As a new
mother, I see my daughter growing up in a world in which there is no Mohammad
Ali. I am writing as a mourning mom. By the time my daughter goes to a healthy school, and learns about Dr. King, will she also learn about Muhammad
Ali? Who will she look up to as the ethical leaders of her
generation? Who will she look up to, to show her how to laugh in the face of
xenophobia? How to joke in the face of racism? Sure, we will watch the videos,
read the books, and do our best to teach our kids what is truly important.
That social emotional skills matter. That people matter. That culture matters. That faith matters. That what
matters most is that we are all in this together.
Our interdependence requires us to step
outside of our comfort zones and engage people who are different from us who
don’t think the same way we do. Philanthropy seems more akin to academia,
removed from the actual needs of people, producing and disseminating research
to the people who are our obvious audiences, and completely oblivious to the
realities people experience. For example, we can ignore the mourning that mothers do every day because they are raising black and brown
children in an ever increasingly socially segregated, technologically connected
world.
We raise our kids to be obedient to police officers. We live in a world where you can be killed for the color of your skin, where it is
acceptable to "kick out" immigrants who grow our food or paint your toenails, and to be ever vigilant about your coworkers and neighbors since anyone different from you could be a terrorist. Children imitate their parents. And children experience the racism early, even on playgrounds. We live in crazy times.
And philanthropy, institutional philanthropy, will not solve any of complex challenges of our times. We are complicit in the crime, grow the 10B endowment, and won't spend the $10,000 admin costs to hire a people of color, a youth worker to help grow a new generation of philanthropists, to inform strategy. We will not "grantmake" our way out of persistent, racial, economic segregation if we can't operationalize the principles we espouse. We are complicit in inequity, unless we look internally to the ways that we are complicit in maintaining the status quo.
Along with
the world, I am mourning the loss of this beloved American hero who stood up
for so much injustice. He was black. He was Muslim. He was born in Louisville,
Kentucky. He played by rules that people often did not understand. He was an
ambassador and inspired so many people to learn about my faith. Faith is one of
the ingredients for resilience. My husband drove the 10 hours to attend Muhammad Ali's funeral, and was joined by thousands of loving supporters from around the world.
It’s also something
that brings people together who otherwise might not talk with each other. The
legacy of interfaith leaders in this country working together to bring change
and make this a better country for my daughter and for all of #ourkids is most
certainly a foundation on which we can build a culture of health. The Ford
Foundation supported MLK. It took a side. Will we stand by and watch as babies
drink lead-water in Flint? Will we stand and watch as moms bury their sons and
daughters because of the color of their skin? We can play lip service to social
inclusion, and only elevate the bright spots. Or we can actually stand for
something. Policy will always lag behind social and moral consciousness. The
foundation of movements are the people who risk their lives, their wealth,
their livelihood for things that matter. Where do you stand? And more importantly, I ask where do I stand?
In a
culture of health, in which no one is excluded, how do we accelerate and expand our
efforts to include people who don't speak "public health" or
"research" or "policy"? We talk to ourselves all day long and then wonder how can we authentically listen to people. Let's start by asking, what do you stand for? What do you mourn? What do you celebrate? What do you believe?
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