that I’m Dr. Cadet. And then, finally, when I make it to the crystal-clear saltwater pool overlooking a cerulean blue ocean, I’m asked to show my room card to get a towel when white people before and after me are greeted with a towel and a smile.
Taking a pause from advocating for myself and fellow BIPOC is a privilege I may never see in my lifetime — especially if white people only want to be allies.
It’s time for white people to become accomplices.
An accomplice knows the waves are continuous and a never-ending flow. An accomplice is prepared to stay afloat while saving others who were not privileged enough to learn how to swim. There’s this idea that being an accomplice is hard to achieve. But it’s simply taking daily actions, big and small, to show up differently.
An accomplice questions why things are done one way for white people and another for Black people. An accomplice uses their privilege as a road map to know how to show up for others. They’re unafraid of what their peers will say as they embrace being the odd one out. An accomplice is comfortable being uncomfortable learning and unlearning. They really do the work.
We need accomplices to have true humanity and equality for all. Be uncomfortable. Do the work. My love language — dismantling white supremacy — is really for white people. But until they see that dismantling white supremacy is their problem, it will be how I continually show love. A way I can make the world a better place. Until then, I’m living in a world where I see firsthand how I’m not valued, appreciated, or believed because of the color of my skin, the shape of my body, and my occasional need for assistance.
Adapted excerpt from WHITE SUPREMACY IS ALL AROUND: Notes from a Black Disabled Woman in a White World by Dr. Akilah Cadet. Copyright © 2024. Available from Hachette Go, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Dr. Akilah Cadet is the Founder and CEO of Change Cadet, an organizational development consulting firm that offers services that support embedding belonging into overall company culture, identity and strategy. Dismantling white supremacy through storytelling is at the core of her work as a leader, speaker, creative director, producer, writer, editor and author.
