Opus DEI

That time I kinda, sorta, accidentally started a church...-like thing. Sorta!

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Opus Dei, formally known as the Prelature of the Holy Cross and Opus Dei (Latin: Praelatura Sanctae Crucis et Operis Dei), is an institution of the Catholic Church which teaches that everyone is called to holiness and that ordinary life is a path to sanctity. ... Opus Dei is Latin for "Work of God"; hence the organization is often referred to by members and supporters as the Work. [Source]

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By early June of 2020, it was clear that this time was different. The viral video of George Floyd’s spirit heartlessly being smothered out of existence had flipped a switch in a critical mass of people around the globe. Shockingly, members of both American political parties showed a surge in support for the Black Lives Matter movement. At work, topics that had long been taboo to discuss were now taboo to ignore. When one upper level leader attempted to show his support for the movement during an all-hands meeting by declaring, “black lives matter, brown lives matter, white lives matter, all lives matter!,” I knew he meant it compassionately, but I still cringed. On our all-employee internal message board, one colleague carefully and un-accusingly explained why the phrase “all lives matter” was so hurtful to so many. Surprisingly, the leader publicly apologized and admitted he was still learning. A thoughtful, public dialogue ensued. Many of my co-workers (mostly white, but some minorities other than black) publicly stated they were coming to realize just how little they understood about systemic racism and the challenges their colleagues and neighbors faced. They wanted to make up for lost time.

I felt a calling.

The heady days of early June left me, and many other white people, staggering around. Things were bad, that much was clear. Systemic racism seemed to be pretty much entirely our fault, given that white people disproportionately dominate positions of power in society, benefit from each others’ under-examined biases, and had remained complacent about the status quo for so long. It was time to “do the work” of dismantling white supremacy within ourselves so that we could be adequate accomplices to the BIPOC leading the fight for justice. The advice to white would-be allies could be overwhelmingly confusing at times. Speak up and reach out to friends and colleagues of color, but be very careful not to say the wrong thing. Actually, maybe just give them space. Seek out the lived experiences of black people, but don’t ask to be educated (and definitely don’t think you’ll ever understand). Read a (damn) book, but don’t start a book club (again). Take action, but don’t try to be a “white savior.” Exhausted? That’s understandable, but it’s part of the work.¹

Though I, too, was overwhelmed trying to determine what the “right” thing to do was in this moment, I did feel like I had a bit of a head start. Discussions about racial justice had always been woven throughout conversations within my circle of friends, most of whom were women of color. In fact, in the wake of Floyd’s death, I had the very disorienting feeling of not having any close white friends that I felt I could talk to about my confusion, as I didn’t want to burden my friends by “centering” myself. I was racked with guilt… though I was aware of social justice issues for years, in my mind, I’d taken no significant action other than commiserating with friends, donating money, and “liking” posts on social media. A soup of concepts, amplified in no small part by a media consensus reflecting the views of Ibram Kendi and Robin DiAngelo, started to congeal in my mind.

1. The extent and impact of racism was so extreme, it was responsible for a devastating impact on the lives of almost every person of color in our county (or world): stifling intergenerational poverty, daily fear of police brutality, significant reduction of career possibilities, and psychological burdens in almost every interracial interaction.

2. For a person with racial privilege (a white person) to be aware of such a system and continue to reap its advantages, making no effort to change it, was morally repugnant. “White people invented racism; it’s our job to end it.”

3. White people are morally obligated to dedicate significant effort to not just disrupting this system they benefit from, but also encouraging other white people to understand systemic racism and their moral obligations as well. People of color have borne more than their fair share of educating us; it’s our turn to carry the load.

I remember standing in my front yard one evening and coming to a crystal clear realization: given the jump-start on these issues my friends had given me over decades of conversation, it was my moral duty to help other white people who were just starting off on their journey navigate through all of the lessons they would need to learn. It’s hard to explain, but for a brief moment, I recall thinking, “Now I get it… this must be how Evangelical Christians about preaching the gospel.” There was an evil force in the world that could only be vanquished by loving people coming together and battling it. There were people out there who wanted to do better, be better. I had information that could help, in some tiny way, move society toward a better place. How could I keep it to myself out of timidity?

Woke @ Work

The next day at work, I emailed a handful of progressive white colleagues and asked: would any of you like to start a “white allyship” racial justice learning group with me, here at work? I didn’t want to go through the “proper channels” like HR, D&I (not yet “DEI”), or management. I wanted to keep it simple and unofficial; grassroots. I wanted room to push the envelope, talk about taboo things like white supremacy, and not have to get approval or have things be watered down. We could exchange book recommendations, share articles, even meet for group discussions occasionally. A few colleagues said they were in, and we were off.

