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Lessons on Spiritual Courage: Reclaiming Native Narratives

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In “The Brave Ones,” Michael Orona’s compelling narrative transcends beyond physical courage and delves into spiritual courage and resilience, highlighting the power of remaining steadfast in the face of oppression. As Baha’u’llah, the prophet and founder of the Baha’i Faith, wrote:

The source of courage and power is the promotion of the Word of God, and steadfastness in His Love.

Inspired by his personal experiences, family history, and the Baha’i teachings, Michael Orona discusses how the characters in his novel embody this spiritual courage and steadfastness, reflects on the ongoing fight for representation, and explores the lessons his book offers for today’s social justice movements.

Michael Orona

Radiance Talley: Hi, Michael! The title “The Brave Ones” suggests acts of courage. How do your characters embody spiritual courage, and how does this align with the Baha’i view of steadfastness in the face of injustice?

Michael Orona: The title “The Brave Ones” carries deep spiritual significance that goes far beyond physical courage. It’s about a profound inner transformation and the courage to reimagine human possibility in the face of systemic oppression.

Spiritual courage, from a Baha’i perspective, isn’t about confrontation, but rather the ability to maintain dignity, hope, and foresight when every system is designed to break your spirit. My characters embody this through their refusal to be defined by their circumstances.

Consider the Baha’i principle articulated by Shoghi Effendi about the American believers’ special calling — to have the “moral courage and fortitude” to address fundamental issues facing humanity. The characters in the book live by this principle. They’re not just fighting against discrimination; they’re creating alternative models for the advancement of not only their own community, but also for the advancement of their oppressors. 

The Indigenous peoples in the story — members of the Yaqui Nation from Sonora — represent this beautifully. They could have accepted their limited circumstances. Instead, they dream beyond their immediate reality and then act. Their dreams and the action to make them a reality symbolize hope — a spiritual act of resistance that transcends physical constraints.

Abdu’l-Baha’s teachings profoundly influenced how I conceived spiritual courage. He spoke about the Indigenous peoples of America having the potential to “enlighten the whole world” if properly educated and guided. My characters embody this — they’re not victims waiting to be saved, but transformative agents with inherent spiritual power.

“The Brave Ones” is a testament to this spiritual courage — a celebration of Indigenous peoples who refuse to be broken, who see beyond current realities to potential futures of unity and justice. I believe this embodies us as Native people, it’s who we are. 

Radiance: Did you draw from personal experiences, oral histories, or Baha’i teachings on the value of diverse cultures?

Michael: The book is deeply rooted from personal experience, family narratives, and the Baha’i teachings that have shaped my life.

Growing up, I was steeped in my Indigenous cultural heritage in large part to the profound support of my late Apache father, Dr. Joel Orona, and my Yaqui mother, Esther Orona. Storytelling wasn’t just a tradition in our family — it was a way of preserving history, of maintaining cultural identity, and spiritual development. The oral histories my grandparents and elders shared with me as a child were living histories, not just personal narratives but collective experiences of resistance, resilience, and survival. It was through these stories that I was taught the importance of being of service not only to my own community, but to the global community. It was through these stories that I was reminded of the responsibility to honor the legacy of my ancestors. 

As a child of the 1970s, I was acutely aware of the lack of diversity and limited representation of Indigenous peoples in the media. I remember watching television or going to the movies and rarely seeing people on screen who looked like me. Those rare times when Indigenous people were portrayed, it was done by non-Native actors in a demeaning manner.  The watershed moment for me was watching Alex Haley’s “Roots” on television — a chronicle that brought the history of African Americans to the forefront. The importance of seeing the struggle and unique perspective from another marginalized community gave me hope that someday I would have the opportunity to share the historical challenges and success of my own people.  

The Baha’i teachings were instrumental in shaping my perspective on cultural diversity. Baha’u’llah’s message on this topic was revolutionary, it was not about reforming existing social norms, but fundamentally shattering the very notion of racial superiority. This wasn’t just a social justice message, but a message of spiritual transformation.

