A few weeks ago, I saw Hugh Jackman perform at the Hollywood Bowl. He was phenomenal – he sang songs from shows he’s been in and some he hasn’t. A particularly powerful moment was when he sang the song “You Will Be Found” from the musical Dear Evan Hansen, and halfway through, the Gay Men’s Chorus of Los Angeles entered the stage and joined him.
But then, a bit of a dark spot: The song ended and the members of GMCLA started filing off the stage, but Hugh summoned them back. “I was in St. Louis a few weeks ago,” he announced, “and I performed this song with the LGBTQIA Chorus out there. Backstage, I said to one of the members, ‘this is really embarrassing, but I actually don’t know what the ‘A’ stands for,’ and he told me it stands for Ally… and I was like, ‘that’s me, I’m an ally!’”
Around me, 17,000 people burst into applause. But I cringed and buried my head in my hands. The problem wasn’t just that “A” doesn’t stand for “Ally” – it stands for “Asexual”. And the problem wasn’t his intentions, which were clearly well placed. The biggest problem was the performative nature of the way he declared his inclusion in an acronym that, simply put, doesn’t belong to him. (I’ve written before about how important it is to own your privilege in order to create context for those who don’t share it.)
Ally is a verb
I think that Hugh Jackman probably is an ally. It was an act of allyship to go on a nationwide tour and seek out an LGBTQ+ chorus in every city he visited to participate in his act – especially if he compensated them appropriately. It was not an act of allyship to declare this label to a huge audience and wait for a standing ovation.
The thing is, I’m also an ally. I’m an advocate of the LGBTQQIAPK+ community (and of POC, and people with disabilities) even though I’m not a member of it. But this isn’t a designation that I give myself once and pat myself on the back for; it’s a commitment to do small things every day to support people who experience oppression that I’m not subjected to. I work hard to make sure that I’m behaving in a way that supports people who are in those communities. I educate myself, I engage in hard conversations, and I listen to stories of lived experiences.
The first step to being a better ally is to recognize your privilege, and the systems that simultaneously benefit you and oppress others, without drowning in feelings of guilt and shame. It’s a hard balance to strike, but something that can help is to use your position of privilege to make life better and easier for others.
Here are some tips to help you do that:
1. Get to know actual members of the group you’re supporting
I was always a big fan of the idea of rights for transgender people, but it wasn’t until about a decade ago when I started cultivating close friendships with actual transgender people that I really understood what was at stake.
I once heard someone say that if you have a black friend, but you’ve never talked to them about race, then you don’t actually have a black friend – you just know a black person.
So when you meet people who have different demographics than yours, try to understand their world. If they seem like cool people, get to know them better and develop a friendship. (But don’t befriend them just because they’re from a different demographic… that’s tokenization!)
And like, actually get to know them, in all of their beautiful, intersectional, human complexity. Learn who they are, beyond their demographics. Laugh with them, have fun with them, talk about serious things with them. Revel in the things you have in common with them, and strive to deepen your understanding of the ways in which you’re different.
2. Listen, don’t talk
I once heard a black man tell his white friend that he felt fearful when he was pulled over by a police officer for having a broken headlight – only to have the friend shout over him that he shouldn’t be afraid because if he is respectful to the police officer, he has nothing to worry about.
I once had a transgender client tell me that a previous (cisgender) therapist had calmly explained to her that the reason she was transgender was that she was “a woman stuck in a man’s body” because she was the reincarnation of a woman who had died in a car accident.
If you are fortunate enough to have a member of a marginalized community open up to you about the challenges and stresses of living with their identity, your job is very simple: listen to them.
This sounds straightforward, but the words “mansplaining”, “whitesplaining”, and “straightsplaining” exist for a reason. Jumping in with your two cents is usually well-intentioned, but you can only learn how other people experience the world by letting them tell you about their lived experiences.
When you do talk in these conversations, it should be to validate the other person’s experiences and feelings, not to try to solve their problems or to tell them they probably misunderstood the situation. Part of privilege is blindness to microaggressions that women, people of color, and members of gender, sexual, and relationship minorities experience every single day.
Peripherally related, if you’re in a group of people, such as a work meeting, and you’ve noticed that straight, white, male voices are dominating the conversation, you can use your privilege to make space for other voices. This is true when talking about any subject, not just demographic issues. Say something like, “Leticia, we haven’t heard from you in awhile… I’m curious, what do you think?”
3. But also, speak up
If you’re talking to someone who is not a member of one of these groups – in other words, someone who shares your privilege – and they say something that tells you they *haven’t* done the work we talked about in the first few steps, that’s when it’s time to speak up.
The best time to do this is when you’re talking to someone who’s well-intentioned but misinformed. A great candidate is someone who says something like, “Wouldn’t it be easier for bisexual people if they only dated people of the opposite sex? They get to choose, after all, and that’s an easier life!” Stay calm, take a deep breath, and use what you’ve learned by talking to bisexual folks (and reading books, and engaging in media that practices accurate and responsible representation) to educate the other person.
If someone who is a member of the demographic is present when these things come up, use your voice to make space for theirs. Say things like, “That’s not my understanding, but Joan is actually a much better person to answer this question.”
Someone who’s really vitriolic, deeply racist, or intensely homophobic, biphobic, acephobic or transphobic is probably not a great candidate for these conversations. As an ally, you’re much better positioned to be heard by these people than someone who’s a member of the demographic, but your voice may still fall on deaf ears.
But you still have a responsibility to do something if another person makes an insensitive or bigoted comment. Which brings us to…
4. Act confused
Derald Wing Sue, one of the leading researchers on racial discrimination and microaggressions, talks about acting confused when well-meaning people ask microaggressive questions. For example, Wing Sue, who is of Chinese descent, is often asked, “where are you from?” He says he tells people he’s from Portland. Then they ask, “but where are you really from?” He cocks his head, confused. “I’m really from Portland.”
He’s a smart man. He’s an internationally known author and speaker, and a full professor at Columbia University’s Teacher’s College. He knows what they’re trying to ask – but he’s not going to hand it to them on a platter, he’s going to make them examine their own biases in the process of the conversation.
But most of those people are well-meaning. What about the vitriolic people we were just talking about?
Well, acting confused can be the best allyship tactic in those situations as well. For example:
Bigoted person – “[insert racist joke here]”
You – “I don’t get it.”
Bigoted person – “You know, because [mild explanation].”
You – “But I still don’t get it, can you explain that further?”
Bigoted person – [is backed into a corner, having to display the full extent of their bigotry in order to answer your question]
Some people won’t mind that you’ve put them in this position. Some people wear their bigotry as a badge of honor, as a sign of pride in their heritage. But staying calm, acting confused, and asking curious questions, rather than responding with an explanation, can force people to examine their own biases.
Most importantly, engage in lifelong learning
Every time I think I know everything about systems of oppression and privilege, I am wrong. This is true about groups that I’m a member of (women), as well as groups that I’m an ally to (LGBTQ+ people, POC, etc.).
Seek out knowledge through talking to people, reading books and blog articles written by members of the group you’re learning about, listening to podcasts, and watching diverse media. Don’t assume that one person’s perspective is representative of every group member’s experience, but remain open-minded to what people have to say about their lived experiences.
It will make you a better ally, and a better citizen of a beautifully complex and diverse world.