In the heart of America’s ongoing dialogue about racial equity, mask mandates, local autonomy, and the myriad challenges confronting public education, two fundamental questions persist: Who is an American? and What is America becoming? These questions, often unspoken, underpin our national discourse, coloring even seemingly unrelated conversations. They are the silent melody to the soundtrack of our nation’s evolution, a constant theme in the American songbook. And sometimes, in the face of adversity and division, we find individuals whose stories resonate with such power that they become anthems of hope, individuals who, in their own way, embody the spirit of “you’re my inspiration song.”
For three decades, leading racial equity trainings has taught me a profound lesson: the how of our conversations is as crucial as the what. Stories, personal narratives, these are the bridges that connect us, the common ground where understanding can take root. It is in these shared human experiences that we find the inspiration to move forward, to learn, and to grow.
This is my story, a personal journey into the complexities of race and racism in America. It’s a narrative interwoven with the threads of unconscious bias, the specter of white nationalism, and the very real threats to our democratic ideals. But it’s also a story of hope, of resilience, and of the power of individual action to effect change. And within this narrative, you might find echoes of your own inspiration, your own “you’re my inspiration song,” guiding you towards a more just and equitable world.
To truly understand where we are, we must look back. While my story spans decades, let’s begin not at the beginning, but somewhere in the middle, roughly 25 years ago.
A Town Divided, A Moment of Connection
The mid-1990s witnessed the release of Not in Our Town II, a documentary chronicling communities mirroring the courageous stand of Billings, Montana. These were places where neighbors, united in the face of racist and antisemitic hate crimes, chose solidarity over silence. At that time, I served as the field organizer for the Northwest Coalition Against Malicious Harassment, collaborating with over 120 local anti-bigotry groups across six western states. We were deeply involved in hosting screenings of this powerful film, sparking crucial dialogues led by local anti-hate activists.
One particular evening took me to Eugene, Oregon, a city where my journey as an anti-bigotry organizer had begun, a place where I’d helped establish Communities Against Hate. As dusk settled, I stood outside the venue, a public utility hall in a quiet part of town, greeting attendees. Rumors of a potential disruption by neo-Nazis hung in the air. Suddenly, they materialized: a dozen members of Aryan Pride, clad in full regalia, marching towards us. Quickly, I ushered everyone indoors, turning to face the approaching group. Beside me stood a local rabbi, the sole individual who had defied my pleas to seek shelter inside. His stance was unwavering: he would not leave my side, come what may. This quiet act of courage, this unexpected allyship, became a source of profound inspiration in that tense moment. It was a silent “you’re my inspiration song” playing in the background of a potentially volatile situation.
These were not casual agitators; they were individuals known for violence. As they encircled the rabbi and me, the gravity of the situation was palpable. De-escalation became my singular focus. I began to engage them, driven by a desire to understand, to find a human connection amidst the hate. I asked them about their identities, their affiliations: Klan, Christian Identity, neo-Nazi? These were the fragmented faces of white nationalism at the time.
My unexpected curiosity, my willingness to engage without fear or aggression, seemed to disarm them. One of them broke the silence, asking if they could enter the event. “Certainly,” I replied, “It’s a public event. But face coverings have to come off.” I explained the legal ramifications, emphasizing that my aim was not to see anyone entangled in the criminal justice system.
After a moment of tense negotiation, they removed their masks and joined the screening. Later, I noticed their leader heading towards the restroom. After a short pause, I followed. Extending my hand, I introduced myself, “My name is Eric Ward. What’s yours?” He faced a choice: shake the hand of a Black man, or refuse and appear weak in front of his followers? He chose to shake my hand. We returned to the audience, and I commenced the program.
Following the speakers and the film, a Q&A session began. I addressed some of the neo-Nazis’ questions, drawing a clear boundary while extending an olive branch. “This isn’t a debate forum,” I stated. “Organize your own event for that. But if you’re interested in genuine conversation, I’m sure many in this town would be willing to engage.”
The rabbi raised his hand, “I’d be willing.” Then, the head of the local NAACP chapter echoed, “I’d be willing.” These simple acts of willingness, these small sparks of hope, were like verses in a “you’re my inspiration song,” hinting at the possibility of change.
That night concluded without violence. In the ensuing months, Doug—as I’ll call the neo-Nazi leader—reached out to the rabbi and the NAACP leader, initiating dialogues. These conversations didn’t instantly dismantle his white power ideology. Neither did a violent assault by anti-fascist and anti-racist skinheads in town. But a turning point arrived one day as Doug watched television with his young daughter. Sesame Street appeared on the screen, a vibrant tapestry of characters of color. Infuriated, he reached to switch it off. His daughter’s tearful outburst stopped him. In that moment, something shifted within him. Doug later confided that the shame he felt that day marked the beginning of his departure from the white power movement. This profound shift, driven by a father’s love for his daughter, is a testament to the power of human connection and a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” in its own right.
After renouncing his neo-Nazi affiliations, Doug faced severe repercussions from his former comrades, including a brutal beating at his workplace that led to hospitalization. Yet, undeterred, he embarked on a path of public apology and sought to repair the harm he had inflicted. Decades later, we remain in contact. He is now a respected artist whose work I deeply admire. I’ve often told him, “You’re my inspiration.” His response is always a question, “What do you mean?” My answer is simple: “Every night when you go to sleep, you are proof that a better world is possible. Everyone is redeemable.” This is the essence of “you’re my inspiration song”—the belief in redemption, in the inherent capacity for change within each of us.
I share Doug’s story to underscore a crucial point. When Doug glimpsed the world through his daughter’s innocent eyes, he connected with values, not ideology. And in that connection, transformation became possible. Doug’s journey exemplifies that racial prejudice and violence are learned behaviors, and what is learned can be unlearned. His story, and countless others like it, are the verses of a larger “you’re my inspiration song,” a testament to the enduring human capacity for change and growth.
Many might perceive Doug and me as polar opposites. But the truth is, the chasm between us is far smaller than it appears. Just as individuals of color are increasingly drawn to violent hate groups, I too could have become an unrepentant Doug. The factors that steered me away from that path are integral to my understanding of race in America.
The Air I Breathed: Navigating Race in Reagan’s America
As a young Black male maturing in the Reagan era, my trajectory was far from predetermined to be a civil rights leader. In fact, the currents of my environment could have easily swept me towards a different shore, perhaps mirroring the path of figures like Enrique Tarrio, the former leader of the Proud Boys, or Brandon Rapolla, individuals of color who have become increasingly visible within the white-nationalist driven alt-right movement. These are stark reminders that the lines of race and ideology are complex and not always predictable. However, even in the face of such complexities, the stories of those who choose a different path, those who become beacons of hope and change, serve as powerful “you’re my inspiration songs.”
My roots lie in Southern California. Two generations prior, my family sought refuge there, fleeing Shepherdsville, Kentucky, haunted by the lynching of Marie Thompson, a Black woman who dared to challenge a white man’s assault on her son in the early 1900s. When I was in sixth grade, my mother and I relocated from Los Angeles to Long Beach, coinciding with the school district’s court-mandated desegregation.
Long Beach sat precariously on the edge of what locals termed the Orange Curtain, the dividing line between the working-class, immigrant neighborhoods of southern Los Angeles County and the predominantly white, conservative enclaves of Orange County. By the mid-1970s, the sprawling landscape of white flight was increasingly punctuated by families of color seeking affordable housing in safer communities. White nationalism was an undeniable feature of this landscape. Just blocks from our apartment stood a branch of the John Birch Society, an organization vehemently opposed to the civil rights movement, viewing the communist threat as a global conspiracy.
I was bused to school in a predominantly white, middle-class suburb, traversing through affluent neighborhoods that felt worlds away from my own. In these spaces, white adults would sometimes roll down their car windows to hurl racial slurs, telling us to “go back to Africa.” At school, white students etched “SWP”—Supreme White Power—into their desks. A local media personality, Wally George, hosted Hot Seat, a public access television show that foreshadowed the rise of hate radio and shock jocks like Rush Limbaugh and Tucker Carlson. As teenagers, we would sometimes watch George’s show, finding a dark humor in its extremism, but beneath the laughter lay a palpable unease. Rumors of neo-Nazis marching in a nearby park were a chilling reminder of the undercurrent of hate that permeated our environment.
I was raised by a working-poor single mother. Politics was a distant concept in our daily lives. We were simply a Black family navigating life in a conservative town during a conservative era. The civil rights and social movements of the 1960s and early 1970s had been largely demobilized, weakened by government interference or internal strife. The political fervor of the Black Panthers was giving way to the economic desperation fueling the rise of gangs like the Bloods and the Crips. Ronald Reagan dominated the political landscape, serving as governor for much of my childhood and then as president during my high school years.