Abdu’l-Baha’s teachings were particularly profound in the writing of the book. He spoke about the unique spiritual potential of Indigenous peoples, stating we will “enlighten the whole world” and serve as spiritual “standard bearers.”  This isn’t patronizing but rather the sincere belief, acknowledgment, and recognition of the inherent spiritual wisdom found within Indigenous communities that have been historically and systematically marginalized.

Ultimately, the book is an embodiment of the Baha’i principle of the oneness of humanity. It’s not just about documenting historical struggles, but about creating a vision of human potential that transcends racial, cultural, and historical divisions. 

"The Brave Ones" by Michael Orona"The Brave Ones" by Michael Orona
“The Brave Ones” by Michael Orona

Radiance: How do the themes of “The Brave Ones” resonate with today’s social justice movements? What lessons can readers draw from this historical narrative?

Michael: The story of “The Brave Ones” is not just a historical account, but a powerful lens through which we can understand the ongoing struggles for equity, solidarity, and human dignity. I believe the narrative of Indigenous peoples fighting for equality in partnership with African Americans speaks directly to the intersectional nature of social justice movements today.

First and foremost, the book illuminates the power of unexpected alliances. At a time of profound racial discrimination, these communities found strength in their shared marginalized experience.  Today, we see similar dynamics in modern social justice movements — whether its organizations focused on Indigenous rights, economic empowerment, or struggles against systemic oppression. The lesson is clear: solidarity and collaboration across different marginalized communities is not just possible, but essential.

The book underscores how systemic discrimination creates seemingly insurmountable barriers. Members of the Yaqui community in the book faced limited opportunities, forced to live under difficult circumstances with little hope for advancement. This mirrors the ongoing challenges faced by Indigenous peoples around the world and other communities of color — unequal access to education, economic opportunities, and social mobility. Yet, the story is ultimately one of hope and resistance, showing how collective action can challenge and ultimately transform unjust systems.

Moreover, the narrative underscores the importance of telling our own stories. For too long, Indigenous peoples have been relegated to the margins of historical narratives, our experiences either silenced or misrepresented. “The Brave Ones” is part of a broader movement to reclaim our narrative, to center Indigenous voices and perspectives. This resonates deeply with contemporary calls for authentic representation and self-determination.

The themes of dignity, resilience, and a shared humanity are particularly relevant in our current social and political climate. We continue to grapple with historical injustices, systemic racism, and the ongoing impacts of colonization. The book offers a blueprint for understanding how communities can come together, recognize their common struggles, and work toward collective liberation.

I was inspired to write this story by the experiences shared by my grandparents and their generation — a reminder that our current struggles are deeply connected to historical experiences of oppression and resistance. The book is not just about the past; it’s a call to action for today’s generation to continue the work of building a more just and equitable society.

Ultimately, “The Brave Ones” teaches us that change is possible when we recognize our shared humanity, when we have the courage to challenge the status quo, and when we stand in solidarity with one another. It’s a message of hope that I believe is more crucial now than ever before.

Radiance: A reviewer mentioned that this story “finally broke the barrier” for Indigenous people to tell their own stories. What challenges do Indigenous authors face in having their narratives published and recognized, and how does the Baha’i Faith encourage perseverance in such efforts?

Michael: The publishing world has long been a gatekeeping system that marginalizes Indigenous voices. For generations, our stories have been told through a colonial lens — filtered, misinterpreted, and often romanticized or vilified by non-Indigenous writers. Breaking through these barriers requires persistent courage and a commitment to authentic storytelling.

Indigenous authors face multiple systemic challenges. First, there’s the structural inequality in publishing: limited representation in editorial boards, fewer publishing opportunities, and a publishing industry that historically prioritizes mainstream narratives. Many publishers view Indigenous stories as niche or unmarketable, failing to recognize the universal humanity and complexity of our experiences.

Our narratives are often expected to conform to stereotypical expectations — stories of trauma, historical suffering, or exotic cultural experiences that fit comfortable narratives about Indigenous peoples. But we are not museum artifacts or historical footnotes. We are a living, evolving people with rich, nuanced stories that speak to contemporary human experiences.

The Baha’i Faith has been instrumental in giving me the spiritual strength to persist. The principles of the Baha’i Faith, including the oneness of humanity, universal education, and the independent investigation of truth, are not philosophical concepts, but active guides for my writing and activism. The Faith encourages us to see beyond divisive boundaries, to recognize the inherent worth of every human being, and to work tirelessly for justice and understanding.