The next order of business was to reach out to the African American employee resource group for their approval. In retrospect, I was bizarrely reverential about this. I was extremely worried that they would see me as naive, over-confident, dominating, seeking “ally cookies,” or even just “doing the most.” I wanted to make sure they felt free to tell us not to proceed if they were uncomfortable with any aspect. I wanted to make sure they did not feel like this was a request for them to educate us, but also that their input was welcome, and they could trust we would be focusing almost exclusively on the teachings of black thought leaders in the field. Our plan was that each week we’d select one or two short-form articles or videos that covered a topic related to racial justice, then meet online as a group to discuss on Fridays. In the end, they were very receptive, encouraging, and wished us luck. I hoped they weren’t secretly annoyed at these white women trying to insert themselves.

We gave our group an appropriately trendy name (it wasn’t, but might as well have been, “woke @ work”) and announced its formation in our department’s email newsletter. We had an immediate surge of several hundred people join. The group’s web hub became a hive of activity, with members expressing gratitude that they’d found a place to learn more, sharing articles they found interesting or exchanging book recommendations. For our first week’s “work,” we selected an extremely safe article about the allyship journey (though I had mixed feelings about spotlighting a white man’s work right off the bat). I was petrified about how the first discussion session would go—who would call in, would it get confrontational?—but it went smoothly. (Most people were “Aware,” but wanting to move to “Active.”)

Membership continued to climb as leadership promoted the group on lists of antiracist actions “the company” was taking under the umbrella of DEI. The second week, we learned about Juneteenth. In the third week, I was eager to dive into this Robin DiAngelo video. I ran it by my husband first, who looked at me shellshocked after watching it, saying “She’s, umm… not using the right definition of racism….” Ah, poor, unwoke hubby. I decided the larger group was not ready for that one. We went with the topic of white privilege instead, expanding the conversation to include any unearned forms of privilege.

By then, we had upwards of 400 people in the group, with 80 or more calling in weekly to discuss “the work” for the week. Then I noticed something I hadn’t expected. Membership in the group was surprisingly… diverse! Racially, at least. (Despite being a predominantly male organization, participation was about 75% female.) I’d had it in my head that these topics were important remedial learning for white Americans, perhaps Asian Americans and Hispanic Americans too. But black Americans? Surely this was all old news to them. And yet a dozen or more were calling in regularly. White participants would share that they were confused and had questions, and several black participants volunteered to answer any questions they had, judgment-free. This was very confusing to me at the time. Weren’t they annoyed at the questions, the ignorance? At being in yet another white-centered space? But as I got to know them each, I came to see how genuine their offers were; several just felt hopeful and appreciative that so many people wanted to hear about their experiences with racism through their lives and wanted do something about it.

In fact, in the first few months, I heard from dozens of people of all racial backgrounds that they looked forward to each Friday’s “woke @ work” gathering as hands-down the highlight of their week. Several people even said it was the only thing keeping them at the company anymore. That summer was so miserable… it was clear Covid would not be temporary, and it seemed like the world was falling apart. “Woke @ work” tackled tough topics, yes, but it was a largely supportive environment. Though Robin DiAngelo decries such rules, we explicitly encouraged trust, respect, benefit of the doubt, and openness to different perspectives. People felt like they were learning and growing; they formed new friendships with colleagues they’d never met, and they felt like they were making tiny steps at chipping away at a gargantuan problem. It gave them something they were desperate for: community and purpose.

Forged by fire

Within the first couple of weeks, things came to a head. Members were sharing news pieces and recommendations for social media follows. Several conservative colleagues joined the online group and, from my perspective at the time, started dropping racism bombs in the comments. In retrospect, I can see they were genuinely horrified by some of the content that we seemed to be a-ok with publicly recommending to each other as effective ways of fighting racism, but which fit their definition of racism to a T. They began to ask, “How can you recommend following people who are so clearly violating the rules of respect and openness you just claimed to want to promote?” “I believe that black lives matter, but I’m concerned that the Black Lives Matter organization wants to ‘destroy the nuclear family.’ Can’t we make things better without tearing down the whole system? Maybe we could volunteer to provide marriage counseling to black couples instead?” I was utterly horrified. I couldn’t wrap my head around what would make someone think that was okay to say on a forum that any colleague at the entire company could see. I imagined the pain and anger my black co-workers would feel when they read that. I considered reporting it to HR, but instead decided to write a long, public reply explaining to them what their responsibilities were as white allies: no need to offer ideas or suggestions, just listen and do as we’re told. Read, reflect, repent, repeat. The troublemakers ran off, and with the heretics purged, we were back to business.