From a young age, the military seemed like my inevitable path. Long Beach was a Navy town, and throughout high school, I was an enthusiastic member of the Naval Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps (NJROTC). I rose to become third in command as a cadet, even earning leadership awards from organizations like the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks. Spring vacations were spent on naval warships, participating in mini boot camps, including one that incorporated a mock prisoner-of-war camp. I pre-enlisted in the Navy at 17 and entered boot camp shortly after my 18th birthday.
Patriotism has always been a part of my self-identity. Not out of a belief in inherent superiority, but due to a deep familiarity with the unique facets of the place I call home. In high school, the phrase “America First” wouldn’t have carried the ominous weight it does today, depending on who uttered it. While I wasn’t as overtly xenophobic as many of the white individuals around me, like all Americans, Black individuals grew up immersed in xenophobia, sexism, homophobia, and racism—it was, in a very real sense, the air we breathed. These ingrained biases were like dissonant chords in the American song, clashing with the ideals of equality and justice.
So, how did I deviate from becoming a product of this environment? How did I avoid mirroring the path of someone like Enrique Tarrio? What were the “you’re my inspiration songs” that guided me towards a different future?
Firstly, I experienced firsthand what it meant to be a target of bigotry, to be labeled as “other.” I vividly recall the day I resolved to no longer run from it. In ninth grade, I stood my ground when a group of white college students accosted my friends and me for simply walking to our bus stop in what they deemed “their neighborhood.” I endured a beating, but in that moment, a realization crystallized: the fight against bigotry was not just personal, but a moral imperative. We all have a responsibility to draw a line against hate. Even among my friends, I wouldn’t tolerate bullying, consistently seeking to interrupt and de-escalate conflicts. This early experience, though painful, became a formative verse in my personal “you’re my inspiration song,” shaping my commitment to justice.
Secondly, I found refuge and belonging in a music scene where my musical identity became as powerful as my racial identity. Following a medical discharge from the Navy, the diverse punk scene became my sanctuary. It provided me with lifelong friendships—Black, white, Latinx, Asian, and Pacific Islander, U.S.-born and undocumented. These relationships, and the alternative identities fostered within this community, steered me away from the path of ultranationalism. The punk scene, with its ethos of rebellion and inclusivity, became another crucial verse in my “you’re my inspiration song,” a melody of solidarity and acceptance.
Thirdly, my move to Oregon in my early twenties—from the racially diverse but value-conflicted Southern California to the self-proclaimed liberal but predominantly white college town of Eugene—exposed me directly to the contradictions inherent in the national values I had been raised with. I had internalized beliefs like: Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. The world is what you make it. Oppression may exist, but maintain a stiff upper lip, work harder than everyone else, and you will overcome. These individualistic narratives, however, were about to collide with the stark reality of systemic racism.
Facing the Reality of Systemic Racism: A Shattering Revelation
Interestingly, it was in Eugene that these ingrained narratives began to crumble before my eyes. Initially, Eugene appeared almost surreal. Compared to the neighborhoods of my upbringing, it was impeccably clean. The air itself seemed to carry a refreshing scent. Calling home to my mother, I exclaimed, “It’s so green, it’s like Disneyland!” I lacked any other frame of reference for such lush greenery.
Everyone seemed outwardly friendly. Yet, despite my years of work experience since the age of 13, a robust résumé, a confident demeanor, and genuine charm, I couldn’t secure employment. Job application after job application yielded no results, leading me to internalize the failure, thinking, “It must be me.” At that time, I lacked any comprehension of the pervasive impact of systemic racism. This period of unemployment, though frustrating, became a crucial prelude to understanding the deeper structures of inequality. It was like a discordant note in what I thought was the “you’re my inspiration song” of American opportunity.
Finally, someone decided to take a chance on me. It’s a significant detail that the only individual in liberal Eugene in 1986 willing to hire a young Black man was a conservative white Republican living on the rural outskirts of town. We spent countless hours together, eight to twelve hours a day, five days a week, installing insulation in the cramped, dusty crawl spaces beneath houses. This unexpected connection, this unlikely opportunity, was a subtle reminder that human connections can transcend ideological divides, a faint but hopeful melody within the discordant song.
A year later, enrolling at the community college opened another door. I secured a work-study position as the receptionist at the campus multicultural center. A group of us from the staff were sent to a three-day training on racism, hosted by Clergy & Laity Concerned (an organization that would later offer me my first professional role as an organizer). This training marked a pivotal shift in my understanding, a turning point in my personal narrative.
The training commenced with a reading from Christopher Columbus’s diary, revealing his genocidal disdain for the Taíno people. “With fifty men they can all be subjugated and made to do what is required of them,” he coldly observed. The trainers proceeded to meticulously outline the historical tapestry of racism in America. “There’s a history?” I thought, stunned. “How come I’ve never heard this before?” Suddenly, my struggles to find employment, the subtle and not-so-subtle barriers I had encountered, began to coalesce into a larger pattern. This is a system—a deeply entrenched set of patterns woven throughout the fabric of the United States. It’s not simply about individual effort, about pulling myself up by my bootstraps or working ten times harder. At the end of the day, those individual actions cannot overcome systemic barriers. This realization was like a sudden, powerful chorus in my evolving “you’re my inspiration song,” revealing the complex harmonies and dissonances of the American experience.
Returning home to my multicultural household, the close-knit group of friends who had become like family and who had encouraged my move to Eugene, I was consumed by rage. I retreated to my room, immersed myself in music, and effectively withdrew from the world for the remainder of the day. I felt a profound sense of betrayal, of manipulation. As the music played, my mind wrestled with the raw anger that now surged within me. This anger, though painful, was a necessary catalyst for change, a powerful emotion that needed to be channeled constructively.
The next morning, I returned to the training, visibly agitated. The trainer noticed my state and inquired how I was doing. I was at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the intensity of my emotions. He offered words that have resonated with me ever since: “There will be days when you wish you could unlearn what you now know. Days when you long to shut the door again and return to your former, less informed view of the world. But you can’t. This knowledge is now yours to carry. It’s called truth. The choice you now face is how you will carry it. You can cling to the rage—but it will consume you and everything around you. Or, you can choose to transform that rage into redemption.” These words, a guiding melody in my “you’re my inspiration song,” offered a path forward, a way to channel anger into purpose.
This is the essence of what resonates with me when I hear the phrase “redeem the soul of America.” The invitation—to transform my personal rage at injustice into work that could contribute to redeeming the soul of our nation—spoke directly to my understanding of what it meant to be an American. The rage hasn’t vanished; it remains a potent force just beneath the surface. But I have consciously chosen not to internalize or project it outwards in destructive ways. Instead, I have strived to find a path towards building a patriotic ideal: inclusive democracy. This pursuit of redemption, this conscious choice to build a better future, is the most powerful verse in my ongoing “you’re my inspiration song.”
Sorting, Prejudice, Racism: Deconstructing a Harmful System
It is a daunting truth to acknowledge that the chasm between ourselves and those who become neo-Nazis or alt-right leaders is often narrower than we might want to believe. Recent research commissioned by Western States Center reveals that approximately 40 percent of Oregonians endorse statements aligning with core white nationalist tenets, such as “America must protect and preserve its white European heritage,” and “White people in America face discrimination and unfair treatment based on race.” (Conversely, a significant majority, 86 percent, agree with protecting America’s multicultural heritage, and 70 percent acknowledge that people of color face race-based discrimination.) These statistics underscore the subtle yet pervasive nature of these beliefs within our communities, highlighting the urgent need for open and honest conversations about race. However, even within these challenging statistics, we can find inspiration in the majority who reject these hateful ideologies, their voices forming a crucial part of the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
The white nationalist movement articulates a clear vision for the future of American society, one rooted in exclusion and division. While most Americans reject this vision, even those who may agree with some of the movement’s underlying premises often do not fully subscribe to the complete white nationalist agenda. But what is the future that the majority of Americans envision? This question lies at the heart of our national identity, a question that requires collective introspection and action. And in this pursuit of a shared vision, we can find inspiration in the voices of unity and hope, voices that contribute to the “you’re my inspiration song” of a better America.