When I face rejection or encounter systemic barriers, I draw strength from the Baha’i teachings about perseverance. We believe that true progress comes through consistent, compassionate effort. Just as the members of the Yaqui community in my book refused to be defined by their circumstances, I refuse to let institutional barriers silence our stories.

The process of writing “The Brave Ones” was itself an act of spiritual and cultural resistance. By centering Indigenous agency, showing our community’s resilience, and highlighting our partnerships across racial lines, I’m challenging the dominant narratives that have historically marginalized us.

Moreover, my work is part of a broader movement of Indigenous authors reclaiming our narrative space. Indigenous authors have been instrumental in breaking down these barriers, proving that our stories are not just important — they are essential to understanding the full complexity of the human experience.

My Faith teaches me that every voice matters, that every story has the potential to bridge understanding. By persistently sharing our narratives, we challenge systemic inequities and create opportunities for genuine dialogue and mutual respect.

This is why “The Brave Ones” is more than a book. It’s a testament to the power of storytelling as a form of cultural preservation, resistance, and hope.

Radiance: Thank you, Michael, for sharing your profound insights and reflections. If you all are enjoying this Q&A, be on the lookout for part three where we’ll discuss practical actions we all can take to promote justice and harmony!

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The 9 Different Types of Safety: From Physical to Emotional

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Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Baha’i Faith, stated that the Baha’i community “should feel it to be its first and inescapable obligation to nurture, encourage, and safeguard every minority belonging to any faith, race, class, or nation within it.”

To “safeguard” means, as Merriam-Webster defines it, “to make safe: PROTECT.” What comes to mind when you think of needing to feel safe? My mind immediately thinks of psychological and emotional safety, my mother thinks of medical and social safety, my brother thinks of physical safety, and my friend thinks of financial safety. 

This made me realize how important it is for us all to understand the different types of safety if we’re going to do our best to safeguard every marginalized community from the various forms of harm.

1. Physical Safety

Ensuring that oppressed demographics are physically safe necessitates protecting them from physical threats, violence, and exploitation. The urgent need for physical protection is evident in these alarming statistics: 

In 2022, there were 13,278 victims of reported hate crime incidents in the United States, 59 percent of which were racially motivated. Globally, an estimated 49.6 million people were in modern slavery on any given day in 2021, including forced labor, forced marriage, and sex trafficking. Additionally, the World Health Organization (WHO) reported that “on average, 736 million and up to 852 million women who were aged 15 years or older in 2018 (almost 1 in 3 women)” have experienced physical or sexual violence.

RELATED: Over 90,000 Black Women and Girls Are Missing and Forgotten

What are we doing to ensure that every member of our human family is protected from all forms of physical harm? Abdu’l-Baha, one of the central figures of the Baha’i Faith, explained that “if someone oppresses, injures, and wrongs another,” the “community has the right of defense and of self-protection; moreover, the community has no hatred nor animosity for the murderer: it imprisons or punishes him merely for the protection and security of others.”

He continued:

… the constitution of the communities depends upon justice. … Then what Christ meant by forgiveness and pardon is not that, when nations attack you, burn your homes, plunder your goods, assault your wives, children, and relatives, and violate your honour, you should be submissive in the presence of these tyrannical foes, and allow them to perform all their cruelties and oppressions.

No, the words of Christ refer to the conduct of two individuals towards each other: if one person assaults another, the injured one should forgive him. But the communities must protect the rights of man.

RELATED: What Is Power Without Love? Explore MLK and Baha’i Quotes

2. Environmental Safety

The right to adequate sanitation and hygiene, clean air and water, a stable climate, and protection from hazardous chemicals, soil contamination, and dangerous levels of radiation are basic human rights that have been denied to so many. 

This denial of basic environmental rights has dire consequences. According to WHO, “24% of all estimated global deaths are linked to the environment.” For example, 3.8 million people die every year from household air pollution, and “91% of the world’s population live in places where [outside] air pollution levels exceed WHO guideline limits.”

