'As a White Southern woman, I have a lot to unpack'

5 questions for activist Jessi Arrington on injustice, Breonna Taylor, and her Kentucky town

Emma Goldman is often quoted as saying, “If I can’t dance I don’t want to be in your revolution.”

The appeal of the quotation is obviously the implication that we can’t fight for justice if we don’t also experience joy, pleasure, beauty, camaraderie, movement. There is no one in my life who is more inventive about all of these things, coupled with her activism, than my friend Jessi Arrington.

I first got to know Jessi when we were both living in New York, and she would do things like invite her friends last minute to the largest rainbow parade in history, or throw her legendary Brooklyn Derby parties alongside superstar parent, Creighton Mershon. She’s what is called an “experience designer.” One of my last great memories of Brooklyn, in fact, was when we were all sitting outside on a blanket, waiting for an outdoor screening of Ghostbusters to start, and Jessi left mysteriously, only to return in a Stay Puft Marshmallow costume that she had put together from scratch on a whim.

Since becoming a mom and moving to Louisville, Creighton’s hometown, Jessi has become deeply involved in anti-racist activism. As you can imagine, that commitment took a powerful turn in the wake of Breonna Taylor’s murder. When I heard the news Wednesday, I knew she was someone I wanted you all to hear from. I give you Jessi—exuberant and colorful, fearless and earnest, in the fight to re-imagine what White southern womanhood looks and acts like…

Courtney Martin: What has it been like there since the verdict came down Wednesday?

Jessi Arrington: In some ways, nothing has changed. What so many of us suspected was confirmed: the way the laws are currently written continues to uphold the use of deadly racist force by the police and disregards the sanctity of Black lives. The system is set up to uphold white supremacy and it works very well. That’s why we must all continue to demand systemic change in all ways possible. It will take a radical reimagining.

Yesterday after the announcement, I heard a Black leader in our community, Shauntrice Martin, note that when Harriet Tubman imagined dismantling slavery, most people thought that idea could never happen because slavery was too entrenched. What if people in Tubman’s day hadn’t given their lives and livelihoods to the cause of abolition? What if people in our day are willing to put real will behind divesting from the police and investing in the community? What could that mean for the world our kids will inherit?

But in at least one way, something critical has changed. No more holding our breaths or holding out for a surprise that justice might actually be done by Breonna Taylor and Kenneth Walker. NOW is the moment that the world gets to see that this nationwide movement for racial justice won’t stop, and we won’t let our local Louisville leaders rest until real change, not just a veneer of change, happens on all fronts. What is it that gets chanted at least a thousand times a day here now? No justice… 

We now know that currently the leadership of our city cannot be trusted and does not trust us — they preemptively militarized our streets this week. They continue to violently throw us in jail. Reality is setting in, and I continue to look to our city’s Black leaders and organizers for inspiration to go on, and they do not disappoint.   

A photo Jessi shot Thursday morning.

You’ve been arrested for protesting Breonna Taylor’s murder. Can you say a bit more about that experience?  

It is not advised for me to say too much about the circumstances of my arrest in May, as I am facing charges that could have me in jail for up to a year. I can say that I now know what it feels like to be violently dragged from my place sitting on the grass, to be pinned to the ground, to be repeatedly tear gassed with my hands cuffed behind my back. I can say that the night and day I spent in “corrections” (just think about that word), will not soon leave me. It was the most inhumane situation I’ve ever experienced, designed to make me feel like an animal in a cage. We must dismantle prisons if we ever want to truly feel safe and consider ourselves human. 

How has sending your kid to a “global majority” school there helped contextualize your activism? What does Dottie Mae understand about this moment? 

My child is lucky to have attended a wonderful public Montessori school in our city’s (and one of our country’s) poorest zip codes since she was three. It is across the street from where Muhammad Ali attended high school! This school is in a neighborhood that has been systematically written off and some of our city’s residents are afraid to even drive through.

Regrettably, the city has it on a path toward gentrification, and I must recognize my role in this. This school means so much to me, particularly because it is led by people of color, and more specifically Black women. I am not sure if these leaders know how much I look up to them, but I certainly do. And I learn from them daily, even during this pandemic, by following them in my child’s online classrooms and on social media.

When we lived in New York City, we were able to surround ourselves with racial and cultural diversity without having to grapple with the reality of poverty. Here in Louisville, because of two centuries of systemic racism that have kept Black communities here from generational wealth, color lines break along poverty lines. I am constantly navigating what that means for our family, how I use my voice to advocate for my child’s school, while also knowing that as a white parent the most important thing I can do is to “show up, shut up, and stay put.” (I will always be grateful to Courtney’s daughter Maya for coming a year before my Dottie Mae, which means I get to watch my brilliant and dramatically thoughtful friend navigate what is truly important, valuable, and possible for her family. Maya inspired our decision to attend our school.) 

Five-year-olds are unreliable narrators, so I don’t know what Dottie Mae truly understands about this moment. I shield her from current events in favor of the long view. My dearest hope is to help her become a human being who will recognize and stand up to injustice. Along those lines, I remember learning that young children as young as two-years-old start to categorize people by gender and race, and if you don’t explicitly call out sexism or racism, they will assume you are okay with it. So I try not to ever shy away from discussing race.

