Life in our tiny, shiny, white bubble.
Megan Harrod
It has not been an easy two weeks, two months, or year, really.
It’s been forever and a day since I’ve taken the time to sit down and write. Since George Floyd’s death in South Minneapolis, a place I know and love so much, I’ve been grappling with my whiteness, and my industry’s (the ski and snowboard industry) glaring white privilege. It’s been obvious throughout the six years I’ve lived in postcard picturesque Park City, but it’s even more clear now…
We live in a bubble.
I’ve always felt a little instability in my life…I was fortunate to have grown up in a home with parents who encouraged me to approach the world with a curious mind and an open heart. When I was a child, I would travel into inner-city Chicago with my midwife mother. It was a welcome escape for me from my predominately white, conservative town of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. I remember, even at a young age, thinking about how lucky I was to be able to see and experience the city. I loved traveling via mass transit because I LOVED people. From everywhere. The city was so appealing to me because it was so utterly different than idyllic Lake Geneva.
As I was recently watching The Last Dance, I was reminded of something my grandma (may her soul rest in peace) said when I was younger. First of all - a small back story. I was mad in love with MJ and the Chicago Bulls. I grew up in their heyday, and I was a Bulls fan through and through. When I was young, we didn’t have a ton of money. I was born in a trailer home in Montana after my family’s log cabin home burned to the ground. It was humble beginnings and my mother and father worked hard for what they had. That said, Michael Jordan’s “Air Jordan” Nike shoes were kind of out of the question. First, I received my brother’s hand-me-downs. Then, when I was able to, I saved my allowance for my own pair. I was enthralled by Michael. To me, everything about him was beautiful. The way he moved, the striation of his muscles, and his black skin. I remember watching a Bulls game one evening…I must have been 11-years-old, and I was vocal about my pure adoration for MJ. My grandma said to me, “Why can’t you like a white guy like Steve Kerr?!” I rolled my eyes. Gram grew up in a different time. I had to remind myself of that. But those words no doubt made me realize there was so much more to history than I knew or could ever truly understand at that point in my life. I quite often come back to those words.
I am not saying I am colorblind. I acknowledge our differences, and I acknowledge my whiteness…now more than ever. But, the way I was brought up, I never saw differences as a problem. My mother had lesbian friends growing up, so I learned about the LGBTQ+ community early on in life. I went to a college that was predominantly white and Lutheran, though I lived on a floor in my dorm with a majority of the Professional Exploration Program (PEP) students, who were black, Latina, and Hmong. When I lived in Minneapolis, I went to The Firm (and worked there both behind the desk as well as a coach) and ran with a group of about 20 gay men who were/are the most loyal and amazing friends I could have asked for. The point is, I’ve always acknowledged my tribe’s differences, but I’ve made an effort to learn from them and educate myself…not run away from them.
Minneapolis was home. Minneapolis still is home. And as I’ve watched the only place I’ve known as home in my adult life mourn, suffer, weep, call for help, stand together peacefully, stand up against violence…I’m here in Park City sitting in my whiteness. I’m here feeling like the only place I want to be is the exact opposite of where I am: HOME IN MINNEAPOLIS. I felt helpless as I listened to my sister Mikaela tell me she was on the front porch of her Minneapolis apartment at 1 am on neighborhood watch because the police were nowhere to be seen and the KKK was rumored to be nearby. I felt the weight of incredible sadness as I heard too many stories about rioting and looting, small businesses being demolished and lives being changed forever. I felt scared as my sister and I attempt to open a small business of our own in Minneapolis. Most of all, I felt confusion and disgust for the lack of dignity and respect for human life and the injustice that transpired on the streets of a city I love so deeply. George Floyd spoke, and like many before him…HE WAS NOT HEARD.
Every October, I leave the United States and travel to Europe for months at a time. In many ways, I love the bubble that the ski industry provides…especially since Donald Trump has been in office. I feel largely sheltered from the shit show that is our political system back in the States, as I travel from one beautiful place to the next on the World Cup tour. But, I’ve also felt like a pariah in this world. It’s a good ol’ boys’ club. I’m the token friend who travels to India by herself, shaves her head and wears weird clothes. Just as it was when I was young, I am the outlier who is less affluent than almost everyone around me. I came to Utah in debt following my divorce from an MD/Ph.D. integrated plastic surgery resident. It took me years to get out of debt. I have lived in an RV in the parking lot of my office. I’ve crashed at a lot of (amazing and generous) friend’s houses over the last number of years. I am one of the few females in a male-dominated, often quite sexist industry. I’ve had to fight for what I believe in, stand up for myself and the athletes I work with, and tell one Austrian too many to “fuck off” on the mountain in order for my voice to be heard. I love the ski industry, but, WOW, are we white, male, and old.