Addressing these pressing issues, the Universal House of Justice, the global governing body of the Baha’i Faith, highlighted in a 2017 letter:

One of the most pressing problems of humanity in the current century is how a growing, rapidly developing, and not yet united global population can, in a just manner, live in harmony with the planet and its finite resources.

Certain biological realities present themselves when an organism negatively affects or exceeds the capacity of its ecosystem. The limited availability and inequitable distribution of resources profoundly impact social relations within and between nations in many ways, even to the point of precipitating upheaval and war.

“Local and national governments need to introduce policies and make investments that support cleaner transport, energy-efficient housing, power generation, industry and better municipal waste management,” wrote Dr. Maria Neira, the WHO Director for the Department of Public Health, Environmental and Social Determinants of Health. 

“But we can also lead change at community and individual level. This can include commitments to cycle or take public transport to work, when safe routes are available; to recycle waste or compost; or conserve water and energy at home and in the office. Strategies such as “pedibus” initiatives can encourage children to walk to school safely, and the creation of urban gardens can provide both healthy foods and venues for social interaction and physical activity.”

RELATED: 4 Benefits of Going Vegan for the World — and You

3. Financial Safety

Impoverished communities are the most vulnerable to environmental instability, enduring higher exposure to pollution, inadequate sanitation, and the growing threats of climate change. These challenges are compounded by widespread malnutrition and limited access to essentials like clean water, electricity, and basic healthcare. Sadly, more than 700 million people around the world live in extreme poverty, struggling to survive on less than $2.15 a day.

Baha’u’llah “admonished all that we must be the servants of the poor, helpers of the poor, remember the sorrows of the poor, associate with them; for thereby we may inherit the Kingdom of heaven.”

People who are financially secure have enough money to cover their expenses and meet their needs without fear of running out for retirement and possible emergencies. Financial safety and security include access to financial literacy, stable employment, fair wages, and protection from exploitation and financial abuse. If you’d like to learn more about the solutions that the Baha’i writings have offered to reduce the wealth gap, read my article, “How to Reduce the Wealth Gap — With Augusto Lopez-Claros.” 

Most of those living in extreme poverty are people of color. Not only do they lack financial safety, but they also don’t experience social safety.

RELATED: Reducing Poverty Amongst Marginalized Women and Communities

4. Social Safety

Social safety ensures that individuals feel included and respected within a society and involves protection from discrimination, exclusion, and exploitation based on social identity, such as race, gender, and class. 

Ask yourself: Can women be safe from sexist comments and actions in your presence? Can people of color be safe from racial microaggressions and macroaggressions in your community? We can socially safeguard others by advocating for social justice and fostering just, supportive, and inclusive communities.

As the Universal House of Justice wrote in a 2020 letter to the Baha’is of the United States:

We ardently pray that the American people will grasp the possibilities of this moment to create a consequential reform of the social order that will free it from the pernicious effects of racial prejudice and will hasten the attainment of a just, diverse, and united society that can increasingly manifest the oneness of the human family.

5. Spiritual Safety

“One of the forms of prejudice which afflict the world of mankind is religious bigotry and fanaticism. When this hatred burns in human hearts, it becomes the cause of revolution, destruction, abasement of humankind and deprivation of the mercy of God,” said Abdu’l-Baha at a talk in Colorado in 1912.

Because of religious bigotry, hundreds of millions of people around the world are denied spiritual safety. A  just, diverse, and united society would allow everyone the freedom to express, explore, and practice their spiritual or religious beliefs without fear of persecution, coercion, and discrimination. We can spiritually safeguard others by promoting religious freedom and creating interfaith fellowships and dialogues to enhance mutual understanding.

6. Emotional Safety

Emotional safety is crucial for fostering mutual understanding, trust, and intimacy. It is the assurance that one can express their feelings, thoughts, and vulnerabilities without fear of judgment, betrayal, rejection, or ridicule. This freedom to be authentic, without having to mask one’s emotions and put up guards, is a vital aspect of mental health.

We can emotionally safeguard others by cultivating inclusive, respectful, trustworthy, and compassionate spaces, practicing active and empathetic listening, validating others’ feelings and diverse experiences to foster a sense of security and belonging, and implementing conflict resolution strategies that prioritize understanding and reconciliation.

