The religion of being in love vs. the religion of being right

5 questions for author and organizer Garrett Bucks

The first time I shared some writing by Garrett Bucks with my audience in 2019, a friend immediately texted me and said, “That guy Garrett Bucks seems like your long lost brother from another mother.”

She was right. Since I first discovered Bucks’ writing and way of moving through the world, it’s felt like finding kin, but kin who is always spiritually one step ahead of me. I’ve had so many difficult moments—interpersonally, communally, politically—when I pause and think, What would Bucks do in this situation? What would he ask? How would he listen?

And here’s the real curveball. A guy this articulate and morally attuned is also funny as hell. And doesn’t take himself too seriously! What?! I know, it seems impossible, but it’s true. He’s not only not insufferable, he’s a great hang, a rapid-fire, LOL text bud, a superb father and friend and son and partner. I’ve never been dancing with him, but I can only hope he’s at least a shitty dancer or this will all feel a little too good to be true.

Read his new book, The Right Kind of White, a memoir unlike anything I’ve ever read, especially from a dude, and then hang with the two of us to talk about it (Friday, 4/19 at 10:30am PST // 1:30pm EST, registration and zoom link to come). He will no doubt say there’s no way he can live up to all this hype and then inevitably will.

Bucks is like that…

Courtney Martin: Why this book now? 

Garrett Bucks: Donald Trump was elected President in 2016. And that galvanized a whole lot of people, especially a lot of White liberals, to say “Never again! We have to stop this!” Then, in 2020, George Floyd was murdered, inspiring this absolutely massive wave of protests. “A national reckoning on race,” we called it. And there were really important, powerful activist efforts birthed from both of those moments. And also, on an individual level, millions of White people really did evolve their thinking on privilege and power and inequity.

Yes, there were probably a lot of copies of Between The World and Me left unread, but there were also tons of hearts and minds changed.

But in a broader sense, though, we are still stuck in this dispiriting, tragic, neutral gear. 2023 was the worst year for police violence in recorded history. Donald Trump is running for President again. And what are we told is going to be the core issue that decides the election? Immigration!

If both of those things can be true: if there are millions of Americans (including lots of well meaning White liberals) who dream of a country that’s more equitable, more just, more beloved AND if so little has changed, then that means that the path ahead is going to take all the reflection and agitation we’ve been doing and something different. Yes we have to keep listening and learning to Black, Brown and Indigenous activists, but we can’t stop there.

And that’s where my story comes in. You see, I spent a lifetime believing that– as a well-meaning White liberal– if I just read the right books and yelled loudly and had enough Black friends that I was “doing the work.” And it wasn’t until I began examining my relationship not just to Black, Brown and Indigenous communities but other White people as well that it started to click for me: “Oh, this is why I haven’t been all that useful!” and also, “oh, this is why I’m so isolated from community.”

You write, “There can be no transformation of Whiteness without an honest examination of it from a variety of angles, including the question of how Whiteness reacts when it sees itself in the mirror.” How do you most often see White people reacting to whiteness when it sees itself in the mirror, and what is your hope for how that might change? 

I think it really fries our brains! We don’t like what we see when we notice our Whiteness in the mirror! And the more I have honest conversations with White people from across the political spectrum, that’s pretty universal. Now, our reaction to that may differ– some of us show our guilt and shame outwardly, while others get defensive and claim that there’s no issue here (no undue privilege, no systemic oppression, etc.)-- but that’s just different manifestations of the same discordance. And of course we get all weird! Noticing your Whiteness requires wrestling, even for just a second, with our place in a caste system, our place in a hierarchy of domination. And that’s uncomfortable! 

More specifically, the book explores a particular manifestation of that weirdness: namely, our obsession with contrasting ourselves with other White people whose comparative awfulness can make us feel better about ourselves. It was fascinating to look back at my life and discover that I could basically tell my whole story through that lens. At all these different stages, I kept finding new foils, people who primarily existed in my life to make me feel better about my Whiteness. Which is awful and dehumanizing! And not just to the White people I was demonizing, but also to the Black, Brown and Indigenous people whose approval I so desperately craved. In each case, I wasn’t interested in relationships. I wanted to win a race of my own devising.

What I eventually realized, by the end of the book, is the amazing organizing potential in this shared cognitive dissonance.

If we’re all trying to outrun our Whiteness: myself, the White liberals who read the right books but recoil at calls to house the homeless or defund the police, the Trump voters who say that “wokeness has gone too far,” then we’re actually all in a similar boat. And organizing always starts from a discovery of shared struggle.

But making good on that opportunity requires us to reach out to other White people with an invitation: “You know, I don’t really know what this moment requires of me, and in a lot of ways it really scares me… do you feel that too? And if so, what does that make us want to do?”

I love that you show up in this book as a son and friend and a partner and a dad in such deep and important ways. I’m not sure I’ve read that many memoirs by men that were so grounded in real relationships, which is such a testament to who you are, as a person, but also your beautiful ability to demonstrate on the page that a more redeemable whiteness is actually about more, not less, relational joy and togetherness and honesty. This book is so obviously about race. In what ways do you also see it as a book about gender?  

I love this question on so many levels, one of which is that I just did another interview which asked, in essence “wait this book isn’t just a race book, it’s a book about class!”