After a few weeks, we found a groove. A dozen or so people stepped up to form a “planning team,” and we met once a month to brainstorm topics, taking turns issuing “work” for the week and planning our Friday lunchtime gatherings. The Friday sessions, held via video conference, would begin with a survey asking us to self-report our race, gender, and location. The week’s hosts would recap the “work” and issue a series of discussion prompts, and participants would take turns sharing their thoughts. Early on, topics could be tough; “white woman tears” were shed on several occasions. It did not take long though for most weeks to be quite fulfilling for most members. Discussions were a chance to get to know other people, build up your knowledge, reflect on your values, and come away feeling a warm glow as if you’d done some good in the world this week.

Things almost came to a screeching halt in September. After yet another evening of watching Tucker Carlson, Donald Trump and his staff issued an Executive Order banning “divisive” “critical race theory” “indoctrination” at federal contractors. It was accompanied by a memorandum advising corporate lawyers to look for (which, to lawyers, effectively means “prohibit”) any form of “training” that used terms like “systemic racism,” “intersectionality,” and “unconscious bias.” Worse yet, it immediately created a “hotline” for employees to rat out their co-workers. Our company’s lawyers told us that even though our group was grassroots, voluntary, and did not count as “training,” we ought to abide by the guidance and run any content past them prior to sharing it broadly. To say I was outraged was an understatement. I had never before felt like my first amendment rights were being violated like this. We thought we might have to shut the whole group down—how could we fight systemic racism and white privilege without using the terms “systemic racism” and “white privilege”? I was livid.

Somewhere in this timeframe, things began to click for me. I’d been speaking with the conservative colleagues on and off for weeks, and I vented my frustration towards them. They shared that from their perspective, the Executive Order wasn’t restricting speech any more than the Civil Rights Act already did; it just enforced it on this topic by highlighting the ways white people were being scapegoated. I still could not wrap my head around how to teach white people to stop being so racist without pointing out all the ways they were racist. I went off in search of an alternative approach to the subject that wouldn’t violate the order. When I came across the Theory of Enchantment, a new perspective started to come into focus, and the rest is history.

Well, except that it wasn’t. While I struggled painfully through my latest epiphany, I tried to explain to the rest of the planning team, who were outraged and dismayed by the EO, that maybe there was a way to keep going. We could discuss the historical and modern effects of racism without placing the blame on white people or promoting stereotypes. We scoped out a sweet spot. Keep revisiting parts of American history that we might not have fully appreciated. Keep taking turns giving different colleagues center stage to tell about their personal life experiences and answer questions. Cover news stories of the day, but include both liberal and conservative takes. Spend some weeks diving specifically into advice on having difficult conversations or seeing issues from multiple perspectives. Read James Baldwin. Discuss interviewing and hiring best practices. We found local opportunities to volunteer. Our most powerful week ever, in my opinion, came the week of Martin Luther King Day, when we read up on his philosophy of non-violence. Christian and non-religious members alike were clearly moved by his calls to agape love, and the grace-filled vision of a Beloved Community. My heart swelled; I would have broken out in song if it wouldn’t have been totally weird.

There was no Kendi; no DiAngelo. No struggle sessions. It’s crazy but it’s true: Trump’s EO actually made the group better—we even stuck with the new approach after Biden rescinded the order.

What makes a religion?

John McWhorter was likely the first public persona to describe anti-racism as a (flawed) religion. I did not come across his 2015 piece making this case until after my worldview had already started to come apart at the seams, so I’m not sure what I would have made of it in medias res. But with the clarity of hindsight and personal experience, I can certainly find enough similar themes to find the analogy apt.

• A sense of universal moral truth; a right/wrong axis along which to measure everything in the world

• A sense of purpose, guiding one’s actions in service of a “greater good” beyond oneself

• A sense of community, loyalty, and obligation towards others who share your moral perspective

• The specter of a pernicious evil that must be fought external to the community, within the community, and within oneself

• Strong reactions of offense and disgust at violations of taboos

• For white people, regularly occurring feelings of guilt that can only be assuaged by atonement and reflection; policing of one’s thoughts for impurity

• Reverence for the teachings of thought leaders in the space; strong stigma against disagreeing with them, and an inclination to interpret deviation from these teachings as immoral

• Sanctimonious feelings of moral superiority derived from comparing oneself to outsiders

• An inclination to judge (or cancel) non-believers, heretics, and sinners, in an attempt to shame them into changing their behavior to fit the moral norms of the rest of the group

• Reverence approaching de facto sainthood status for victims of police brutality

• Community and connection; a sense of transcendence derived from being part of a group bigger than oneself