Honesty about the appeal of core white nationalist beliefs to a segment of Americans in this moment is a critical starting point for a meaningful conversation about what it truly means to be an American and how we can collectively build that America. Discussing these beliefs necessitates vulnerability. Research from Race Forward, a racial equity organization where I serve as a senior fellow, indicates that anxiety is a common element in interracial interactions, and this anxiety, even devoid of negative intent, can manifest as unwelcoming behaviors. Understanding this dynamic is crucial for fostering genuine connection and dismantling barriers to equity. And in the effort to overcome this anxiety and build bridges, we can find inspiration in the courage to engage in difficult conversations, a courage that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
The enduring legacy of racism in this nation casts a shadow over all of us, impacting our lives daily. It is imperative to remember that while we may not be responsible for creating this legacy, we are undeniably responsible for how we choose to engage with it today. This responsibility is a shared burden, but also a shared opportunity to build a more just and equitable future. And in embracing this responsibility, in choosing action over apathy, we can find inspiration in the collective effort to overcome injustice, a collective voice rising in a powerful “you’re my inspiration song.”
From our earliest years, we are trained to sort our world. I recall the praise I received as a toddler for successfully fitting geometric blocks into their corresponding slots in a toy. I remember the Sesame Street jingle, One of these things is not like the others; one of these things doesn’t belong. Can you tell which thing is not like the others by the time I finish this song? Sorting is fundamental to how we structure our understanding of the world, a necessary cognitive tool for navigating complexity and recognizing potential threats. However, the act of sorting can also become a breeding ground for inequity. Categorizing individuals into “in” groups and “out” groups can lead to the formation of stereotypes and prejudice, creating divisions where none should exist. Recognizing this potential for harm in our inherent tendency to sort is the first step towards dismantling these harmful categorizations and building a more inclusive society. And in this conscious effort to move beyond simplistic sorting, we can find inspiration in the pursuit of genuine understanding and connection, a pursuit that adds a layer of harmony to the “you’re my inspiration song” of unity.
A powerful example of the insidious nature of stereotyping comes to mind from the late 1980s, at a rally advocating for Indigenous religious rights. I was present with one of my most influential mentors. Her young daughter tugged at her jacket, seeking attention. “Mom! Mom! Are these Indians?” Her mother replied, “Yes.” The daughter’s immediate response was, “Indians are bad!” This mentor was a dedicated anti-racist white feminist, one of the three women who profoundly shaped my foundational understanding of race and racism. She was fearless, a truth-teller who spoke truth to power. I had witnessed her confront U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service agents and be arrested for civil disobedience. Yet, her own child, despite being raised in an environment of social justice awareness, had absorbed this harmful stereotype. This stark example underscores the pervasive nature of prejudice, even in seemingly progressive environments. However, in the mother’s immediate and thoughtful response to her daughter, we see the power of education and redirection, a small act of resistance against ingrained prejudice that echoes a quiet “you’re my inspiration song” of hope.
My mentor calmly corrected her daughter, “That’s not true, but we’ll talk about it when we get home.” Later, she shared the full story with me. She gently reminded her daughter of two individuals they knew personally who were Native American, grounding her understanding in real-world relationships. Where, then, had her daughter acquired the notion that Native Americans were “bad people?” Earlier that week, she had watched a Popeye cartoon featuring stereotypical, racist depictions of a character with a headdress and tomahawk, portrayed as a menacing figure chasing and attempting to harm the heroes. This seemingly innocuous cartoon had planted a seed of prejudice in her young mind. This incident serves as a stark reminder of the subtle but powerful ways in which stereotypes are perpetuated, even through seemingly harmless media. However, in the mother’s proactive intervention, we see the power of conscious counter-narratives, a reminder that even small actions can disrupt the cycle of prejudice and contribute to a larger “you’re my inspiration song” of change.
Fortunately, the mother’s intervention helped her daughter to move beyond the fear generated by the cartoon. She reconnected her daughter to the reality of her relationships with real people of Indigenous descent. But imagine if they hadn’t attended that rally, if the daughter hadn’t voiced her fear. How long would that ingrained prejudice have lingered? Likely, the cartoon itself would have faded from conscious memory within years, but the underlying feeling of anxiety and distrust towards “the other” could have remained dormant for far longer, shaping unconscious biases and influencing future interactions. This hypothetical scenario underscores the importance of actively addressing prejudice, of creating spaces for open dialogue and challenging harmful stereotypes before they become deeply ingrained. And in this proactive approach, in the commitment to dismantling prejudice at its root, we can find inspiration in the possibility of preventing future harm, a quiet yet powerful verse in the “you’re my inspiration song” of a more just world.
Real-world interactions and relationships are crucial in mitigating biases. This is why persistent residential segregation poses such a significant threat to American democracy. It’s also why public schools remain a central battleground for those uncomfortable with America’s evolving demographics. Schools are among the few spaces where individuals regularly interact across lines of race, national origin, religion, class, and gender (though racial clustering of white students still persists, despite some progress in school integration over the past quarter-century). These spaces of interaction, though often fraught with challenges, are also fertile ground for building understanding and dismantling prejudice. And in the ongoing struggle for truly integrated and equitable schools, we can find inspiration in the potential for education to be a force for positive change, a powerful instrument in the “you’re my inspiration song” of a more inclusive future.
Our Shared Humanity: Beyond Division and Towards Unity
I am convinced that the single most significant obstacle to unifying “We the people” is racial segregation. Systemic racism perpetuates a reality where most of us have limited meaningful interaction with those who are different from ourselves. We remain largely strangers to one another. This lack of familiarity fuels the perception of governance structures as “them” rather than “all of us,” eroding trust and hindering collective action. Breaking down these walls of segregation, fostering genuine cross-cultural understanding, is essential for building a truly unified nation. And in this effort to bridge divides and build community, we can find inspiration in the potential for human connection to overcome even the deepest societal fractures, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song.”
Strangers thrust together may not instantly find harmony, especially strangers burdened by historical lies, ancestral harms, and the ingrained belief that another group’s human rights somehow diminish their own. However, when we are given the opportunity to share our stories, to truly listen and be heard, we reconnect with a fundamental truth: our shared humanity. At the core level of basic needs and values, we are far less different than the voices of division would have us believe. This recognition of our shared humanity, this understanding that our commonalities far outweigh our differences, is a powerful force for unity and a central theme in the “you’re my inspiration song” of a more just and equitable world.
A degree of tension is inevitable in a pluralistic, multiracial society. The goal of a functioning democracy is not to eliminate intergroup tensions entirely, but rather to provide mechanisms for managing these tensions constructively, ensuring they do not undermine opportunity and justice for all. When systemic biases prevent us from truly knowing each other, when we remain separated by the stereotypes and prejudices fostered by systemic segregation, we all suffer. The cost is not merely social and ethical, but also profoundly economic. Recognizing this interconnectedness, understanding that our collective well-being is intertwined, is crucial for building a society where everyone can thrive. And in this pursuit of collective prosperity and well-being, we can find inspiration in the promise of a future where shared humanity triumphs over division, a future that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
A 2020 study quantified the staggering economic cost of discrimination against African Americans, estimating it at $16 trillion over two decades. This figure represents three-quarters of the entire gross domestic product (GDP) of the United States in 2019. Furthermore, the study projected that eliminating discrimination against Black people in education, wages, housing, and investment (such as business loans) would boost GDP by $5 trillion over the subsequent five years. Imagine: $1 trillion annually generated simply by dismantling discriminatory practices! Consider the immense positive impact we could have as a nation with these newly liberated resources. These economic figures starkly illustrate that racial equity is not just a moral imperative, but also a pathway to collective prosperity. And in this understanding that justice and economic well-being are intertwined, we can find inspiration in the potential for a more equitable society to benefit everyone, a potential that echoes as a compelling “you’re my inspiration song” of progress and shared prosperity.
Another recent study further documented the economic toll of discrimination, finding that raising the average income of people of color to match that of white people (by rectifying disparities in education, health, and opportunities) would increase total U.S. earnings by 15 percent, a gain of $1 trillion. Similarly, a 2013 study projected that closing the earnings gap by 2030, when people of color are expected to constitute 46 percent of the working-age population, would augment GDP by approximately $5 trillion per year. These compelling economic arguments reinforce the moral case for racial equity, demonstrating that dismantling systemic racism is not only the right thing to do, but also the smart thing to do for our collective economic future. And in this convergence of moral and economic imperatives, we can find inspiration in the pursuit of a more just and prosperous society for all, a pursuit that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
So, how do we address the immense cost of racism? How do we transition from this broken legacy to a future that works for everyone? What are the practical steps we can take to build a more equitable and unified nation? These are the critical questions that demand our collective attention and action, questions that guide us towards the verses of a “you’re my inspiration song” that can lead us to a better future.