And yet, I know nothing about what it’s like to be treated differently because of the color of my skin. NO IDEA.
Never before has this been so evident as it was the last two weeks. As messages of social injustice spread across the internet and protests spread across the world, the ski and snowboard industry remained relatively silent. From ski manufacturers to media publications and beyond, it seemed the industry was paralyzed in its white privilege. I kept going back to one simple concept: no one can argue with social injustice and basic human rights. How did this turn political? How does everything in this nation turn political? I am baffled. The athletes spoke. They used their voices to amplify black voices. And they were met with white, old male resistance.
“SHUT UP AND SKI,” They said.
I’m sorry, I’m confused. Here’s a reminder:
Athletes are just like us.
Athletes have a voice (and a platform).
Athletes are citizens.
Athletes should not just “shut up and play” if they have something to say.
Athletes are human.
You are a banker. You are a realtor. You are a healthcare worker. You are a journalist. You are a teacher. You are a rich, privileged white guy on Wall Street. You are the President of the United States. You are a business owner. You are a grocery store clerk. You are a sports fan. You can share your opinions, but athletes should just “shut up and play?!”
Something about this isn’t right.
A few years back, prior to the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics, we worked with P&G on their #LoveOverBias campaign. Lauren Samuels, whose family have been great friends of mine for years, was in the commercial as the skier. Wieden and Kennedy worked on the commercial, and this is what it was all about: “Whether it's based on race, gender, religion, disability, sexual orientation, or class when bias rears its ugly head, a mother's love can overcome. And instead of just talking about conquering bias, we put the idea into action, from the way we made the campaign, to the way it showed up in the world.” Lauren Samuels made the U.S. Ski Team Development Team years ago. She is one of only a handful of black athletes who have been on the Team—most, if not all, coming up through the National Brotherhood of Skiers. The sport is not accessible. It never has been. I was the poor kid on my team back in the day, and I had a lot more than most kids did. How do we change this? How do we make this industry more accessible when lift tickets cost $200 and cheeseburgers cost $25?! We can start by listening and learning, and attempting to understand.
I remember growing up in southeastern Wisconsin at a small club on a small hill north of Chicago. We had two black men on our team—Ryan Able and Tommy Jackson were their names. When I was young I never thought of them as wildly different, I just remember thinking it was so cool that we grew up skiing with two very talented black men who were quite accomplished ski racers. Last week as I was sitting in my office working, I was curious. I called Dave, I talked to Lauren and Justin, I reached out to friends and asked questions. I read I listened, I attempted to try to understand. Dave connected me to Henri Rivers, the President of the National Brotherhood of Skiers. I learned about NBS, how it started, what its mission is, how it has changed throughout the years.
And I cried, a lot. I wept because I realized I would never understand. I wept because I know a lot of individuals who don’t want to understand because it’s easier to live in their white privilege and surround themselves with sameness in their bubble. I chose differently. I choose to learn, to seek personal growth constantly, and to attempt to affect change. I’ve always said that I will continue to push on in this white, male-dominated industry until the moment where my ethics are compromised. Thus far, I’ve found that balance. It has not been easy, but this is a sport that I love so much, and I believe we can be better.
I feel like I’ve been listening to Andra Day’s “Rise Up" on repeat for the last three months. I can do better. We can do better. Let’s rise up together.
You're broken down and tired
Of living life on a merry go round
And you can't find the fighter
But I see it in you so we gonna walk it out
And move mountains
We gonna walk it out
And move mountainsAnd I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
And I'll rise up
High like the waves
I'll rise up
In spite of the ache
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousands times again
For you
For you
For you
For youWhen the silence isn't quiet
And it feels like it's getting hard to breathe
And I know you feel like dying
But I promise we'll take the world to its feet
And move mountains
We'll take it to its feet
And move mountainsAnd I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And…
What is happening in the world is uncomfortable for everyone. But the truth is, our discomfort is a far cry from what black people have dealt with for hundreds of years. Our country is extremely divided, and we’ve made something that was not political, political. First, it was a global pandemic, and now it is basic human rights. If you say “Black Lives Matter” you’re confronted with “All Lives Matter”…which, yeah—we agree—they do. But I am curious as to why it’s personally offensive for white, mostly men, to hear the words “Black Lives Matter.” Dudes. THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU. Hard truth, I know, especially because you are so used to it being about you. If you make this about you, that’s a problem. This isn’t about me. This is about THEM. Because, say it with me, BLACK LIVES MATTER. If that bothers you, isn’t it just an extension of the bigger, underlying issue? The issue being that RACISM STILL EXISTS IN 2020. Because I believe that Black Lives Matter doesn’t mean I condone looting and rioting. Because I’m all for protests doesn’t mean I approve of looting and rioting. What is happening is chaos, and a big part of that is because people haven’t been heard or seen for hundreds of years and they’re fed up. Heartbreaking. We should all be fed up.
