Confessions of an Imperfect Ally by Kristen Drumgoole

Sometimes I worry that white people think I’m a perfect ally. I don’t worry about my Black friends and family thinking this, because I’m quite sure they are under no such illusion. But I think, to my white friends and family, I may appear to be the consummate ally. After all, I’m married to a Black man. I’m fairly socially conscious. I use hashtags like #blacklivesmatter on my social media pages.

And then sometimes, if I’m being honest, I want people to think I’m a perfect ally. I want them to think my well-crafted social media posts are indicative of meaningful action on behalf of Black lives. It’s easy to let people think that I know the right things to say and do when, like many of you, I find myself bereft of ideas for meaningful change. Or, perhaps more accurately, sometimes too apathetic to take on the inconveniences that meaningful action may require; or too fearful of saying or doing the wrong thing, and looking foolish as a result. What I’m learning in these days of mourning George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery and Elijah McClain (among others) is that it’s time to get out of my own way. The stakes are too high. Black lives are too precious. My husband, my son, the family I married into, the friends I hold dear - all incredibly precious and inherently worthy.

Scripture calls us to act justly, not just when it’s convenient or when we feel up to it, but all the days of our lives. And acting justly is not simply the absence of unjust action, but an active work. Which begs the question—What is the work? What work of justice should you and I be engaging in? The answer to that question, I think, is deeply personal. Your work is not my work.

For me, the answer lies in the things that make me uncomfortable. Case in point—I really hate talking on the phone, especially to people I don’t know, or to people whom I’ve given the power to make me feel dumb. I construct a narrative that says that when I call an elected official to speak out or demand change, they will ask me questions for which I don’t have good answers, or will try to argue a point with me. So I avoid making those calls by telling myself I need to “adequately prepare” before I call. I love the idea of this form of civic engagement, and I am thrilled when I hear that such efforts bring about meaningful change. But I’m really good at talking myself out of doing it. So my work has looked like making phone calls and sending e-mails to those who have the power to bring about justice for those beautiful lives, snuffed out too soon. (And, spoiler alert, the calls I’ve made so far have ended in voicemails; I think they’ve gotten such a deluge that staff can’t keep up.)

Many days, I wonder what the right actions are. And often, even when I know what the right actions are, I struggle to do them. And that is just not good enough. So I’m calling myself out and inviting you to hold me accountable. I’m also inviting you into the work. What pushes you to the edge of discomfort? What work of justice might the Spirit be nudging you toward? And how will you respond?

If you’re anything like me, you’ll push it down and push it away. You’ll convince yourself you’ll do it later. And then after you’ve done that a few times, I hope you’ll slow down. I hope you’ll listen. And I hope you’ll act, imperfectly. Because each of those imperfect actions brings us a little bit closer to Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Lord, let it be.