7. Psychological Safety

People who are denied psychological safety don’t have that freedom to express their perspectives. Psychological safety involves creating an environment where individuals feel safe to voice their thoughts, perceptions, and opinions without fear of retribution, humiliation, isolation, or manipulation.

RELATED: Spiritual Clarity to Resist the Different Types of Gaslighting

We can psychologically safeguard others by creating safe spaces that encourage honest, open communication without the risk of being subjected to gaslighting, mind games, and other forms of psychological abuse — abuse that is prevalent in physical and digital spaces.

8. Cyber Safety

As people spend more and more of their time online, cyber safety has become increasingly important. Cyber safety involves protecting individuals from online threats such as identity theft, cyberbullying, catfishing, online predators, privacy breaches, and exposure to harmful and inappropriate content.

We can safeguard others in this way by implementing privacy protections, using security tools, and educating people about cybersecurity and positive, healthy, appropriate, and safe online behavior.

9. Medical Safety

Last but not least, medical safety ensures access to quality healthcare and protecting individuals from medical errors, unsafe treatments, and inadequate health services. This includes the right to receive proper medical care, accurate diagnoses, and effective treatments while being safeguarded from harm and medical racism within the healthcare system. 

For example, according to the CDC, “Black women are three times more likely to die from a pregnancy-related cause than White women,” and “more than 80% of pregnancy-related deaths in the U.S. are preventable.” 

RELATED: How to Reduce Black Maternal Mortality in the U.S.

As we care for humanity and safeguard our most vulnerable populations, let’s remember these nine different types of safety. By prioritizing financial, emotional, social, environmental, spiritual, psychological, cyber, medical, and physical safety, we can better ensure the well-being of both ourselves and others.

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Remembering John Lewis: A Life of Courage and Service

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In the summer of 2017, I helped develop a project in Atlanta, Georgia, focused on a proposed memorial for the enslaved Africans once sold there – and it led me to a giant.

We planned to situate the memorial at the Crawford Frazier Brokerage, an auction house that once stood on the grounds of Five Points MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transportation Authority) station in downtown Atlanta.  

After we had completed the final design for the project and secured the necessary funding, we engaged in ongoing talks with the city about the logistical concerns surrounding the work. During our consultation, the design team decided to approach famed civil rights activist and Congressman John Lewis about the proposal to see if he would be willing to offer his support, an endorsement we hoped would go a long way toward persuading any reluctant officials in city government.  

RELATED: Alain Locke: the Pulitzer Prize, Legacy and Privacy

So, on a sunny weekday in August, I found myself in a boardroom in an elegantly appointed office in a downtown Atlanta high–rise, my cream–colored cotton suit creased and wrinkled from the afternoon heat. I sat in one of the large, comfortable leather armchairs, thinking about the man I would soon meet.  I thought of the grainy Black and white footage of him as a youthful civil rights worker from Troy, Alabama, leading a group of some 600 peaceful protesters across a bridge in Selma, Alabama, named after Edmund Pettus – a Confederate war veteran and former grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan.  

That day would come to be known as Bloody Sunday. The clubs that split heads open that day – the tear gas that burned the eyes – the ironclad feet of horses that trampled over men, women, and children alike – those searing images had left burn marks on my consciousness.  

I thought of the March on Washington in 1963, when a 23-year-old John Lewis, a seasoned veteran of the freedom movement by then, stood before a crowd of thousands to deliver one of the keynote addresses. I thought of his years of public service and how his principled stand on human rights, environmental justice, and religious pluralism had become beacons of hope for a wayward society lost in the wilderness of racism, materialism, and moral relativism.

Yes, John Robert Lewis, diminutive in stature yet possessing monumental courage, cast a long shadow that I felt honored to stand in. So, as I waited, my palms sweating in anticipation, I steadied myself to meet a man who had contended with the forces of evil in life’s public arena many times over. The cuts and bruises his body suffered, wounds still visible today, show the scarred evidence of his moral convictions. The desecration of the flesh and the consecration of the spirit makes those scars both painful and beautiful to see. 

