Hugs and Headlocks by Kelle Brown
If you can’t love anybody, you’re dangerous,
Because you have no way of learning humility.
No way of learning that other people suffer.
No way of learning how to use your suffering, and theirs
To get from one place to another.
In short, you fail in even responsibility, which is to love each other.
– James Baldwin
Years ago, I worked in a daycare. It happened to be in one that served mostly affluent families in the Atlanta area. There was a certain pride in working there, because the organization was accredited and seen as one of the best care facilities in the area for young children.
I worked in the 18 to 24-month room. It was a delight to guide and nurture these young ones, and to do so while I was pregnant with my daughter. The children were so full of life, and I felt so privileged to guide these young ones during such an important time in their development.
Meet Chatworth. Chatworth was a strikingly beautiful and bright child. He looked like he could shoot arrows on Valentine’s Day—like the sweetest love cherub. He was dropped off each day by loving parents and cared for with that same love.
Like every child, Chatworth was learning who he was in the world. Additionally, he already had the start of an education of entitlement. He knew he was special and beautiful, and that his blossoming charm was a useful resource. Chatworth was a bit taller than the other children as both his parents were over 6-feet tall. He also had a healthy appetite, which made is body and cheeks completely adorable.
There was a little girl that Chatworth focused his attention upon named Lacey. She was as beautiful as he, and quite shy. During playtime, she would often go off by herself rather than play in a group or with any particular child. At times, one would observe Chatworth looking for Lacey on the playground, and upon finding her, would play nearby. It would appear that Lacey appreciated the attention and initially, it seemed like a gesture of pure kindness. If Lacey was enjoying the sandbox, Chatworth would play on the swings adjacent to the sand. If she played with toys under a shade tree, he would play on the other side of the tree with a toy of his own.
Over time, we discovered that Chatworth was less approaching Lacey to befriend her. He was choosing Lacey as the object of his bullying. He was a biter, and for about two weeks, left teeth marks on the tender forearms of most of the class. No matter how watchful teachers were, Chatworth would find the privacy to leave his dotted, oval-shaped marks on screaming victims. Lacey was a regular recipient at this point in their engagement.
As a staff, we were charged to never physically discipline children. We were to tell them what they did wrong and ask them to apologize for their behavior with their words, if possible. Chatworth was always compliant to the process.
“Saw-wee,” Chatworth would whisper, as his bottom lip trembled, and a tear fell.
After using their words, teachers would ask that the offender hug the victim. It was meant to be a gesture of goodwill and a show to the children that relationships were possible and important. However, herein lies the challenge. I now believe we were actively further traumatizing the traumatized, while putting those who required justice further into the clasp of the ones causing harm.
Chatworth was delighted to hug his victim. Until we learned his pattern and stopped him, he would reach out for the one he had bitten with a smile on his face. In this instance, Lacey tearfully allowed his embrace. In our ignorance, it seemed adorable to watch these two “reconciling”. It seemed like a moment of possibility, of healing, a time of redemption for the offender with a promise of safety and friendship for the victim.
However, the embrace of his “apology” quickly turned into a headlock. Chatworth’s hugging put him the exact position to extend his attack. As she realized she was in trouble, Lacey began flailing and crying out. We teachers pulled them apart and comforted Lacey, stunned and amazed by what happened.
Chatworth understood that proximity is an effective technique for doing harm, and that a lack of analysis by those observing could be used to his advantage. This is why power must be included in our definitions of oppression, and most especially in how we define racism, or else we will be left fantasizing that positionality and power don’t factor into racialized violence.
Many years later, I’ve learned that in the quest for antiracism, equity and inclusion, many have largely been performing the same practice. Those who have been participating in the undoing of racism have been asking those who are impacted by the terror of racism to step into hugs that turn into headlocks. The assumption seems to be that contrite hearts mixed with trainings and reading books is enough of an education to render generationally traumatized folks safe. Meanwhile, the Chatworthes get to appear benevolent and inclusive while the Laceys acknowledge they cannot breathe.