Understanding Racism: A Framework for Action
I firmly believe that the more individuals understand the multifaceted nature of racism, the more effectively they can intervene and disrupt its harmful patterns.* Knowledge is, in itself, a powerful tool, and the opportunity to apply that knowledge in practical ways is essential for creating meaningful change. While the complexities of racism can seem daunting, the fundamental principles for understanding it are not inherently complicated. Race Forward offers a straightforward, actionable framework that we can all utilize. This framework, born from years of experience and research, provides a practical guide for navigating the complexities of race and racism and taking concrete steps towards equity. And in this empowerment through knowledge and action, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song.”
My aim in sharing this framework is to equip you—and those you work with and teach—with key concepts crucial for advocating for racial equity, including the ability to recognize and address implicit bias. I will also touch upon strategies for becoming a more effective advocate for racial equity and navigating resistance to change. These are essential skills for anyone committed to building a more just and equitable society. And in the collective effort to develop these skills and become agents of change, we can find inspiration in the power of education and empowerment, a power that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
The concepts and tools I am about to share—those that I initially learned from the trainers and organizers who first guided my understanding of racism in Eugene, and that I continue to employ in my work today—have profoundly shaped my life. They have made me a more informed and engaged American, allowing me to embrace my patriotism in relation to my community and country in a more meaningful and impactful way. These tools are not just abstract theories, but practical instruments for navigating the complexities of race and racism and building a more just and equitable society. And in the ongoing application of these tools, in the commitment to continuous learning and growth, we can find inspiration in the journey of personal and collective transformation, a journey that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
Let’s begin with a fundamental truth: racial inequity in the United States is not merely a matter of opinion. Race remains the most significant predictor of life outcomes in America. In virtually every domain of life—education, health, employment, housing, criminal justice—an individual’s race significantly influences their chances of success and well-being. This stark reality underscores the enduring legacy of systemic racism and the urgent need for transformative change. And in the unwavering commitment to address these stark disparities, we can find inspiration in the pursuit of a more just and equitable society for all, a pursuit that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and determination.
Perhaps the most impactful statistic to emerge from the examination of necessary reforms in local government and policing in Ferguson, Missouri, was the revelation of the stark reality of racial segregation and under-resourced Black communities. The disparity in life expectancy based on zip code can be as high as 35 years. Thirty-five years—allow that staggering figure to truly sink in. That represents an entire lifetime for some. This shocking disparity underscores the profound and devastating consequences of systemic racism, highlighting the urgent need for transformative change and equitable resource allocation. And in the collective effort to bridge these life expectancy gaps and address the root causes of inequality, we can find inspiration in the pursuit of a future where zip code does not determine destiny, a future that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and justice.
These persistent racial disparities are not natural or inevitable occurrences. They are the direct result of deliberate creation. For centuries, governments and other institutions in America have actively constructed and maintained racial inequity through policy and practice. This historical context is crucial for understanding the present realities of racial inequality and for dismantling the systems that perpetuate it. And in the commitment to confronting this history and dismantling these systems, we can find inspiration in the pursuit of a future where equity is not just an aspiration, but a lived reality for all, a future that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and transformation.
For much of our nation’s history, America has functioned as two distinct societies, separate and unequal. This stark reality led historian and civil rights leader Vincent Harding to pen his seminal essay, “Is America Possible?” I wholeheartedly embrace Harding’s resounding answer: “Yes, yes, yes, America is possible. It will be. It must be.” I see myself as a citizen of a nation that is still in the process of becoming, a nation that has yet to fully realize its ideals of equality and justice for all. Our country has engaged in an ongoing, often arduous struggle across generations to become one nation, a truly United States. This struggle for unity and equity forms the very core of the racial equity work we are focused on here. And in this ongoing struggle, in the unwavering belief in the possibility of a more perfect union, we can find inspiration in the pursuit of a truly united and equitable America, a pursuit that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and determination.
America is not only possible; as the aforementioned studies indicate, it is also demonstrably profitable. The true challenge lies in sustaining the collective desire to become a singular, multiracial, united nation. This requires ongoing commitment, courageous conversations, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about our past and present. And in this sustained commitment, in the collective will to build a better future, we can find inspiration in the enduring power of the American spirit, a spirit that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and resilience.
Normalizing the Conversation: Opening Pathways to Understanding
Whether you find yourself in agreement with my perspectives thus far, or harbor doubts and objections, I encourage you to consider three foundational questions. Resist the urge to overthink; simply observe your initial, instinctive responses. These questions are designed to spark introspection and open pathways for dialogue. And in this willingness to engage in honest self-reflection and open dialogue, we can find inspiration in the potential for growth and understanding, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
True or false?
- All hiring and promotion decisions should be based solely on merit.
- To achieve greater equity, some of us must necessarily lose something.
- I believe we can ultimately eliminate racial inequity.
Posing these questions to ourselves and to each other, and cultivating genuine curiosity about our individual responses, is an essential step towards normalizing conversations about race and racism. This is a dialogue that transcends political posturing; it delves into our core values and the alignment of those values when it comes to race. And in this willingness to engage in these crucial conversations, to explore our values and beliefs, we can find inspiration in the potential for shared understanding and collective action, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song.”
According to a 2019 survey, our relationship with talking about race is complex and often conflicted. While nearly two-thirds of Black and Asian adults reported frequently or sometimes discussing race, only approximately 50 percent of white and Hispanic adults did so. Most white adults expressed comfort in discussing race, yet a majority (63 percent) were significantly more likely to confine these discussions to individuals of their own race. This contrasts sharply with people of color, who reported a lower percentage of race-related conversations being limited to their own racial or ethnic group: Black respondents, 50 percent; Hispanic, 42 percent; and Asian, 37 percent. These statistics reveal a significant disparity in how different racial groups engage in conversations about race, highlighting the need to bridge these divides and foster more inclusive and cross-racial dialogues. And in the effort to overcome these communication barriers and build bridges of understanding, we can find inspiration in the potential for open and honest conversations to be a catalyst for change, a potential that adds a powerful verse to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Reflect on these facts for a moment. They paint a clear picture of the work that remains to normalize this vital conversation, to cultivate a shared history and relationship with the subject of race. Race often functions as the unspoken “elephant in the room,” and racial anxiety is demonstrably on the rise. Racial inequities are deeply rooted and pervasive, yet many of us lack a clear, shared understanding of what racial equity truly means. Addressing this lack of clarity and fostering open, honest conversations about race are crucial steps towards building a more equitable and unified society. And in this commitment to breaking the silence and engaging in courageous conversations, we can find inspiration in the potential for dialogue to be a transformative force, a force that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
Equity and Equality: Understanding the Nuance
What is the fundamental distinction between equity and equality? Let me offer a simple, relatable example. Understanding this distinction is critical for moving beyond simplistic notions of fairness and towards a more nuanced and effective approach to achieving racial justice. And in this pursuit of deeper understanding and more effective action, we can find inspiration in the potential for knowledge to be a catalyst for change, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
My partner Jessica and I often enjoy attending shows and games in large stadiums and auditoriums. Inevitably, the need for restroom facilities arises. These venues typically construct their restrooms based on the principle of equality: an equal number of stalls in each gendered restroom. You are likely already familiar with the predictable outcome. I am typically in and out in a minute, left waiting for her as she stands in a seemingly endless queue. Equity, in this context, would entail adding more women’s stalls or designating some facilities as all-gender. This simple example illustrates that true fairness often requires differentiated approaches, recognizing and addressing existing disparities to ensure equal access and experience. And in this pursuit of equitable solutions, we can find inspiration in the potential for thoughtful design to create more just and inclusive spaces for everyone, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song.”
As defined by Race Forward, equality embodies “sameness; everyone receives the same thing. Equality emphasizes providing everyone with the same opportunity, but often overlooks the historical realities of exclusion and power imbalances between whites and other racialized groups.” Equity, in contrast, “ensures that outcomes and conditions of well-being are improved for marginalized groups, ultimately elevating outcomes for all.” This distinction is crucial: equality aims for sameness of treatment, while equity aims for fairness of outcome, recognizing that different groups may require different levels of support to achieve equal results. And in this pursuit of equitable outcomes, in the commitment to addressing historical and systemic disparities, we can find inspiration in the potential for targeted interventions to create a more just and level playing field for all, a potential that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
The absence of equity is not merely unfair; it generates broader negative repercussions. Stadiums, for instance, experience financial losses due to restroom wait times. During the time I spend waiting for Jessica outside the restrooms, I am not making purchases at concession stands—I am not actively engaged in the communal experience—and neither is she. This seemingly minor inconvenience has tangible economic and social consequences. This example underscores that equity is not just a matter of fairness, but also a matter of efficiency and collective benefit. And in this understanding that equity serves not only marginalized groups, but the entire community, we can find inspiration in the potential for equitable solutions to create a more thriving and prosperous society for all, a potential that resonates as a compelling “you’re my inspiration song” of shared progress.
