How do I keep up with the current words for things?

At last week’s microaggressions workshop, I heard a white participant muttering, “With all these words I’m not supposed to say anymore, maybe I shouldn’t say anything.” I made sure to say emphatically: “If you are afraid the word police are coming to get you, that is one hundred percent not the message of this workshop!”

Honestly, though, I understand their concern. Words have always have been fraught. It’s just that now there are spaces where the people who have been hurt can be heard.

And, language seems to be changing a lot right now. Terms I grew up believing were offensive (“queer”) are now mainstream; and phrases I used to think nothing of (“Hispanic”) are now out of favor in some circles. At the same time, new terms (“BIPOC,” “Latinx”) are ascendant among activists and academics, while plenty of my Black and Latin American friends don’t feel connected to them at all.

English has always been fluid. You could also say it’s been “colonizing.” We have absorbed foreign terms like entrepreneur and schadenfreude, alongside ones like “pow wow.” But Native Americans use “pow wow” to describe a sacred ritual which makes using it to describe any old meeting disrespectful; whereas I doubt anyone would find the use of the term entrepreneur offensive, perhaps just fancy..

With both context and current events affecting the rules, how do we know the right things to say? The simple answer is, by paying attention and trying to stay current. And if/when you say the wrong thing, listen and learn from the feedback that you get. Being called on something offensive is usually worth it. A client once told me that she had said “Someone went off the reservation on that one” during a meeting. A junior member of the team told her that the phrase is rooted in the United States’ ethnic cleansing of Indigenous people. She appreciated the feedback, and the education, and she took it out of her vocabulary. Why would she want to evoke that history in casual conversation?

You can also be proactive. Think about the type of work you do in your organization. Are there terms you use that you want to let go of? Can you read up on marginalized groups whose members you serve or employ? And can you provide resources so that folks aren’t on their own to figure it out? One of our clients, Social Finance, created a comprehensive guide to inclusive language for their employees to use. Alongside the no-nos, each of which was linked to an explanatory source, are positive tips to build effective habits of communicating inside and outside the company. It is an incredible resource.

In the end, the goal shouldn’t be purity. None of us would pass that test—and even if we did, new words will come into favor and trip us up before long. It’s not productive to judge each other for every mistake, because until you know, you just don’t know. (Persisting even after you have been informed is another story.)

And it’s never too late to learn. A woman who was talking to me on a plane once took a linguistic wrong turn and said “colored people.” I had to tell her, “We don’t say that anymore.” She looked at me with an embarrassed expression, and I said, “It’s okay. I’m a diversity consultant.”

The emotional drain of giving feedback

When someone says or does something that invalidates you based on your race, gender, or other identity, you have to make a choice. Is it worth responding in the moment? If you are flooded with emotions, it will take energy and focus to formulate what to say. And the conflict might escalate, depending on how defensively the offender reacts. How do you decide if it’s worth it?

This triage can happen even when you are asked legitimate questions. It’s not inappropriate for someone to ask me about bias or culture—I’m a professional diversity educator, after all. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a drain on my energy, particularly if I’m not working. I know I’m not alone in this. Repeating explanations of things that touch on one’s belonging and safety can become frustrating after a while. And if the other person is skeptical of your answers, or interrogates you as a “devil’s advocate,” it can move into microaggression territory and become exhausting.

For me, which choice I make depends a lot on the relationship I have with the person. If I have an investment in the long-term health of our connection (for example with a friend or a colleague), I’m more likely to respond. It’s worth it, because I would like our relationship to grow. Also, it might lessen the chance that it will happen again.

On the other hand, if I’m never going to see the person again, I might guard my energy and let it go. Take a breath and move on with my life.

I was talking about this in a recent workshop, and a Black man shared that he felt the opposite way. He said it is tougher for him to speak up when he is in relationship with someone, and easier when he doesn’t know the person. He gave the example of chastising a patron at a restaurant who was being rude to a server. I asked why he bothered, and he said, “I hoped they wouldn’t do it again.” For him, it was worth using his energy, and the privilege he had in that moment, to stand up for the server.

The drain is going to be different for each one of us. But if you witness a microaggression or bias, and the target decides to let it go, remember that it might be a cost-benefit calculation. Everyone in a marginalized group has a burden of “otherness” to carry. Their emotional batteries may already be too drained to take on the extra burden of explaining that burden to someone else.

In times like these, it might be especially valuable for someone in the dominant group to pull their weight. Speak up, ask a clarifying question, interrupt the direction of the conversation. Or, if you are asking a person from a marginalized group for information or advice, remember they might be drained too. Not just around racial issues—I imagine trans people might not appreciate invasive questions about the process, the journey, or their body. Someone who “looks exotic” to you, might be tired of explaining where “they are really from.” Next time you have a question about something, think about whether you really “need” to know and, if so, where else you can get that information. (Hint: Google.)

Coming to terms with my white privilege (Blog post written by FC Consultant, Tricia Hennessy)

Growing up, I didn’t think of myself as privileged. In fact, I cringed at the word. I came from a working-class background. “Privilege” sounded to me like “entitled,” as if my family hadn’t overcome obstacles or worked hard for what we had.

But why would I think any differently? I grew up as a white person in the US, in a mostly white school with a white dominated curriculum. The white people around me did not bring up my racial identity, and I don’t remember any conversations about the ongoing impact of systemic racism. I thought of privilege in terms of socio-economics. I was taught to “be nice” and to be “color blind.”

Looking back, I’d point to the day I read the article “Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” by Peggy McIntosh as a pivotal turning point. That piece helped me see that my whiteness impacted my day-to-day life. It listed things I had lived my life not noticing or thinking about. It made it personal.

I thought about all the ways I’ve benefited from being white in this country. I’ve been taught by, graded by, given medical care by, hired by, promoted by, and mentored by people from my own racial background. People who did not have to pretend not to see my color.

I thought about how much farther back it goes. My ancestors benefited from being white, and that has benefited me. I wonder how my dad’s whiteness impacted his ability to live through the Depression and come out of those days with a job and family. How much did his whiteness give him access to a New Deal program that put teenage kids to work? Did it make the GI Bill freely available to him? Did it enable him to join a trade union, or give him and his wife the freedom to buy a house in the neighborhood they chose?

And that’s just one generation back of one line of my ancestry. Professor McIntosh’s reframing of privilege made me curious about what my experience might be like if I wasn’t white. I intentionally sought out opportunities to listen, through personal relationships as well as books, articles, and movies. I gave myself permission to notice difference, and wonder how it might be impacting particular situations.

It was a bit scary: what if I say or do the wrong thing? It was embarrassing too: how could I have been so unaware before? To my surprise, it wasn’t overwhelming. It was manageable, in that I could think about it at a personal, day-to-day level. Over time I could focus on the interpersonal space of building enriching relationships. Only from there did I start to see a way to have the impact I’d like to have to change systems.

Most surprising, I’d say, was that it was freeing. The reality had been that I did notice difference, but I hadn’t felt permission to think about it, let alone talk about it. I definitely hadn’t felt the freedom to build relationships across race. Now a richer world was opening to me.

I no longer cringe at being called privileged. I choose to focus on how my whiteness can help me advance anti-racism.