Why “Activism” hurts the movement, or leave your ego at home

Brief forewarning: any of the following comments are mine and mine alone. They do not reflect any organization or collaborative.

People have often called me an activist. I’ve reluctantly accepted this label, given the fact that it’s the only one that describes what I’ve been doing for the past year and a half. I’ve been part of groups who have organized marches and protests; I’ve co-written and co-signed open letters; and I’ve been — and am — part of groups that continue to raise awareness around issues of racial justice.

I’ve been reluctant to accept the label, though, because, for some, the term “Activist” has turned into a brand, acting as part of their larger public profile. These “activists” have jumped on the #blacklivesmatter bandwagon when it’s become economically or politically expedient, using the movement to pay bills or get elected. (And before you even go there, don’t: I’m not talking about DeRay McKesson, as his mayoral bid is a direct reflection of what Civil Rights genius Bayard Rustin called the move from protest to politics.)

You see, the difference between an “Activist” and a member of the movement for black lives (what I would’ve called #blacklivesmatter before “activists” started hijacking it for their own gain) is ego. Despite the fact that I am a Leo — which means I have one of the largest egos on the planet — I know that the movement is simply not where that ego will shine. I have many friends and fellow activists who I work with, who are more brilliant strategists than I, and who will check me if my ego gets out of control. But the “Activist” doesn’t do this. The “activist” is out for self, jumping in front of cameras when it’s convenient, using their char(is)m(a) to woo media outlets instead making the focus about the work.

They adopt a PR approach to the work, holding press conferences when it’s convenient while not showing up to strategy sessions; they seek the fame without the risk. They look the part, but don’t live it, wearing the right t-shirts (or suits, when expedient) in front of the cameras but failing to be accountable to the very people they purport to represent. Infatuated with speeches from King and X, they miss the fact that both King and X ended up dying for the cause, and that Ella and Fannie were the true engines of the 60’s movement, speaking only when necessary, and adopting an “everyone’s a leader, which means no one’s a leader” approach to organizing and activism. They miss the fact that #blacklivesmatter started as a “leaderful” movement, and that other organizations — like the Dream Defenders — move like a swarm instead of an arrow. If you ever hear Phillip Agnew, Patrisse Cullors, Opal Tometti, or DeRay McKesson speak, they are truly committed to the work they do. They don’t do it for a paycheck or for fame (in fact, some of them are actually broke; I’ve spoken to some of them); instead, when they do get money or fame, they use both to fuel the movement. We don’t know who shut Trump down in Chicago; and that’s a good thing.

The “Activist” is a problem because he/she (but it’s usually a “he”) will often speak out of turn, saying something about the movement that has nothing to do with the movement. The “activist” will talk about “strategy” when he or she hasn’t been to a strategy session. And when this happens, the movement suffers. It suffers because people end up getting a particular perception of who we are without knowing anything about us.

The “Activist” is also a problem because he or she has missed the fact that contemporary racial justice movements have given up on the idea of a charismatic (male) leader. This way of organizing is outdated and obsolete; after King died, his “successors” — like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton — have struggled to remain in contact with the pulse of contemporary issues, speaking for the interests of a few instead of remaining connected to the larger geography of black cultural and political life. While Jackson and Sharpton may be incredible orators and/or political commentators — and, at one point in time, they were incredible activists — their perspectives have fallen in line with respectability politics, trading recognition for change, and riches for transformation. While I don’t speak for anyone or everyone in the movement, I think the disruptive nature of the contemporary movement for black lives speaks loudly, inviting ridicule and danger in what appear to be the most genuine attempts at widescale change.

Before I conclude, let me say this: I’m not the most effective member in the movement for black lives. In fact, I often struggle to balance my commitment to justice with my more practical commitments as someone training to be a scholar. I’ve missed meetings, missed events; I’ve been absent to things I should’ve attended. I’ve even craved the “activist” spotlight, becoming jealous when others have been more effective than I. And so, in many ways, I write this to and for myself as I do for others.

So when I say I didn’t write this to be shady, I mean it. I’m not here to crap on other people. It’s not useful, and it’s downright disrespectful.

I did write this, however, to remind those of us who are committed to raising awareness that our work is a work of love, extended to the collective. It is not meant to shine the light on any one member, but rather, to achieve parity and justice for each and every one of us. Let us check our egos at the door of political engagement and resistance, and remember that our wellbeing is always connected to the wellbeing of the whole. Otherwise, we’ll end up speaking out of turn, saying things we shouldn’t, therefore becoming hindrances to, instead of help for a movement which is near and dear to all of us.