Equity is fundamentally about enhancing the functioning of our society for the betterment of everyone. It can be understood as the justice component within the diversity-inclusion-equity continuum. Diversity essentially pertains to quantity: the breadth and number of diverse identities and cultures present within a given system. Inclusion focuses on quality: the caliber of participation across various identities and cultures, ensuring that all voices are heard and valued. Equity centers on justice: the policies and practices implemented to guarantee equitable outcomes, addressing systemic barriers and historical disadvantages. These three concepts are interconnected and essential for building truly inclusive and equitable communities. And in the collective pursuit of diversity, inclusion, and equity, we can find inspiration in the potential for these principles to transform our society for the better, a potential that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
Early Learning About Race: Shaping Unconscious Biases
Many of us do not encounter these fundamental concepts within formal educational settings, as my own story illustrates. Our primary education about race often originates from our surrounding environment, from implicit messages and unconscious biases absorbed from a young age. This informal learning process can be deeply influential, shaping our perceptions and attitudes about race in ways we may not even consciously recognize. And in understanding the powerful role of early learning in shaping our biases, we can find inspiration in the potential for conscious interventions and educational reforms to promote more equitable and inclusive understandings of race from the earliest ages, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Take a moment to reflect on the racial diversity of your neighborhood during your formative years. Consider the implicit messages you absorbed about race simply by living there. When was the first time you had a teacher of a different race? How frequently did such experiences occur? Conversely, when was the first time you had a teacher of the same race? How often did that happen? These seemingly simple questions can reveal a great deal about the racial dynamics of our early learning environments and the subtle ways in which our understanding of race was shaped. And in this introspection, in the willingness to examine our own experiences and biases, we can find inspiration in the potential for self-awareness to be a catalyst for personal and collective growth, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
For me, the first time I had a teacher who was Black, like myself, was in the 11th grade. This starkly illustrates the racial homogeneity of my educational experiences prior to that point, highlighting the need for greater diversity within the teaching profession to provide students of color with role models and educators who share their lived experiences. And in the ongoing effort to diversify the teaching profession and create more inclusive learning environments, we can find inspiration in the potential for education to be a powerful force for equity and social justice, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Cognitive science is continuously revealing profound insights into schemas—the mental “frameworks” that our brains utilize to comprehend and navigate the world. Schemas enable us to categorize information, establish associations, and fill in gaps in our understanding.† This inherent cognitive process is evident in my early experiences with shape-sorting toys and in my mentor’s daughter’s fear of a category of people based on a cartoon stereotype. These examples illustrate how schemas, while essential for cognitive function, can also contribute to the formation of biases and prejudices if not consciously examined and challenged. And in understanding the power and potential pitfalls of schemas, we can find inspiration in the potential for education and critical thinking to help us overcome biased frameworks and build more nuanced and equitable understandings of the world, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Racial bias, which we begin to internalize from early childhood,‡ tends to reside within the unconscious networks of our brains. None of us are immune to these unconscious biases. Numerous studies have demonstrated, for example, that even Black educators exhibit bias towards Black students, particularly young Black males, although to a lesser degree than white educators. This underscores the pervasive nature of implicit bias and the need for ongoing self-reflection and systemic interventions to mitigate its harmful effects. And in the collective effort to confront and mitigate implicit bias, we can find inspiration in the potential for conscious awareness and intentional action to create more equitable and just systems for everyone, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
(Importantly, research also indicates that having a Black teacher in the elementary grades significantly increases educational attainment among Black students, especially Black males from low-income families.) This finding underscores the profound positive impact of representation and culturally relevant pedagogy, highlighting the importance of diversifying the teaching profession and creating learning environments where all students feel seen, valued, and supported. And in the ongoing effort to create such equitable and supportive learning environments, we can find inspiration in the transformative power of education, a power that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress and opportunity.
Implicit Bias: Unseen Barriers to Equity
I dedicate a significant portion of my work to countering the white nationalist movement, where racist beliefs are explicitly articulated and promoted. However, the vast majority of Americans outwardly disavow racism. So, why do racial inequities persist so pervasively? The answer lies in the insidious influence of implicit bias, biases that operate outside of our conscious awareness. These unconscious biases subtly shape our perceptions, decisions, and behaviors, contributing to systemic inequalities even when overt racism is absent. And in understanding the subtle yet powerful influence of implicit bias, we can find inspiration in the potential for conscious awareness and intentional interventions to dismantle these unseen barriers to equity, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Implicit bias functions subconsciously and manifests indirectly. In job application scenarios where résumés are otherwise identical, applications with white-sounding names like “Susan Smith” are significantly more likely to receive callbacks compared to those with African American-sounding names like “LaKeisha Washington.” Similarly, property managers utilize criminal background screenings in ways that disproportionately exclude Black rental applicants compared to white applicants. Even more concerning, some communities have adopted “crime-free housing ordinances,” leveraging the history of over-policing and mass incarceration of people of color to restrict access to rental housing. These ordinances often penalize individuals based on arrests without convictions and encourage landlords to evict individuals suspected of criminal activity, further perpetuating cycles of disadvantage and inequity. These examples starkly illustrate how implicit bias, operating through seemingly neutral systems and practices, can perpetuate racial disparities in crucial areas like employment and housing. And in recognizing these subtle yet powerful mechanisms of inequity, we can find inspiration in the potential for systemic reforms to dismantle these barriers and create more just and equitable opportunities for all, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Yet, it is highly probable that these hiring and housing managers, and local government officials, do not consciously perceive themselves as racist. This highlights the critical distinction between conscious prejudice and unconscious bias: individuals may genuinely believe in equality and fairness while still harboring and acting upon implicit biases that perpetuate inequitable outcomes. And in understanding this crucial distinction, we can find inspiration in the potential for education and awareness-raising to help individuals confront their own implicit biases and become more conscious agents of equity, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
So, what concrete steps can we take to address our implicit and unconscious biases? It is paramount that we actively strive to identify and openly acknowledge them. Suppressing or denying biased thoughts can paradoxically amplify prejudice rather than eradicate it. Honest self-reflection, coupled with a willingness to confront our own biases, is the first crucial step towards mitigating their harmful effects. And in this commitment to self-awareness and personal growth, we can find inspiration in the potential for individual transformation to contribute to broader societal change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Every day, I find myself reminding people that none of us are personally responsible for creating this system of inequality. However, we are all undeniably responsible for confronting the inequality that persists today and for actively designing equitable solutions. This shared responsibility transcends individual blame and focuses on collective action to dismantle systemic barriers and build a more just future. And in embracing this shared responsibility, in choosing action over apathy, we can find inspiration in the power of collective effort to create meaningful and lasting change, a power that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
We must collectively support one another in recognizing where implicit bias subtly influences our individual and organizational behaviors. We need to continually ask ourselves and each other: “What might I be overlooking right now regarding racial inequities in this particular situation?” Cultivating this culture of critical self-reflection and mutual accountability is essential for creating organizations and communities that are more resistant to implicit bias. And in the collective effort to foster this culture of self-awareness and mutual support, we can find inspiration in the potential for collaboration to amplify our individual efforts and create a more powerful force for change, a force that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
We need to normalize these crucial conversations and invest in comprehensive training and cultural shifts at the organizational level to enhance our collective capacity to move away from racial bias in our day-to-day operations. This is not about assigning blame or punishing individuals; it is about developing policies and protocols that minimize the opportunities for individual biases to come into play. This proactive, systemic approach is what makes our organizations, classrooms, and communities more resilient to the insidious effects of implicit bias. And in this commitment to systemic change and proactive solutions, we can find inspiration in the potential for institutional reforms to create more equitable and just outcomes for everyone, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Here’s the fundamental takeaway: designing policies and protocols that intentionally embed racial equity into the very fabric of decision-making processes within our schools (and our unions, and other organizational settings) significantly increases our likelihood of achieving positive, effective, and unbiased results. This proactive, systemic approach is far more effective than relying solely on individual awareness and good intentions. And in this understanding that systemic solutions are crucial for achieving lasting equity, we can find inspiration in the potential for policy and protocol reform to create a more just and equitable society for all, a potential that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and progress.
