I Was Wrong: A Personal Reflection
by Elli Cucksey, Head Librarian at Trinity Lutheran Seminary at Capital University
/October 09, 2023
I want to share with you an experience I had this summer. I learned some things, but mostly I learned that I was wrong, and I am sorry.
I have encountered the need for work in diversity, equity, and inclusion far more often than I ever expected in academic work. Some of the work is being done with enthusiasm, even in the very white denomination my institution belongs to, while none of it is enough. Trinity is a seminary of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. No exaggeration, if you Google “whitest denomination in America,” you will find that we are tied with our Lutheran siblings in the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod. The work that the ELCA does in DEI is not always the most productive or even well-thought-out, but we do recognize that there is work to be done. Often, we do not even know what direction we should be working toward, and more than not we get it wrong or stop short of getting it right. We are stumbling forward, though, and trying to learn from our mistakes and from our siblings when they tell us we are hurting them.
Within the ELCA, twenty-seven colleges and universities make up the Network of ELCA Colleges and Universities (NECU). Each summer members of NECU send representatives to a conference on Vocation in Lutheran Higher Education at one of our member schools, Augsburg University in Minneapolis. This year, in conjunction with that conference, the DEI officers of each school also gathered to begin a working group to determine what could be done to advance DEI work within NECU. Through a series of misunderstandings, this librarian found herself included in the working group, and it turned out to be an unbelievably valuable experience.
As you might imagine, these DEI officers are mostly people of color. This librarian is most definitely white. These officers are daily engaged in DEI work, in making others in their institutions understand the need for and purpose of that work, and in creating places where others can engage in that work. They have studied at length for these jobs and have PhDs in things like educational leadership and higher education administration. This librarian is still learning about how she can help in this work and plodding along at getting a Master of Theological Studies degree. When it became obvious that I really had no business being in the room, I made two decisions that I believed were conscientious and would bring value to my time there. First, I did not leave. I could have, and it might be argued that I should have. But I was interested in being supportive, and I was not interested in letting anyone think that this work is not for me to participate in simply by virtue of my whiteness. So, I stayed. The second decision I made was that I would hold my tongue except to ask thoughtful questions. I recognized that I was the least qualified person in the room to determine what work should be done, what goals should be laid out, or what steps should be taken, much less what wrongs we should be working to right. I was, however, the one most in need of those lessons, so I vowed to listen and try to absorb as much as possible over the next two days.
If you know me, even as an acquaintance, you might be aware that silence is not my strongest gift. Around the seminary, I have been given the nickname “Elli the Loud Librarian.” I often process my thoughts aloud, and while it is not always appreciated by those around me, I can only imagine how counterproductive it would be to this group’s meeting to have the white girl in the corner processing all this new material out loud. So, I was quiet.
I was quiet while the group talked about their individual institutions and the work they were doing. I did not contribute while they talked about what they hoped this group might accomplish. I did not comment when they named the challenges and pitfalls of getting their work championed by faculty and administration on their individual campuses. I processed by taking notes, instead of verbalizing, while they began to make plans for how the group could work together, support each other, and eventually gather data to allow them to create a roadmap to their deliverables. It was not easy for this extroverted extrovert to sit on her hands and just try to absorb. I used my energy, instead to capture what was being said, to never let a book reference go by without checking to see if my library owns it, and to look up terms and concepts that were not immediately familiar. And I literally bit my tongue, to remind myself to hush.
When the group broke into smaller working teams to start working on specific goals, I linked up with the research group, as that seemed like the place where the librarian could be of the most use. This group eventually became the Equity Survey Working Group and is busy putting together a survey that will allow us to understand better what is going on with diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging on each of the NECU campuses. I am still not entirely convinced of my value on this team, but I continue to meet with them and try to ask thoughtful questions.
I was uncomfortable a lot of the time in those 48 hours. Not horrifically uncomfortable, certainly not physically uncomfortable, but uncomfortable enough to be constantly aware of myself. I thought carefully about everything I contributed, even just to conversations outside of our meetings. I constantly second-guessed myself about whether I should even be there, did they want me there, and did that even matter? I wondered if what I did say was being perceived in the way I meant it, if I was receiving the things others said in the manner they meant it, what cultural divisions might cause a misunderstanding if I was not careful. And it was all exhausting.
What I came to understand, though, is that I had been given an opportunity to recognize something about what it is like to be a person of color existing in a system built by and for white people. I have heard my friends from other racial backgrounds talk about how they have to police what they say when they are in white spaces, and I believed them, sort of. I understood that they felt that way, but I also believed that they did not have to do that with me, or in the spaces of which I was a part. I believed them, but there was just a little part of me that thought they were exaggerating. Or if not exaggerating, then maybe just being overly sensitive, or maybe just exaggerating how exhausting it all could be. I was wrong, and I am sorry.
Over and over, we hear activists or protesters or even just voices on social media, who are telling us that even when we are trying, white people and white systems are exhausting for people of color. I have been given this message so many times in groups, in one-on-one conversations, in classes, in writing. Even when I believed it, I did not live it. And trust me, I am fully aware that I still have no real idea what it is like to live as a Black woman, or a Latino person, or a queer teenager, or any other member of a minority community. This experience, however, did give me a glimpse into how much work it is to simply exist in these spaces and systems that white people have built and perpetuated for our own benefit. From here on, I will not waste any more energy ignoring that. I am still working out how I can help alleviate that exhaustion for my siblings of color, but at the very least, I can work to not make them explain it again.
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