On Belay: Climbing and Allyship for BLM

On Belay: Climbing and Allyship for BLM

Op Ed By Paige Cox

First, I would like to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

I am a white woman.

I am a white woman, married to a white man. I am straight. I am cis-gendered. I am able-bodied.  I am arguably the most privileged kind of white person.

Have you seen the video of the group of white 20-somethings from New Jersey who were pulled over for driving with an expired registration?  The mother of one of the passengers, who identifies herself as a Port Authority Commissioner, arrives to drive the youths away as their vehicle is being towed and demands the police explain themselves.  The driver, who is over 18, is not related to the woman and therefore the police are not obligated to share information about their report.  And yet she continues to demand that she has a right to know why these pre-law, pre-med, Ivy League students have been removed from their vehicle. She goes so far as to back the officers into their vehicles. The police are literally backing away from the woman in order to de-escalate the situation.  She curses at them, she calls them names, she threatens to have their jobs.  No one is cuffed.  No one is put in a choke hold.  No guns are drawn, nor holsters even unsnapped.  The dashcam footage ends and everyone goes on their way.  With their lives and their freedom.

White college student.

White mother.

Can you imagine that scenario with a Black college student and a Black mother?  

I’m writing this article to own the great privilege of my whiteness and the responsibility it lays at my feet to do better. I am writing to acknowledge that there are levels of privilege and as a white woman, with all the labels I carry, I’m pretty high up. Cards on the table:  I’m navigating blind.  But I can hear the voices of the Black community calling for justice and I am doing my damnedest to follow that sound.

It's not unknown that most of the outdoor recreational activities are dominated by white men.  Even catered to white men.  Several companies in the outdoor industry have been talking about this for a few years now.  But not in direct relation to racial equality until fairly recently.  In 2017, REI ran the Force of Nature campaign, which called for companies in outdoor retail to “level the playing field” and lean into creating more women specific gear and apparel, and change the narrative of the Outdoor Enthusiast.

Even small things happened, like changing the way gender-specific choices are listed.  REI has been known to list Women’s choices first, where before one might have seen “Men’s, Women’s, Children.”  Small, but noticeable to those who notice.

One very significant change was the use of women for advertising.  A new cycling product line comes out, you see a woman riding the bike.  Newest update to that running watch you love?  It’s on a woman’s wrist. Filler pictures of people backpacking or camping or simply enjoying the outdoors started to be groups of women, rather than groups of men with a woman on the side so we felt included.  

But was that enough?

I felt great about it, I felt empowered.  But I’m a white woman, whose presence anywhere is never questioned.  Did my friends who are black women feel the same empowerment when their favorite brands started featuring smiling white women, covered in dirt and sweat and freedom?  Because that’s what the great outdoors offers us, right?  Freedom?

Freedom to roam, freedom to hike, freedom to climb to your heart’s content.

Freedom.  

When you look a certain way.

Nobody questions a group of white folks traipsing through a neighborhood with grungy packs, ropes and sticker-covered helmets hanging off their backs.  Is the same freedom shown to a group of Black climbers?  If you watched the Instagram Live conversation hosted by Black Girls Climb with Brittany Leavitt and Laura Edmondson, you’ll remember that they spoke about biases they’ve experienced being Black guides and climbers.

We (the white people) have stopped them and said “Haven’t seen you around these parts before.”

We’ve said “Is this your first time climbing?”

We’ve said “I don’t see a lot of your people climbing.”

We’ve assumed hardship because of the color of their skin and we’ve said “Your struggle is so empowering.”

Now, some of you reading this might stop here and feel stuck on my use of the word “we” to identify white people.  No, I’ve never personally gone out of my way to halt a group of Black Climbers and comment on their minority.  And you probably haven’t either.  But white people do that.  White people let pass the white climbers without a glance.  Maybe an annoyance at their volume or parking behaviors.  However, white people also go out of their way to impose themselves on the folks that seem out of place.  Out of place because the climbing industry historically hasn’t made room for Black climbers.  Hasn’t made room for Indigenous climbers.  So much so, that we often end up asking each other, “Do you even know any Black climbers?”  

So, I‘m identifying white people as “we.”  Does that hurt you?  To be grouped into a generalized statement about racism and white supremacy?  I bet it does.  Put that hurt aside for a second and think about this:  if We - the white people - don’t all start taking responsibility for the systemic racism that has built the pedestal on which we so comfortably sit, then we can’t ever hope to work toward change.

What have I done to take responsibility?  I’ve owned the mistakes that I’ve made in the past and named them, even if just to myself.  I’ve challenged people who have pushed back and had raw conversations about privilege.  I’ve written this article that’s going out to people I don’t know, people who don’t know me, people who may or may not share my beliefs and may or may not really like this.  I’ve sent money to friends of mine who are organizing care packages for protests that are still happening in DC, New York, Louisville (to name a few).  I’ve changed what I see on my social media pages.  I primarily followed white people.  So, I made adjustments and followed black women, men and outdoor groups.  I run for Ahmaud and make calls for Breonna and Big Floyd.  I sign petitions.  I think about how I carry racial bias throughout my day and I put it down when I recognize it.

I’m a white woman.  A white woman with a lot of privilege.  And I have a responsibility to use that privilege to speak up for those who are not heard. 

By Paige Cox