In a talk in New York City in 1912, Abdu’l–Baha, the son of Baha’u’llah, the prophet and founder of the Baha’i Faith spoke of sacrifice. He said:

If you plant a seed in the ground, a tree will become manifest from that seed. The seed sacrifices itself to the tree that will come from it. The seed is outwardly lost, destroyed; but the same seed which is sacrificed will be absorbed and embodied in the tree, its blossoms, fruit and branches. If the identity of that seed had not been sacrificed to the tree which became manifest from it, no branches, blossoms or fruits would have been forthcoming.

When Congressman Lewis finally walked into the room and I rose to greet him, it felt, in some sense, like a confluence of histories. In his seven decades, he had seen and done so much. His life and the lives of many others – some known, some unknown – represented the sacrificial seeds from which my freedoms germinated. My generation entered the world on the worn heels of those who had marched towards a future made from the mystical intercourse of faith and fortitude. We were the children of the midwives of the movement, men and women alike, who birthed us into a world a little less threatening than the one they had known.  

As we shook hands and I looked into his deep, knowing eyes, I could sense a kind of stillness, a quiet nobility, the acquired dignity of the tested. That grounding force seemed to anchor him to some unstated principled conviction. In his smile, I saw a calming reassurance. I felt a deeply rooted joy, an earned contentment known only to those who have offered up the best of themselves in service to others. In that same talk, Abdu’l-Baha said:

… man must sacrifice the qualities and attributes of the world of nature for the qualities and attributes of the world of God. For instance, consider the substance we call iron. Observe its qualities; it is solid, black, cold. These are the characteristics of iron. When the same iron absorbs heat from the fire, it sacrifices its attribute of solidity for the attribute of fluidity. It sacrifices its attribute of darkness for the attribute of light, which is a quality of the fire. It sacrifices its attribute of coldness to the quality of heat which the fire possesses so that in the iron there remains no solidity, darkness or cold. It becomes illumined and transformed, having sacrificed its qualities to the qualities and attributes of the fire.  

I spent 45 minutes with John Lewis that day, telling him about my artistic vision, how I hoped to bend light and shadow to tell a painful story. Mostly, though, I listened. I listened as he spoke about the cleansing capacity of truth. I listened as he talked about life and legacy — about the bliss of purposeful suffering and the urgent need for courage. 

When I was a small boy, one of the first things I learned in art class was how to make a vessel out of clay.  I remember stacking coils of red modeling clay, one on top of the other, as I dipped my fingers in water to form a weld between layers. All of the students in the class followed the same painstaking process, yet all of the cups looked slightly different. Some were slim, some were more rotund. Others slumped a little to one side or the other, but the one quality they all had in common was they could all hold water.  This essential capacity defined their function. 

Spending time with John Lewis reminded me of that important lesson. Leadership has no definitive form. It can reside in anyone. The person embodying it can be large or small, Black or white, male or female, rich or poor, educated or not. If the heart is open, we can recognize its substance and its fundamental irony: the path to leadership runs through the crucible of service, and the road to nobility admits only the sincerely humble. 

As I gathered with Congressman Lewis and others for a group photograph before I left, I noticed his powerful posture of submission. He stood there with his hands clasped in front of him, and his head slightly bowed – his face radiant with a beautiful smile. In the photograph, it is evident that I am several inches taller than him, but I knew I was in the presence of a giant. 

Ultimately, the proposed memorial wasn’t realized, despite the congressman’s enthusiastic support.  The divisive nature of politics can grind many worthwhile projects to a halt, but for me, that isn’t what I remember most. I remember, for a brief moment in time, in an office in an unassuming building in downtown Atlanta, I sat and talked with John Robert Lewis, a servant, a quiet warrior for justice, a humble leader. 

RELATED: African American Baha’is During Abdu’l-Baha’s Lifetime

It reminds me of what Abdu’l-Baha wrote about humility: 

…man must become evanescent in God. Must forget his own selfish conditions that he may thus arise to the station of sacrifice. It should be to such a degree that if he sleep, it should not be for pleasure, but to rest the body in order to do better, to speak better, to explain more beautifully, to serve the servants of God and to prove the truths. When he remains awake, he should seek to be attentive, serve the Cause of God and sacrifice his own stations for those of God. When he attains to this station, the confirmations of the Holy Spirit will surely reach him, and man with this power can withstand all who inhabit the earth.