Let’s think about what is happening in the world…we were stuck inside for months, we have over 36 million people who are unemployed due to a global pandemic, George Floyd is killed unjustly on the streets of Minneapolis as one police officer kneels on his neck while he calls for help and says “I CAN’T BREATHE,” asking for his mother. Meanwhile, three police officers are there but do nothing. It’s all caught on video, and that video goes viral. EVERYONE IS WATCHING.
I read an intriguing New York Times article about the protests across the nation and the composition of the protests across the spectrum from all backgrounds and the difference between these protests and others in the past.
As crowds have surged through American cities to protest the killing of George Floyd, one of the striking differences from years past has been the sheer number of white people.
From Minneapolis to Washington, D.C., marchers noticed the change, and wondered what it meant that so many white Americans were showing up for the cause of justice for black Americans.
“I was shocked to see so many white kids out here,” said Walter Wiggins, 67, as he sat near the heart of the protests in Washington last week. Mr. Wiggins, a retired federal worker, who is black, remembered attending the March on Washington in 1963 and other civil rights events with his parents. “Back then, it was just black folks.”
Why is this happening now? The video of a white police officer refusing to remove his knee from Mr. Floyd’s neck for nearly nine minutes has horrified Americans as attitudes on race were already changing, particularly among white liberals. Another driver is opposition to President Trump. Protests beginning the day after his election drew large crowds. Finally, there is the coronavirus pandemic, which has left millions of Americans — including college students — cooped up at home, craving human contact. The result was hundreds of thousands of white Americans in the streets.
All I have to say is I hope all of these people in the younger generation get out and vote this fall.
I’m curious to hear what author of The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell, would say of current events. For those of you who are not familiar with the concept, the tipping point is the moment when an idea, trend, or social behavior crosses a threshold, tips, and spreads like wildfire. The United States has reached its tipping point. The world has reached its tipping point. We need change. If we want change, we must register to vote. We must listen to each other. Look at each other in the eyes. See each other as human beings.
Over the last two weeks I’ve been disgusted, exhausted, deflated, confused, and angry…it would be SO much easier to retreat back into my bubble and to hide from the truth. But instead, I am sitting with the truth. I am reading, learning, donating, pushing for change.
WE MUST CHANGE.
Resources that have been helpful to me:
Sam Harris’ Making Sense Podcast - #207 - CAN WE PULL BACK FROM THE BRINK?
Emmanuel Acho’s “Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man” Series
Here’s Why it Hurts When People Say, “All Lives Matter” (Vanity Fair, 2016)
Why You Need to Stop Saying “All Lives Matter” - Let me be clear: stating that black lives matter doesn’t insinuate that other lives don’t” (Harpers Bazaar, 2019)
Brittany Packnett Cunningham on Instagram - @mspackyetti
Avid Reader Press on Instagram - Books to Read
Jamie Foxx on Instagram - @iamjamiefoxx
A full list of resources for where to donate, what petitions to sign, protests, and more
Organizations I’m learning more about that directly impact my community:
Initiatives I’ve been stoked about:
There are so many ways to get involved. I chose to donate to Roots Birth Center in Minneapolis, which was affected by the looting and rioting in Minneapolis. Roots is one of only seven black-owned birthing centers in the nation. The Sheridan Story in Minneapolis, whose goal is to fight child hunger, is another nonprofit I’ve been passionate about giving to in the last few months since COVID-19 hit. My sister and I are starting a boutique, and decided to build our foundation with making masks in the wave of the global pandemic. To date, we’ve donated nearly $5,000 dollars to The Sheridan Story, and since the unjust murder of George Floyd, they've been helping communities affected by the unrest in Minneapolis.