An Outcome That Benefits Us All: Racial Equity as Collective Gain
I recognize that discussions about policies and protocols can sometimes feel abstract and disengaging. Therefore, let’s cut to the core purpose. We understand that our ultimate goal is to realize the American ideal—that all individuals are created equal—by achieving true racial equity. But how will we know when we have truly succeeded? What will racial equity look like in practice? These are crucial questions for guiding our efforts and measuring our progress. And in the collective pursuit of this vision of racial equity, we can find inspiration in the potential for a truly just and unified society, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
We will achieve racial equity when race no longer serves as a predictor of life outcomes and when, through our collective efforts to address racial inequity, we have demonstrably improved outcomes for everyone, including white people. This definition underscores that racial equity is not a zero-sum game, but a process that ultimately benefits the entire society. And in this understanding that racial equity is a collective gain, we can find inspiration in the potential for a more just society to be a more prosperous and thriving society for all, a potential that resonates as a compelling “you’re my inspiration song” of shared progress.
This is not simply about achieving numerical parity. It is about raising the floor for everyone, ensuring that all individuals have the opportunity to reach their full potential. For example, in the 2018-2019 school year, only 80 percent of Black students graduated high school, compared to 89 percent of their white peers. Our goal is not merely to elevate the Black student graduation rate to match the existing 89 percent. Our aspiration is for every student to graduate, regardless of race or background. This example illustrates that racial equity is about lifting everyone up, creating a rising tide that benefits all boats. And in this commitment to universal opportunity and well-being, we can find inspiration in the potential for education to be a powerful force for social mobility and collective progress, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of opportunity for all.
When we prioritize and include those who experience the most profound inequities in the process of reforming policies, practices, and procedures that generate racial disparities, we are not taking anything away from anyone. Instead, we are demonstrably more likely to improve outcomes for everyone. This principle of targeted universalism underscores that addressing the needs of the most marginalized often leads to benefits for the entire community. And in this understanding that equity benefits everyone, we can find inspiration in the potential for targeted interventions to create a more just and prosperous society for all, a potential that resonates as a compelling “you’re my inspiration song” of shared progress and collective well-being.
The scarcity mindset, the “winner-loser” approach to rights and opportunities, fuels the harmful myth of “special rights” and the misconception that racial equity only benefits specific groups. Sadly, these misunderstandings can distort behavior in alarming ways. In a recent survey of white Americans who had applied to college or university, a staggering 34 percent (48 percent of male respondents and 16 percent of female respondents) admitted to falsely claiming racial minority status on their applications. This startling statistic underscores the detrimental effects of the scarcity mindset and the urgent need to promote a more inclusive and equitable understanding of opportunity. And in the collective effort to dismantle these harmful myths and promote a more equitable understanding of opportunity, we can find inspiration in the potential for education and dialogue to foster a more just and inclusive society for all, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of shared progress and understanding.
Those of us working towards racial equity are not seeking to dominate or disadvantage anyone. Our aim is simply to move forward as a unified nation, a racially harmonious nation that works equitably for all its members. This vision of unity and equity is not just a moral aspiration, but a practical necessity for building a truly thriving and prosperous society. And in this collective pursuit of unity and equity, we can find inspiration in the enduring power of the American ideal, a power that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress and shared destiny.
Racial equity is both the process and the desired outcome. It is an inclusive approach to transforming systems towards greater access, self-determination, redistribution of resources, and equitable power-sharing. This holistic approach recognizes that equity requires not just changes in outcomes, but also fundamental shifts in systems and structures. And in this commitment to systemic transformation and holistic change, we can find inspiration in the potential for deep and lasting progress towards a more just and equitable society, a potential that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” of hope and transformation.
This transformative process necessitates shifting our focus away from blame, shame, guilt, and grievance. Instead, we must lower the temperature of the conversation and focus constructively on:
- Causes: The historical roots of systemic racism, for which we are not personally culpable, and the pervasive influence of unconscious bias, often operating outside our awareness.
- Effects: The thoroughly documented realities of racial inequities and their profound costs to all members of society, not just marginalized groups.
- Systems: The entrenched hierarchies, structures, and policies created by previous generations that continue to perpetuate inequity, but that we have the power to change.
- Solutions: The concrete actions we can take both individually and collectively to dismantle these systems and build more equitable alternatives, recognizing that broader coalitions lead to more impactful solutions.
By shifting our focus from blame and shame to causes, effects, systems, and solutions, we can create more productive and action-oriented conversations about race and racial equity. And in this constructive and solutions-oriented approach, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective action to create meaningful and lasting change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress and empowerment.
Practice Asking Different Questions: Shifting the Focus to Solutions
Instead of posing the unproductive blame-game question, “Who is a racist?”, we must shift our inquiry to investigate the root causes: “What factors are driving these persistent racial inequities?” This shift in focus moves us away from individual accusations and towards a more systemic understanding of the problem. And in this focus on systemic causes, we can find inspiration in the potential for data-driven analysis to guide us towards more effective and targeted solutions, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Instead of fixating on individual intentions—”What did they mean? What was their attitude?”—we should redirect our attention to the tangible effects: “What were the specific actions taken? What are the demonstrable impacts of those actions?” This shift in focus moves us away from subjective interpretations of intent and towards objective assessments of outcomes. And in this focus on measurable impacts, we can find inspiration in the potential for data-driven accountability to drive progress towards more equitable outcomes, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Rather than stopping at individual prejudice—”What personal beliefs motivated their actions?”—we must expand our scope to explore the broader context: “What institutions or systems are responsible for encouraging or perpetuating this behavior or outcome?” This shift in focus moves us beyond individual bias and towards an understanding of systemic factors that contribute to inequity. And in this focus on systemic factors, we can find inspiration in the potential for institutional reform to create more equitable and just systems for everyone, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
Lastly, beyond simply addressing immediate incidents by asking “How can we fix what just happened?”, we must prioritize proactive, systemic responses by posing questions such as, “What proactive strategies and long-term solutions can we implement to prevent this from happening again in the future?” This shift in focus moves us beyond reactive measures and towards proactive prevention and systemic change. And in this focus on proactive solutions and systemic change, we can find inspiration in the potential for long-term planning and strategic interventions to create a more just and equitable future, a potential that adds depth to the “you’re my inspiration song” of progress.
We have not always been as adept as we need to be at formulating the right questions and charting the most constructive path forward in conversations about race. All of us can point to instances where discussions about race have gone awry, even those initiated by well-intentioned racial equity advocates. The white nationalist movement and other opponents of racial equity are quick to seize upon these missteps and attempt to weaponize them to obstruct progress. However, we cannot allow these isolated examples to deter us or sow confusion. We must not permit the inevitable backlash against racial equity to discourage our commitment to progress. And in this unwavering commitment to progress, in the face of opposition and setbacks, we can find inspiration in the enduring power of hope and resilience, a power that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of determination.
Choice Points: Navigating the Path Towards Equity
Our nation stands at a critical crossroads of change. Will we passively allow the hard-won gains of the 20th-century civil rights movements to be eroded and the enduring legacy of centuries of structural racism to persist? Or will we actively choose the transformative changes that will ultimately benefit all of us, the changes that are indispensable for realizing our aspiration of becoming truly one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all? This pivotal moment demands conscious choices and courageous action. And in this moment of choice, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective action to shape a more just and equitable future, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress and transformation.
Choice points represent key decision-making junctures that exert significant influence on outcomes—in this context, racial equity outcomes. If we consistently revert to the same outdated choices and actions—whether driven by fear, uncertainty, inertia, overwhelm, or outright resistance—we will inevitably perpetuate the same undesirable outcomes: persistent inequities, systemic exclusion, and the enduring stain of racism. However, if we consciously choose equitable options and actions, we will chart a new course towards fundamentally different outcomes: genuine equity, meaningful inclusion, and the full realization of our shared humanity. This understanding of the power of choice is empowering and inspiring, reminding us that we are not passive bystanders, but active agents in shaping our future. And in this embrace of agency and intentionality, we can find inspiration in the potential for conscious choices to create a more just and equitable world, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of empowerment and transformation.
Having accompanied me this far, I commend your commitment and challenge you to take the next crucial step. Take a moment now to retrieve a pen and paper or utilize a note-taking app on your device. Dedicate five minutes to jotting down some key choice points you encounter on a daily, weekly, monthly, and annual basis. On a personal level, these choice points might encompass decisions such as where to shop, which products to purchase or boycott, which causes to support through volunteering or financial contributions, which candidates or political initiatives to vote for, or with whom you choose to spend your social time. These seemingly small, everyday choices collectively shape our world and contribute to either perpetuating or dismantling inequity. And in this conscious awareness of the power of our everyday choices, we can find inspiration in the potential for individual actions to contribute to broader systemic change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of empowerment and collective impact.