The Baha’i teachings ask every Baha’i to abstain from participation in partisan politics. Click here to read more about why.

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Can I Overcome My Racist Programming?

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I am a white American woman who has, for most of my life, been oblivious to my white privilege — those benefits that accrue to me simply because of my pale skin. 

In the past, I dismissed this privilege, arguing, “My family never ever owned slaves. Racism? Not my fault.”

I was raised in a blue-collar family, yet my parents were homeowners, never renters. We always had more than one car, and we had excellent health care, thanks to my dad’s government job. We were solidly lower middle class, neither wealthy nor privileged. We worked hard, I said, and we didn’t take handouts.  

How naïve I have been. My parents’ generation benefited from the G.I. Bill, subsidized mortgages, union membership — all keys to acquiring wealth, education, and property. These were denied to every Black man, even men who served our country. I learned this only recently. 

Staff Sergeant Herbert Ellison explains the G.I. Bill of Rights to the African American members of the quartermaster trucking company. 

I never worried about being stopped by the police. I have never been followed around in a store or asked what I was doing there. I have never been denied service or asked for proof that I own the car I’m driving. 

RELATED: Dismantling the Ladder: Why Anti-Racism Must Go Blue Collar

In a recent podcast, the writer Hilton Als described an encounter with two elderly white women. He was wearing a face mask, as we all do now during the pandemic, and one of the women flinched when she saw him. She was making an effort not to be afraid, he said. But still, in that effort, he felt great sadness because “I wouldn’t be afraid if she came up to me.” He asked, “What is it in the white body that produces that response?”

Listening to Als, I met my own racism. 

How many times have I first, if even for a split second, flinched before I caught myself. Yes, I have. A Black man walked through my neighborhood, and I cringed — for that crucial lizard-brain half-second before I relaxed and recognized him. He’s my neighbor! 

I was raised to be racist. I can still hear the childish taunts I uttered, hear my long-ago laughter at a racist remark, learned at my father’s knee. Am I past this? Can I ever overcome that training?

RELATED: Committing to Race Unity — Even When Times Get Scary

One day I shared a subway platform in Atlanta, a lone white woman, with a group of Black men who were arguing. Other than the men and me, the station was deserted, and it was late at night. In my mind’s eye that night, I saw a white woman clutch her purse to her chest and back away, moving far down the platform. Am I that woman? I instead shook off that flinch, relaxed my body language, and swung my shoulder bag loosely across one shoulder. I edged closer. When I could hear what they were arguing about, I heard them talking sports. They were comparing players, and they were really funny. When they realized I was eavesdropping, they began to perform for their audience of one. I laughed along with them.   

We white people cannot overcome racism without first seeing that the American culture itself is infected. It’s the other pandemic in us. 

When I first read the passage below from Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Baha’i Faith, originally written in 1938, I thought that these words were addressed to an earlier America:

As to racial prejudice, the corrosion of which, for well-nigh a century, has bitten into the fiber, and attached the whole structure of American society, it should be regarded as constituting the most vital and challenging issue confronting the Baha’i community at the present stage of its evolution.

Originally, I smugly thought we are long past racism as a challenging issue. How little I knew. We are still in the early stages of our evolution, and if I am to address this most challenging issue of racism, I have to change myself. The President of the local NAACP chapter told me recently that she was tired of explaining to white people what racism is and how it affects her and her family. She told me to read! So I’m reading. 

RELATED: Anti-Racism Is Not a Book List. It’s a Way of Life

So let’s all do that, let’s read, to learn what racism is and has been, how it informs American institutions and policies. Let’s read about the Reconstruction period in our history and about Jim Crow, about mass incarceration and how it disproportionally affects communities of color. Read books and essays by Michelle Alexander and Ibram X. Kendi, read James Baldwin, Toni Morrison, Angela Davis. Read Ta-Nehisi Coates and Jelani Cobb. For an antidote to prejudice and racial superiority, read the Baha’i writings, which offer us all a vision of an equitable, hate-free future and the promise of the unity of humankind.

From reading to understanding to action, we can learn to stop flinching and become true allies. Together, we can forge a path to racial justice. 

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