Jessi and Dottie Mae twinning.

We’ve bonded over our shared admiration of Anne Braden. Can you talk a bit about why she’s such an important figure for you? 

As a white Southern woman, I have a lot to unpack about the way I was conditioned to not question authority, to let myself be both canonized and patronized by white supremacy, and I often look to Anne Braden for inspiration. She grew up in the the South in the 40s witnessing segregation, in much the same way I did in the 80s. She recognized the inequalities around her, and rather than going on about her life, she decided that she must be part of “The Other America,” the America that called out all injustice, specifically racial injustice. She devoted her work as a journalist and really her entire life to opening people’s eyes. She and her husband Carl paid a hefty price. Their legacy lives on here in such an important way. Her name is invoked here by white leaders as a call to action. Her name is invoked by Black leaders when a self-declared white “ally" tries to police their activism. Her name has become shorthand for, “white person, check yourself," and I love that. WWAD. 

My favorite story about Anne is when she went to protest the legalized lynching of Willie McGee in Mississippi in 1951, and she tells the story best herself: 

We never got to see the governor. Jackson was tense that day – police mobilized on every corner to head off an expected demonstration of Blacks from the surrounding countryside. As we were preparing to cross the street to walk to te capitol building, we were arrested. Actually they did not call it arrest; they said we were in "protective custody." So they put us in a jail cell. It struck me as symbolic of what the South's protection of its White women really means.

I rode to the police station in a patrol car with two other members of our delegation on the back seat along with one burly cop – and two more cops on the front seat. One of those in front was making comments all the way: "You girls ought to go back where you came from; you don't know anything about our problems in the South."

I stood it as long as I could and then I said: "I think I know a good bit about the South. I grew up in Alabama – and before that I lived in Mississippi as a small child. As a matter of fact, here in Jackson. And I'm ashamed of the city of my childhood today."

At that point the mood of the cop in the front seat changed from contempt to fury. He had thought we were all "yankees." Traitors are worse. "And you're here on this – why you…you are not fit to be called a Southern woman. You ought to be killed."

He turned as if to hit me, and hesitated long enough for the cop on the back seat to say, "Wait a minute, Joe," and for me to simply look at him and say, "No, I think I'm not your kind of Southern woman." I guess I must have stared him down, because he turned around and contented himself with growling insults the rest of the way to the station.

Anne was arrested over a dozen times. Her mugshot hangs framed on my wall.

When I questioned what I did to find myself in a squalid jail in the height of a pandemic, I thought of her and steeled myself. When the cop who arrested me spat in my face with as more hatred than I’ve ever experienced: “Breonna Taylor was an ignorant bitch and a drug dealer who murdered Black people — do you know how STUPID you are!!?” I did my best to remember, I’m not his type of Southerner. I will define myself, and I will act my conscience. 

What is your advice to White moms across the country who feel mad as hell but are unsure of what to do next? 

This is very specific, but I really stand by it: Listen to the new podcast “How to Citizen” with Baratunde.  Especially listen to the first two episodes. On repeat. They are packed with inspiration and actual action steps. I’ll paraphrase two of my favorites:

GET INVOLVED IN A CLUB, ORGANIZATION, OR INITIATIVE. This is from Episode 1 with Eric Liu  Specifically, I would suggest, find and follow leaders of color. (Here in Louisville, that most likely means Black leaders.) Like really, show up, shut up, stay put, listen. They already have the life experience to know what is needed now, and to know how to get it. They know. Be willing to step back in terms of leadership but step up in terms of service. You will learn and find ways to put your own talent and power to work. (Yes, you have power! And that’s not a bad thing — also something you will learn in this great episode.)

JUST BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN PATCH OF SKY. This is from Episode 0 / Prelude with Valarie Kaur  You don’t have to be Gandhi or MLK to make a difference. If we each shine brightly (in this case, that means each of us standing up to white supremacy) in our own corner of the world, then the night sky will be a beautiful blanket of stars.

Specifically, this means finding a lane that works for you. You may not be able to take to the streets during a pandemic, and that’s okay. One of Louisville’s newly elected leaders that I highly suggest following, Jecorey Arthur (hooray voting!), suggests that one of the most valuable things for white people to do right now is “protesting at Thanksgiving dinner — telling your family about not only the injustice that’s been happening not only these past few months, but these past few hundred years.”

We will no longer sit silent and accept. As a parent, this seems all the more urgent to me –– I have a vision for the world I want for my child, and racial inequity isn’t part of it. 

I will be making a donation to #FeedTheWest, a food justice movement created out of the need for racial justice in Louisville, at Jessi’s request from your pooled subscription fees. Thank you so much to all that have subscribed, and by doing so, joined our “giving circle” of sorts. You can still do so if you’re able.

I wanted to send this to everyone, paid subscriber or not, because it just feels too important. In the future, Q&As will only go to paid subscribers. If you can’t afford a subscription, but want to get it all, just let me know.