NORM: Expect and Accept Non-Closure

In all the resources on how to talk about race, there is one norm that appears over and over again: expect and accept non-closure. It sounds simple. When you dig into a conversation about race, there will be no solution, no clear and concise to-do list, no formal closure to the conversation. I get that, theoretically. These conversations are not meant to solve problems, but rather to open space for people to share their racial stories, to be honest and vulnerable with each other.

So recently, as I was facilitating a conversation on race with colleagues of mine, I was surprised and uncomfortable at finding myself suddenly stumped. We had reached a vulnerable moment in the conversation and there was a nice, fat pregnant pause. We had just finished a role play on how we might address a microaggression and I had pushed a colleague to explore what had allowed her to stay in the conversation instead of falling into silence and ignoring the comments. She took a deep breath and instead of responding, started to cry. I felt that “oh, shit” moment that facilitators feel when you know the conversation is taking a turn you’re not ready for. But this was the whole point of our meeting - learning to be better facilitators of conversations about race. And this was real. This was a real, unanticipated vulnerable moment that was going to challenge my own facilitation skills but would help all of us grow.

My co-worker took another deep breath and explained why she had started crying, sharing some beautiful insights about her newfound strength in learning to speak up about all the microaggressions she has experienced in her life. Others thanked her for sharing and recognized the power of the moment. And then there was silence. Eyes were on me. What was I, the facilitator, going to do now? How was I going to respond, where would our conversation go from here?

I decided to lean in. In her sharing, my colleague had named a tension I felt pulled to address. I had a question with no answer I wanted to pose to the group. But my plan didn’t call for that. At this point it was time to move on to another agenda item, but something in the “air” (this was a virtual meeting) told me I needed to keep us present in the moment - even though there’s nothing I rely on more than a solid plan. I hate surprises. But there was this tension I was feeling and while no one had named it openly, I knew it was my duty as a facilitator to verbalize it and see where we could take it.

In her sharing, my colleague shared her belief that she needed to lean into microaggressions addressed towards her so that the aggressor could learn and become more aware of the impact of their words. Yet as she said this, I reflected on how often white people rely on people of color to be vulnerable and relive past traumas so that we can learn to be better white people. Over and over, we are the ones who benefit from this. I told the group we were going to stay in this moment because I was feeling this discomfort and we needed to hash this out.

In staying put and leaning into the unknown, our group was able to verbalize some powerful thinking. Another team member shared his belief that white facilitators had a responsibility to dig deep into their own histories and be vulnerable by sharing those histories of racist acts, racist thinking, going with the racist grain that we may have experienced growing up. In contributing our own deep analysis, we may take some of the burden off our colleagues of color of being the only vulnerable participants and model the level of reflection we expect from white participants.

I took us into the unknown, we went deep and had an important, unanticipated conversation. But then the time came to really transition and I was missing my nice, neat bow to move from this conversation to the next agenda item. For a minute I waited, hoping someone else would have something beautiful to say so I could have more time to gather my thoughts and revise my action plan. That didn’t happen - there was just continued silence - so I took another facilitator leap and asked for help. I told my colleagues I recognized it was time to move on but I wasn’t sure how to do so. The colleague who had shared about her personal growth glibly reminded me of our norm to accept non-closure. In that moment, I understood in practice what non-closure looked like, sounded like and felt like. It looked like people were uncomfortable, fidgeting and looking to the facilitator to guide them. It sounded like silence. And it felt awkward and unfinished. But we had heard and acknowledged everyone who needed to speak and it was time to move on from the moment. So we did.

I thanked everyone, shared a story about learning that the need to tie conversations up in a neat bow is a tenet of white supremacy culture and we transitioned to our next agenda item. Did it feel uncomfortable and ill-timed? Yes. Was my sharing of learning about closure my own attempt to create closure, even though I knew better? Probably. Was moving on the right move to make? Yes. I thank my colleagues for accepting the discomfort, the non-closure, and reminding me of what that central norm actually looks like, sounds like and feels like. This work is messy and conversations are messy. That’s non-closure.

image from https://www.onetilt.org/what-we-do