How are you showing up for Black people in your life besides posting emojis?
“Ally” is a word that has been overused and mis-defined this year. During a period of great racial division in our country, many of us also had to deal with the discomfort brought on by the disingenuousness on social media and those looking to digitally benefit. For many, this became an opportunity to clear their name by offering faux solidarity and an alibi for their character.
We witnessed mass corporations swear unanimity and a promise of executive diversity. According to University of Virginia Professor Laura Morgan Roberts, “Black people account for 12 percent of the overall workforce but only 8 percent of management jobs”. Instead of the action we needed to improve statistics like those, allyship became Instagram graphics, mass retweets, and empty support that never matched the values of the messenger. A movement meant to further racial equality quickly turned into character marketing campaigns for politicians and community members alike. Being an ally does make a difference but nobody benefits when the delivery of the message is set to uphold a personal image instead of someone’s right to personal identity and equality.
The negative effects of false allyship are just as dangerous as silence. The battle between wanting to be appreciative of any support and knowing that all support isn’t good support is tough. Media mogul Latham Thomas labels this as “optical allyship”. She describes it as “allyship that only serves at the surface level to platform the ‘ally,’ it makes a statement but doesn’t go beneath the surface and is not aimed at breaking away from the systems of power that oppress.” Support that’s rooted in upholding anyone but the oppressed deteriorates overtime and will always leave those in need of help clinching to false promises, and in this case, empty black boxes on Instagram that months later still haven’t moved us any closer to equality.
As I reflect on the differences and similarities of those closest to me, I find that our bonding glue is the understanding and respect we have for our variances. The minutiae of everyday life never mattered because we took the time to listen. Watching our country crumble under the pressures of not only a pandemic but also identity was less than shocking given the deep history of injustices. One of the few things that has given me hope in a year that felt set to push Black Americans to our limits were the genuine friendships and support from those that share no physical similarities with me but care a lot about me.
I have been privileged in having the opportunity to learn from and connect with many people who share few commonalities. I never noticed just how stark the differences were until this year when it felt as though lines were drawn and beliefs now go hand in hand with values. I found myself an outsider by many people I once trusted but no longer felt comfortable around. Beliefs this year meant more than they ever did and so did support. Sitting witness to one of the most schismatic elections in our country’s history meant sitting witness to more examples of division in my personal life than I agreed to. Allyship goes deeper and closer to home than just corporate responsibility. It questions: “How are you showing up for the black people in your life after it isn’t a trending topic?”
Seeing what allyship wasn’t allowed me to feel what it was. The relief, clarity and support I felt from the friends who didn’t look like me matched the support I felt with the friends who did. I didn’t feel like I was on a pedestal, I wasn’t surrounded by eggshells, the conversation might’ve been briefly uncomfortable but empathy can feel uneasy at first. I felt seen instead of being made a token. My differences and those of so many citizens became something my white friends wanted to understand on a deeper level for themselves and for others, not for self-branding purposes. It’s difficult to hold large corporations accountable and gauge their sincerity but in our personal life, support from friends should never feel murky.
As painful as it is to reminisce on one of the most divisive years in American history, I imagine the pain of repeating our same mistakes more unbearable than the reflection process. After the ripple effect of protests, after the empty black boxes in support on social media, after your photo opp with decorated signs, after your fisted emojis in solidarity, we are still Black. We are still longing for more and we are still fighting even after it is no longer popular or no longer fits into the moving pieces of an election campaign. So for the allies who understand that racial partnership is everyday and comes in all forms, thank you. Allyship looks like believing and trusting in Black voices, supporting Black businesses, and furthering Black opportunities. Most importantly, it’s about educating and bettering yourself so that allyship no longer needs to be accurately defined because the action is so clear and genuine it can be felt.
Marie Emedi is a University of Kentucky graduate and media professional with experience in education policy, public relations, and journalism.