I should point out the obvious: anti-racism is not actually a religion because it is purely secular. No one is “worshipping” Breonna Taylor, Ta-Nahesi Coates, Robin DiAngelo, Kimberlé Crenshaw or even Martin Luther King, Jr. No one considers these people superhuman, or their ideas to be divinely derived. But buried deep within this worldview is the idea that the worldview itself is so obviously right that it’s effectively The Truth. Anyone challenging it is doing so from a position of consciously or unconsciously promoting white supremacy, thereby further confirming its perniciousness and the validity of the worldview. It’s not unlike a Christian denomination decrying those who leave the church as having been lured away by the Devil himself; it couldn’t possibly be that the church had been unwelcoming, hateful, or cruel. The incident then becomes all the more reason for the faithful to stay close.

In a recent “debate” with Chris Rufo, David French described the trend of critical race theory-informed antiracist teaching in classrooms as a form of fundamentalism.

It’s hard to understand what happening right now in the United States of America unless you have some understanding of fundamentalism. … What we’re beginning to see happen is that … we’re essentially having … a fundamentalist religious awakening. … I like the way that John McWhorter described it in The Atlantic; he calls it a "‘third-wave anti-racism,” a “profoundly religious movement in everything but terminology.” An idea that whites are permanently stained by white privilege, they are gaining moral absolution only by eternally attesting to it; that’s like the “original sin.” Some time America will come to terms with race; that’s sort of like its “judgement day.” Explorations as to whether an opinion is “problematic” are equivalent to explorations of what might be considered “blasphemous.” The social attacks on a person with “problematic” thoughts are parallels with excommunication. It’s a very thoroughly religious movement with a religious zeal behind it… a lot of this is connecting and it’s appealing to people because it connects with an underlying sense of virtuous purpose… to purge the effects of racism from American life. … That really animates people and gives them a sense that they’re on the “right side” of something really important and really good, but as with so many fundamentalisms, it’s so entirely intolerant of dissent, and so entirely intolerant of disagreement, it often ends up oppressing in the name of liberation.

Rufo disagrees and starts rambling about Marxism, but French is dead-on. He gets it, the universal humanness of this phenomenon, having lived within and alongside fundamentalist communities himself. (I’d argue Rufo cannot see it as he is becoming fundamentalist in his anti-CRT frevor himself.) More than that, French gets the distinction between religion and fundamentalism or extremism. Religion itself is not necessarily a bad thing. Jonathan Haidt makes an extremely convincing case that the urge to form moral communities is deeply embedded in humans and provides significant evolutionary advantages. For many American Millennials and Gen Z’ers who grew up without attending a church or participating in formal faith traditions, they’ve never seen or experienced what religious fervor feels like. When they discover anti-racism (or climate advocacy, for that matter), they’re swept away by the overwhelming sense that they’ve found their calling, their way to fight for what’s right and true in the world against the forces of evil. This alone is not a bad thing! Young people enthusiastically dedicating their free time or even their careers toward causes bigger than themselves is absolutely a positive. The danger comes with fundamentalism: that your worldview is perfectly aligned with a Moral Truth, and that anyone who disagrees or sees things differently is “part of the problem;” that dissent must be purged and that part of fighting for the good you seek means defeating your enemies at all costs. Tolerance and appreciation of alternative perspectives can and must become a core value of any movement for good, or it risks filtering out all but the most extreme participants, along with those people most easily influenced by the radicals.

One year on, “Woke @ Work” is still going strong. I’m still an active member of the planning team, and several other participants are even subscribers to this blog (so please refrain from comments calling the group “creepy”!). We dropped the opening racial survey from our Friday sessions and moved to a bi-weekly rhythm. I’m sometimes the only participant willing to speak up with alternative perspectives, but the group does accept them, even if they don’t agree with them. Some weeks frustrate me and I occasionally tell sympathetic members that I’m -thisclose- to quitting, but I stick around. I stick around because I genuinely like the people I’ve met through the group. I stick around because I learn something new every week. And I stick around because these issues are important to talk about—actually talk about, with people sharing different perspectives and disagreeing civilly. There is “work” to do, but it requires an open mind from everyone.

1. I want to make something clear, that wasn’t clear to me at the time: every individual person of color is abundantly entitled to their own unique reaction to national events, and even those who are similarly distraught are entitled to a wide range of reactions and wishes that can vary not just person-to-person but hour-to-hour and interaction-to-interaction. My mistake, and many others’, was not in attempting to understand people’s wishes, but expecting that there was a single “right” way to act at all, or that a set of rules could be developed that would avoid causing anyone pain. The world does not work that way. Treating all people of color, or all black Americans, as a single collective entity never ends well.