At the school, college, or other institutional level, choice points might include: What aspects of lesson plans and student or staff programs should be prioritized and revised? Which items should be prioritized, expanded, or reduced within the budget allocation? Which students should be cultivated as emerging leaders? What specific policies should be proposed or modified to advance equity? Which existing practices, organizational habits, or cultural norms should be sustained, transformed, or eliminated? These institutional choice points represent opportunities for systemic change, for embedding equity into the very fabric of our organizations and communities. And in the collective effort to identify and leverage these institutional choice points, we can find inspiration in the potential for systemic reform to create more just and equitable environments for everyone, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of progress and transformation.
Now, identify one specific choice point within your own professional or personal life where you possess some degree of influence over a decision or course of action that could impact racial equity outcomes. For that identified choice point, brainstorm alternative actions that could potentially lead to more equitable and just outcomes. Critically evaluate these options to determine which one holds the greatest potential for leveraging meaningful equitable change. Then, seek out a supportive buddy or accountability partner. Share your chosen choice point and solicit their ongoing support and encouragement. Commit to reporting back to them on a weekly basis to track your progress and maintain momentum until you have made demonstrable headway and are witnessing tangible results. This commitment to action, coupled with mutual accountability, is a powerful strategy for translating intention into impact. And in this embrace of action and accountability, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective effort to create real and lasting change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of empowerment and collective impact.
Ideally, expand this process to involve your entire team or relevant group. Your team might consist of fellow teachers within your grade level, professors teaching similar courses, or a more diverse team encompassing faculty, staff, students, and community members. Frame this collaborative effort as a team-building challenge, not a competitive endeavor. I firmly believe in the transformative power of cohorts to break down isolation and foster collective support for change. This collaborative approach provides a valuable platform for mutual learning, a supportive system of accountability that enables our individual choice points to become more explicit and more informed by the principles of racial equity. And in this embrace of collaboration and mutual support, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective action to amplify individual efforts and create a more powerful force for change, a force that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of unity and collective empowerment.
One compelling example of this collaborative approach is Western States Center’s Northwest Racial Equity Leaders Project, which convenes two dozen racial equity practitioners from local government, labor unions, and non-profit organizations in Oregon and Washington for regular monthly calls. Through structured group consultation and peer support, these practitioners collectively strengthen their capacity to support multiracial, democratic social movements and to center racial equity as a strategic lens for connecting the diversity-inclusion-equity field to broader systems transformation. This shared community of practice provided invaluable support to each participant in navigating the complex challenges within their respective workplaces in the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder and the ongoing pandemic. Consider: can you establish a similar network within your own sphere of influence? This model of collaborative learning and mutual support offers a powerful blueprint for creating lasting change. And in this embrace of collaboration and community, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective action to create transformative change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of unity, empowerment, and collective progress.
By focusing intently on choice points within a supportive system of mutual accountability, you are significantly less likely to passively perpetuate the status quo. This intentional and collaborative approach empowers us to break free from inertia and actively shape a more equitable future. And in this embrace of agency and intentionality, we can find inspiration in the potential for conscious choices to create a more just and equitable world, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of empowerment and transformation.
Small Choices That Change the Status Quo: The Power of Incremental Action
The cumulative impact of numerous small, seemingly insignificant choices can be as profound as the consequences of monumental decisions. Each of us possesses the agency to catalyze the change we wish to see in the world. This inherent power to effect change, regardless of scale, is a source of profound inspiration. And it is one of the primary reasons why educators hold a special place as my personal heroes and heroines. Their daily commitment to shaping young minds and fostering positive change embodies the spirit of “you’re my inspiration song.”
Nora Flanagan, a dedicated high school English teacher in Chicago with decades of experience, vividly illustrates the transformative power of a seemingly small choice and the crucial distinction between remaining in one’s comfort zone and courageously stepping outside of it. As she recounted in a 2019 interview with public radio station WBEZ, she witnessed the growth of a neo-Nazi youth movement within her own neighborhood on Chicago’s Southwest Side during her formative years. This alarming trend was largely dismissed by adults, who either “didn’t think it was a big deal or weren’t that bothered by it or passively condoned it.” This inaction, this failure to confront hate in its nascent stages, had lasting consequences. However, in Nora’s subsequent proactive response to hate, we see the power of individual action to make a difference, a power that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of courage and determination.
Even with the benefit of hindsight, she initially hesitated when her son, then in fifth grade, informed her about Nazi graffiti discovered in the bathroom at his school. He expressed reluctance for her to involve the principal. Respecting his wishes, she instead demonstrated to him how to effectively remove the graffiti. “He would go in there every day and clean swastikas off the wall with an alcohol wipe.” This quiet act of resistance, this daily commitment to erasing symbols of hate, was a small but significant act of defiance. And in this seemingly small act, we see the power of individual courage to confront hate and promote inclusivity, a power that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of quiet heroism.
However, witnessing the recent surge in white nationalists’ online recruitment efforts targeting middle and high school students, Nora experienced a pang of regret for not having reported the hate symbols to the school staff at her son’s school. She channeled this regret into a powerful catalyst for action, partnering with fellow educator Jessica Acee and Western States Center program director Lindsay Schubiner to co-author Confronting White Nationalism in Schools: A Toolkit. This proactive response, born from personal reflection and a commitment to preventing future harm, is a testament to the transformative power of individual action. And in this act of turning regret into positive action, we can find inspiration in the potential for personal experiences to fuel broader social change, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of resilience and determination.
(An excerpt from this invaluable toolkit is available in the sidebar to the right.) Oregon’s largest school district drew directly from this toolkit to develop its “Hate Speech Protocols,” resources distributed to parents and educators in the context of civic engagement and social unrest leading up to and following the 2020 presidential election. This widespread adoption of the toolkit underscores its practical value and its potential for broad impact. And in this ripple effect of positive change, we can find inspiration in the potential for individual initiatives to spark broader systemic reforms, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of collective impact and progress.
With over 10,000 copies now circulating in every state across the nation, Nora, Jessica, and Lindsay’s collaborative work has ignited the formation of a burgeoning network of over 200 educators who are actively replicating the training within their own communities, sharing best practices, and piloting innovative curricula and response strategies to safeguard students from being influenced or harassed by hateful ideologies online, within school environments, and in their broader communities. These emergent collaborations have yielded a comprehensive six-part resource for caregivers, My Child Is Sharing Conspiracy Theories and Racist Memes. What Do I Say? This expanding network of educators, empowered by knowledge and resources, is a testament to the power of collaboration and collective action. And in this growing movement of educators committed to combating hate and promoting inclusivity, we can find inspiration in the potential for collective action to create a more just and equitable future for all students, a potential that resonates as a hopeful “you’re my inspiration song” of unity, empowerment, and collective progress.
When we consider the complex tapestry of human interactions within the imperfect yet still-evolving democracy that is this country, few of us are without regrets. My own personal narrative serves as a testament to the fact that my journey towards working for racial equity and an inclusive multiracial democracy was not inevitable or predetermined. I was fortunate to encounter insightful life teachers and navigate key choice points that steered me towards this path. It is my sincere hope that my story, and the other narratives I have shared with you here, will empower you to embrace the necessary choices, engage in the courageous conversations, and cultivate the unwavering commitment to equity that this pivotal moment in history urgently demands. And in this shared commitment to action, in this collective pursuit of a more just and equitable future, we can find inspiration in the enduring power of hope, resilience, and the unwavering belief in the possibility of a better world, a belief that resonates as a powerful “you’re my inspiration song” guiding us towards a brighter future for all.
Eric K. Ward, a nationally recognized authority on the intricate relationship between authoritarian movements, hate violence, and the preservation of inclusive democracy, is the distinguished recipient of the 2021 Civil Courage Prize—a historic honor as the first American to receive this prestigious award in its 21-year history. He currently serves as the executive director of Western States Center, a pioneering organization that developed one of the first widely adopted Dismantling Racism organizational change programs in the 1990s and presently equips educators with invaluable resources such as the Confronting White Nationalism in Schools and Indigenizing Love toolkits. Ward also holds the esteemed position of senior fellow with the Southern Poverty Law Center, chairs the Proteus Fund, and serves as an advisor to the Center for Entertainment & Civic Health. He expresses his sincere gratitude to Race Forward for their generous contribution of the framework and teaching tools presented within this article.
