white supremacy, our responsibility, and the TSA
We’ve been quiet for a good while on our website and we appreciate you sticking with us. A lot of it was for very good reason. Some of it was just being overwhelmed with the emotional barrage 2020 has brought along with it. We remain convinced, however, that 2020 is a year for good. A purging of sorts. Namely, the imperative riddance of white supremacy in our society, business structures, and theatrical community.
Kat and I have been working on what this moment feels like as a white person. There are probably better ones out there, but this is what our tiny brains have been able to articulate:
We’re in a long line at the airport, waiting to go through security. The TSA agent, since we arrived in line, has been loudly and consistently calling their commands.
“Any object larger than an iPhone out of your bag.”
“Shoes on the X-ray belt.”
“All jackets and large jewelry off and in a bin.”
We’ve been in line for a long time. We’ve been able to hear what the TSA agent has been saying with increasing clarity as we make our way through the line. We’re comforted, though, that they aren’t talking to us. They’re talking to clueless people directly in front of them. We don’t know what to do either, but we’re positive we’ll figure it out by the time our moment arrives.
2020 has shoved us right up to the front of the line and we’re massively unprepared. I’ve put my shoes in a bin, distractedly left my laptop in my backpack, and while I’m fumbling for my belt, I lock eyes with the TSA agent. Embarrassed by my unpreparedness, I look back and admit:
“I haven’t been listening. I could hear you, but I wasn’t listening. Or I wasn’t taking the time to grasp what you were saying… I thought you were talking to someone else.”
The TSA agent is exhausted, disappointed, and frustrated. But still has to help me through this moment.
We spent the month of June showing our solidarity with the TSA agent. We vowed never to forget TSA security procedures again, posted “10 Ways to be a TSA ally” on social media, and now stand in disbelief that other people still don’t know the rules.
But the TSA agent isn’t surprised. It’s always been like this. Despite this moment of change, they don’t have much hope. The TSA agent knows we lean on them only in the moments we need them. Then, we walk to the other side, forget what we learned, and go back to dealing with our own baggage.
---------------------------------
My [Peter’s] parents are both marriage therapists. They are quick to point out how easy it is to want your partner to change. They see people every day that want their partner to change. But when it’s you that needs changing? It’s not the magic secret people want.
I’ll tell you the secret I’ve picked up from my years being the child of therapists: it’s always you that needs changing. There are many circumstances that make our lives harder, our relationships more difficult, and give us reasons for behaving recklessly. But we (us, yes “us”. Us liberal, well-meaning, semi-annual donating, but ‘quiet when it really matters’ white people) have to change in this process.
Kat and I have actively been attending what Code Switch’s Shereen Marisol Meraji and Gene Demby would call “The gym at New Year’s: For Racism.” We’re doing our reading, watching our documentaries, and are using our podcast time much differently. And here are the early results:
The fulcrum of Kat and I’s careers is white supremacy. We knew that somewhere deep down, but hadn’t fully reckoned with it’s power.
Kat’s transition into agenting is pretty inspiring: A 28-year-old former actress getting a miracle internship that opened the doors to her new career. It doesn't happen if she’s Black. If by some miracle an internship happened, would she have had enough money saved up from her Disney princess days to not work for 3 months? Then, would the door open the 2 other times she’s been offered a job since? In every situation Kat has worked hard. In every situation, however, Kat has also had the advantage.
My involvement is more painful to root through. I grew up in segregated towns in Texas. I played parts outside my race once in my amateur performing days and once in college. I either didn’t understand it was a big deal or didn’t feel comfortable challenging the power dynamic of the decision maker. As if it were my feelings that mattered. I have, I feel, an appropriate amount of shame for those instances. What I haven’t had enough shame for is how I have accepted the elevation of white supremacy disguised as an elevation of my talent. In every situation, on stage and off, I’ve had the advantage.
After two weeks of Facebook fights with relatives, retweeting Trump’s insanity, and feeling better ordering unread books, we’ve come to accept that it’s us. We’re the problem. And our mentality has shifted dramatically in the weeks that we’ve come to accept that.
The good news is we believe The Obvious Path was built for this. We’re a blog about overcoming obstacles, obsolete business practices, and face-value judgments. We’re simultaneously aware that we will continue to mess this up. We remain committed, however, to letting authentic voices speak out on our website. Voices that will undoubtedly aid our education, continue to inspire many people across the country and, ultimately, make the blog a source for good. As always, we’re nothing without the people who contribute to this blog. We’re excited to get back to doing that.
We’re going to ask questions a little more plainly in our upcoming interviews. We’re going to be reaching outside our comfort zones to get the blog more voices that we don’t currently know. And, in the midst of this pandemic, we’re still going to ask regular questions about people’s paths. We believe that learning from our past helps us build a better future. We believe dreaming about our futures can keep us going today.
We’ve got a lot to learn and a lot to build. We’re excited to dream along with you.