Furthermore, the collective ignorance in many circles concerning power and group dynamics allows for the premature celebration of collaboration to occur. In many cases, it isn’t until later that any awareness of harm comes, especially when most of the observers miss the subtlety of the danger of hugging.
If we are to change things, in the church and as individuals, there must be acceptance and awareness of posture of those who are racist and have the desire to undo racism. There must be trust-building that includes decentering and silence in many cases. Faith organizations must resist the “rush” to fix what they believe is broken, because rushing without the right analysis can be as dangerous as continuing the current path.
This is not a time to seek leadership in antiracist work from the willing alone. There will always be ones who come forward, so sure that they are skilled enough/healed enough/adjacent enough to not only be a part of the conversation but also to direct the dialogue. Often, those who come forward believe they are able due to dubious “credentialing”: they took an antiracism course in the 1980s; they married or formerly dated a Black, Brown, Asian or Indigenous person, or are now the proud grandparents of children of multiracial children; they are queer or trans, a woman, disabled, neurodivergent, or minoritized in other ways, and therefore, it is “impossible” for them to be racist. These are hug-to-headlock traps laid by premature celebration and privileged assumptions of benevolence.
There is nothing faithful about shortcuts in antiracist work. It is violence for churches and faith organizations to bring in people to lead the work who are not vetted by the communities they hope to engage. On the other side of this kind of leadership will be the need for extensive clean-up, while the dominant culture participants will be left wondering why the faith formational training or process wasn’t effective.
Those on the bottom of the power strata are the ones with the clearest vision as to how power impacts, as well as the righteous indignation required for transformation. They are charged to name how people participate in systems because the view of the privileged is often obfuscated. The vulnerable, marginalized, disenfranchised, and traumatized are the experts because it is a requirement for their own survival and hope of thriving. Potential accomplices, co-conspirators, and solidarity partners (note: I am not using ally language) cannot force their way into the communities and lives of the impacted, nor should they question when relationship isn’t possible. Many of us have learned from the headlocks that are marketed as hugs. Likewise, the privileged must acknowledge their entitlement, seek humility, and stay available for the process of reparation and reconciliation. They must sojourn on paths of healing while also honoring the boundaries of the impacted along with the justified hermeneutic of suspicion.
Furthermore, the privileged must resist settling for “Kumbaya” moments that are more rightly the tragic occasions too many of us cannot breathe. Let us face that creating and sustaining safe spaces cannot be guaranteed. However, the dominant culture must move into some other way of being that honors courageous and liberated spaces are necessary. Blessed be.
Rev. Dr. Kelle Brown is the Senior Pastor of Plymouth Church United Church of Christ in downtown Seattle, Washington. Kelle is a gifted creative artist and a thinker; a Womanist public theologian who is a curator of equity, justice, and adaptive change.
Dr. Brown earned her BA in Psychology from Atlanta’s Spelman College where she was a featured soloist of the renowned Glee Club. She later attended Seattle University School of Theology and Ministry, where she went on to receive a Master of Divinity. Kelle completed her Doctorate of Ministry from San Francisco Theological Seminary in 2018, focusing on eradicating homelessness through solidarity.
She facilitates conversations on dismantling oppression and offers ways to reflect on white supremacy, privilege, bias, prejudice and bigotry, particularly on racial, ethnic and LGBTQ justice. She had been a vocal presence for justice and equity in Seattle, participating in the Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for a Moral Revival; the 2019 Women’s March leadership team; and traveled to Tijuana, along with a contingent of Black and Brown women of color of faith. as a moral and faithful witness in the face of oppressive immigration legislation.
Kelle desires to resist moments by participating in movements that shift the narrative toward freedom. She believes in people and that redemption and reconciliation is possible, and imagined in her lifetime, the world will turn for the better, and imagines a world where all people are valued and extravagantly loved. She invites those she meets to follow the advice of Howard Thurman: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”