And yes, it’s a book about race. And it’s a book about class. And it’s DEFINITELY a book about gender.

One of the many reasons why it was important to write this book as a memoir, and not as a socio-historical analysis (which would have also been fun) is that of course the way we walk in the world isn’t just mediated by a single identity marker. The pitfalls that I’ve fallen into throughout my life– individualism, ambition, entitlement, self-centeredness– are so clearly manifestations not just of White supremacy but patriarchy as well.

And just as calling myself an “anti-racist” didn’t actually make me a less problematic and harm-causing White person, neither did calling myself a feminist keep me from causing all sorts of nonsense as a dude. 

Also, I’m so glad that the way I’m filled up by relationships and community came through in the narrative. I’ve sometimes described this book as an intergenerational love story, and there’s obviously a lot of love in there for my particular family tree, but it’s also more than that. 

What I’m increasingly discovering is that the antidote to my worst White guy myopia isn’t intellectual.

It’s not me being like “Ok, I need to be less individualistic and more relational.” It’s becoming more alive to the fact that what I’ve always craved is the exact opposite of the junk that capitalism, White Supremacy and patriarchy convinced me that I should want. I don’t actually crave acclaim and status and external validation. When I look back at the shape of my life, what has consistently filled me up the most? Relationships, community and collective struggle.

Which means that for me the path forward is not rooted in guilt and self-flagellating struggle sessions. It’s connective, joy-filled and, yes, honest and searching, but above all else focused on the gift of figuring out this mess we’re in with others rather than trying to go it alone.

You set up this beautiful frame of “the religion of being right” vs. “the religion of being in love.” Can you explain that to readers? 

Well first off, shout out to the legendary Rev. Steve Garnaas-Holmes, who dropped that particular pearl on me during my high school confirmation class at First United Methodist in Missoula, Montana. And shout out to everybody (yourself included!) who has had to hear me repeat it far too often.

But yeah, what a powerful idea. And even though it was delivered to me by a pastor, and even though it uses the phrase “religion,” it’s not really about theology, nor is it a call to “kum-bay-yah, let’s all hold hands and agree to disagree” moral relativism. 

For me, it’s this challenge: Do I care more about my individual self-righteousness or do I care about other human beings? In the moments that I’ve leaned into the religion of being right, I made so many aspects of my life—my politics, my faith, my relationships—about what they can prove about me. In the moments that I leaned more into the religion of being in love, I’ve cared about how I show up for others, about giving and receiving care. 

Am I perfect at drawing myself towards the religion of being in love? Oh jeez no. But it’s been such a powerful anchor in my life. To connect it to your previous question, I am a very different partner, parent, son, brother, friend, community member, activist and writer when I’m leaning into the religion of being in love, because my focus isn’t on myself but on others. And that doesn’t mean that there aren’t truths about systems of domination that are important for me to learn, understand and rail against. But the world we’re trying to build—one where everybody matters, where everybody is cared for—requires a whole lot more than a checklist of ideological pristine beliefs.

 So—spoiler alert—you are demonstrating here that the quest to appear to be the “right kind of White” is not worthwhile. What kind of quest are you advocating for? 

The simple answer is a quest for community. But by community, I don’t just mean “a place where you know your neighbors and you’re nice to others,” although I am a big fan of neighborliness. I believe that the road ahead is going to require White people to lean into community in the fullest sense of the word– supportive, yes, but also accountable. 

Leaning into community, for White people who want to live in a world beyond White supremacy, will take following the lead of Black, Brown and Indigenous activists. But it’ll also require organizing other White people—both next door and farther afield—on all sorts of fronts: our reliance on police and the carceral state for protection, our continued support of political candidates who preach division, the blank check we give to corporations (both those we support financially and those who employ us) to exploit others, the way we relate to school systems and the housing market as tools to enhance generational White power and privilege. 

I’ve made it my life’s work to help White people discover that kind of organizing, especially with my organization The Barnraisers Project. But I wrote this book because, before White people are ready to organize, we have to come to terms with why we so often resist working with one another, why we so frequently run away from the exact spaces where this work is needed the most.

We have to stop hating one another as a proxy for the shame and guilt we feel about our own Whiteness.

The thing is, there is no “right kind of White.” Having spent most of my life thinking that I could quit the rest of y’all, that I could discover an individual form of Whiteness that is somehow beyond reproach, if “the right kind of White” existed, I would have found it. 

The bad news is that Whiteness is a mess—a domination addicted, harm causing mess. The good news is that none of us have to figure out a better way alone.

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If you can’t get enough of Bucks (and I really can’t…I think he’s a frickin’ big-hearted genius of the highest order), here’s an old conversation you can watch that we had when my book, Learning in Public, came out:

You could also listen to this podcast interview I did with him for my first podcast.

The Examined Family family donated to Southern Crossroads, an organizing project of Showing Up For Racial Justice, in honor of Buck’s labor. Here is what he had to say about it: “This is one of my favorite examples of cross-racial, working class organizing in a majority White area that is both deeply rooted in systemic analysis but that also clearly leans into principles of love, community and respect for all participants.”

Order the book! Sign up for Barnraisers! Subscribe to The White Pages! Join us for a live book club on Friday, 4/19 at 10:30am PST // 1:30pm EST! Let’s be in the “religion of being in love” together!

Now ask Bucks all your burning questions…