* For research exploring how enhanced knowledge of historical racism fosters increased awareness and a stronger desire to dismantle contemporary racism, please refer to “Learning History, Facing Reality” in the Spring 2021 edition of American Educator. (return to article)
† To delve deeper into the concept of schemas, explore “Liberatory Education: Integrating the Science of Learning and Culturally Responsive Practice” in the Summer 2021 issue of American Educator. (return to article)
‡ For practical strategies for engaging young children in anti-bias education, consult “Teaching About Identity, Racism, and Fairness” in the Winter 2020–2021 issue of American Educator. (return to article)
Endnotes
- Not in Our Town II, produced by P. O’Neill and R. Miller (Public Broadcasting System, 1996).
- H. Allam and R. Nakhlawi, “Black, Brown, and Extremist: Across the Far-Right Spectrum, People of Color Play a More Visible Role,” Washington Post, May 16, 2021.
- J. Tisby, “What Columbus Really Thought About Native Americans,” The Witness, October 8, 2018.
- See, for example, A. Fairclough, To Redeem the Soul of America: The Southern Christian Leadership Conference and Martin Luther King, Jr. (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 2001); and J. Lewis, “Together, You Can Redeem the Soul of Our Nation,” New York Times, July 30, 2020.
- D. Lugo, “4 in 10 Oregonians Agree with Core White Nationalist Arguments, Survey Reveals,” Salem Statesman Journal, June 14, 2021.
- Southern Poverty Law Center, “White Nationalist,” splcenter.org/fighting-hate/extremist-files/ideology/white-nationalist.
- J. MacFarlane, A. Johnson, and R. Godsil, “Our Brains and Difference: Implicit Bias, Racial Anxiety, and Stereotype Threat in Education,” CSEE; and T. West et al., “Contagious Anxiety: Anxious European Americans Can Transmit Their Physiological Reactivity to African Americans,” Psychological Science 28, no. 12 (2017): 1796–806.
- H. McGhee, The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together (London: One World, 2022).
- R. Godsil et al., The Science of Equality, Volume 1: Addressing Implicit Bias, Racial Anxiety, and Stereotype Threat in Education and Health Care (New York: Perception Institute, November 2014).
- R. Rothstein, “Suppressed History: The Intentional Segregation of America’s Cities,” American Educator 45, no. 1 (Spring 2021): 32–37; and S. Menendian, S. Gambhir, and A. Gailes, The Roots of Structural Racism Project: Twenty-First Century Racial Residential Segregation in the United States (Berkeley: Othering and Belonging Institute, University of California, Berkeley, June 2021).
- J. Friedman, J. Tager, and C. Leanza, Educational Gag Orders (New York: PEN America, 2021).
- M. Turner, M. Chingos, and N. Spievack, White People’s Choices Perpetuate School and Neighborhood Segregation: What Would It Take to Change Them? (Washington, DC: Urban Institute, April 2021).
- L. Meckler and K. Rabinowitz, “More Students Are Going to School with Children of Different Races. But Schools in Big Cities Remain Deeply Segregated,” Washington Post, September 12, 2019.
- Pew Research Center, “Public Trust in Government: 1958–2021,” May 17, 2021.
- M. Hetherington and J. Ladd, “Destroying Trust in the Media, Science, and Government Has Left America Vulnerable to Disaster,” Brookings (blog), May 1, 2020.
- D. Peterson and C. Mann, Closing the Racial Inequality Gaps: The Economic Cost of Black Inequality in the U.S. (New York: Citi Global Perspectives & Solutions, September 2020).
- Bureau of Economic Analysis, “Gross Domestic Product, Fourth Quarter and Year 2019 (Advance Estimate),” US Department of Commerce, January 30, 2020, bea.gov/news/2020/gross-domestic-product-fourth-quarter-and-year-2019-advance-estimate.
- A. Turner, The Business Case for Racial Equity: A Strategy for Growth (Battle Creek, MI: W. K. Kellogg Foundation, 2018).
- A. Turner and National Journal, “Making the Business Case for Racial Equity,” The Atlantic, December 11, 2013; and C. Roehrig, “Economic Impact of Closing the Minority Earnings Gap,” Altarum Institute, August 2013.
- See, for example, J. Shambaugh, R. Nunn, and S. Anderson, “How Racial and Regional Inequality Affect Economic Opportunity,” Brookings (blog), February 15, 2019; and L. Mineo, “Racial Wealth Gap May Be a Key to Other Inequities,” Harvard Gazette, June 3, 2021.
- The Ferguson Commission, Forward Through Ferguson: A Path Toward Racial Equity (St. Louis: STL Positive Change, 2016).
- N. Hannah-Jones et al., eds., The 1619 Project (New York: Penguin Random House, 2021).
- V. Harding, Is America Possible? To My Young Companions on the Journey of Hope (Kalamazoo, MI: Fetzer Institute, 2018).
- Harding, Is America Possible?, vii.
- A. Barroso, “How Often People Talk About Race with Family and Friends Depends on Racial and Ethnic Group, Education, Politics,” Pew Research Center, June 25, 2019.
- See, for example, A. Rebechi and N. Rohde, “Economic Insecurity, Racial Anxiety, and Right-Wing Populism,” Griffith University and Griffith Business School Discussion Paper Series, April 2021; and R. Willer, M. Feinberg, and R. Wetts, “Threats to Racial Status Promote Tea Party Support Among White Americans,” Stanford Graduate School of Business Working Paper No. 3422, May 4, 2016.
- Race Forward, “What Is Racial Equity?: Understanding Key Concepts Related to Race,” raceforward.org/about/what-is-racial-equity-key-concepts.
- E. Winkler, “Children Are Not Colorblind: How Young Children Learn Race,” PACE: Practical Approaches for Continuing Education 3, no. 3 (2009): 1–8; and K. Weir, “Raising Anti-Racist Children,” Monitor on Psychology 52, no. 4 (June 2021).
- j. powell and R. Godsil, “Implicit Bias Insights as Preconditions to Structural Change,” Poverty & Race 20, no. 5 (September/October 2011): 3–4, 6; and A. Johnson and R. Godsil, Transforming Perception: Black Men and Boys (New York: American Values Institute, November 2014).
- T. Dhaliwal et al., “Educator Bias Is Associated with Racial Disparities in Student Achievement and Discipline,” Brookings (blog), July 20, 2020.
- S. Gershenson, M. Hansen, and C. Lindsay, Teacher Diversity and Student Success: Why Racial Representation Matters in the Classroom (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press, 2021); and C. Lindsay and M. Hobbs, “The Power of a Black Teacher,” Edge: Carolina Education Review 3, no. 1 (September 2020): 14–17.
- Godsil et al., The Science of Equality.
- D. Francis, “Employers’ Replies to Racial Names,” The Digest 9 (September 2003); and P. Kline, E. Rose, and C. Walters, “Systemic Discrimination Among Large U.S. Employers,” NBER Working Paper No. 29053, August 2021.
- Unlocking Discrimination: A DC Area Testing Investigation About Racial Discrimination and Criminal Records Screening Policies in Housing (Washington, DC: Equal Rights Center, 2016).
- D. Archer, “Racial Exclusion Through Crime-Free Housing Ordinances,” American Constitution Society, November 2019.
- National Center for Education Statistics, “Public High School Graduation Rates,” US Department of Education, May 2021, nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/indicator/coi.
- Please note that although the sample was large (1,250 white Americans ages 16 and older), it may not have been nationally representative. Intelligent.com, “34% of White College Students Lied About Their Race to Improve Chances of Admission, Financial Aid Benefits,” 2021.
- O. Yousef, “CPS Teacher Develops Toolkit to Fight White Nationalism,” WBEZ Chicago, June 19, 2019.
- Yousef, “CPS Teacher Develops.”
- S. Reid and M. Valasik, Alt-Right Gangs: A Hazy Shade of White (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2020); and M. Keierleber, “How White Extremists Teach Kids to Hate,” The 74, January 27, 2021.
- Western States Center, “Confronting White Nationalism in Schools: A Toolkit,” westernstatescenter.org/schools.
- Portland Public Schools, “PPS Hate Speech Protocols,” pps.net/cms/lib/OR01913224/Centricity/Domain/4/Election_HateSpeech.pdf.
- Western States Center, “My Child Is Sharing Conspiracy Theories and Racist Memes. What Do I Say?,” February 5, 2021, westernstatescenter.medium.com/my-child-is-sharing-conspiracy-theories-and-racist-memes-what-do-i-say-ea1c8916d064.
