Bearing Witness as a Concerned Ally, Part I

Several things have been on my mind over the last few weeks. The Demonstration of Black farmers in DC on March 1 along with the expulsion of two Black representatives from the House in Tennessee (along with their reappointments) have set me to thinking.

My thoughts center around “bearing witness” and serving as a supportive white ally. Bearing witness is a notion that finds its roots in working with victims of trauma and allyship involves support but recognizing my own lane and staying in it.

Bearing witness involves a lot of things from the person of the listener in relationship with the person(s) and woundedness: active listening, acknowledgements, recognitions, naming the wounds and the origins of the wounds, identifying strengths and resilience in the midst of pain and suffering, simply being there when there are no words, understanding that “it’s not about me,” and serving the person(s) with the wounds in overt and often understated ways.

Trauma comes in different shapes and sizes. People are traumatized by gun violence, by interpersonal violence, school yard bullying, and many other things. As I reflect upon these things, violence at the hands of racist employees of the USDA/FSA results in trauma to the farmer and family members. When that racist behavior is experienced over a long period of time, those traumatic wounds get deeper and deeper. Some wounds are emotional, others are relational, and still others are physical. And some die young, way too young.

Being a good ally is important to me. Being asked to join the battle for justice for Black farmers, knowing what my skill set is and how those skills can serve the cause of justice, those are important to me as an advocate.

In his autobiography, “Black in Selma: The Uncommon Life of J. L. Chestnut, Jr.,” Chestnut draws vivid pictures of the power of white people in his community and how Black people are made to be subservient to them. His is a riveting narrative. He writes graphically about “bloody Sunday,” and its devastation. He then describes the march to Montgomery two weeks later. His observation is that the event is a Black-led event, with an overwhelming number of Black people prepared to do the 50 miles in five days. He does, however, comment that there is a large group of white supporters. They are there to support. They are not there to lead. Black people are leading. That event, according to attorney Chestnut signifies a turn for the African American population of Selma as they take on a stronger leadership role for themselves.

Those descriptions linger as I ponder events and images of the DC Demonstration. It was Black-led and Black-orchestrated from the get-go. It was, however, attended by a few white people who were there for support as allies in the battle for justice for Black farmers.

The afternoon following the Demonstration marked another important event as some 35 or so of us gathered in Senator Booker’s conference room.

Senator Elizabeth Warren entered the conference room and I could feel the temperature change. We moved from conflict and distrust to trust and engagement. She had come to listen to the stories. I watched carefully from the far end of the conference room, standing behind the gentleman who had prompted the temperature to rise, and now listened to the senator who appeared to focus intently on stories of pain and suffering and misdeeds at the hands of the USDA. This went on for a while. No one seemed to be watching the clock.

At some point, it felt obvious that she needed to leave and return to her other work. As she was preparing to wrap up, I felt an urgency to make a comment or two.

“Senator Warren, thank you for the opportunity to work with your staff on your policy for Black farmers.” Her reply, “Well, they are right here. You can tell them yourself.” And I did.

I continued, “It’s obvious that you are talking with the survivors of the persistent and intense racism that Black farmers experience at the hands of the USDA/FSA. Racism is painful and unrelenting. People die. People die way too soon. We are mindful of those people who are not with us today because of the stress of farming while Black in America. We must remember that. Thank you for coming and listening.” She nodded a knowing nod.

What had I done? What had given me the right to say those things to her? I wondered out loud to a friend as we left the building, and he said that the words were well spoken and needed to be said.

Still, I wondered. There would be more wondering. To be continued.