Tarana Burke

Blown away. With Burke's words still ringing in my ears it may be too soon to write a review, but my heart is pounding and this is the most immediate way to release the power and energy that poured into me as I heard her story in her voice.

Raw and brave and oh so personal [a:Tarana Burke|17949687|Tarana Burke|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png] opens and recounts her life from early childhood through to the birth of the Me Too Movement and beyond. With generosity and honesty she describes her interior life in the midst of a vivid community where she experienced connection as well as trauma, learned to love literature as she learned to manage what her seven-year-old self framed as unworthiness because of what someone else had done to her.

With the opening phrase, "Unkindness is a serial killer," through to her last words, "...I am free," Burke weaves a memoir of gripping vibrancy and authenticity. I am bursting to hug her and weep, to dance with her and celebrate all of her joy and healing and sense of calling.

Knowing she is alive and moving in the world gives a massive infusion of hope to any reader lucky enough to find this treasure. If possible, listen to the author read the book herself. Priceless!… (altro)

4 stars: Very Good

From the back cover: It started as a text between two friends.

Tarana Burke, founder of the ‘me too.’ Movement, texted researcher and writer Brené Brown to see if she was free to jump on a call. Brené assumed that Tarana wanted to talk about wallpaper. They had been trading home decorating inspiration boards in their last text conversation so Brené started scrolling to find her latest Pinterest pictures when the phone rang.

But it was immediately clear to Brené that the conversation wasn’t going to be about wallpaper. Tarana’s hello was serious and she hesitated for a bit before saying, “Brené, you know your work affected me so deeply, but as a Black woman, I’ve sometimes had to feel like I have to contort myself to fit into some of your words. The core of it rings so true for me, but the application has been harder.”

Brené replied, “I’m so glad we’re talking about this. It makes sense to me. Especially in terms of vulnerability. How do you take the armor off in a country where you’re not physically or emotionally safe?”

Long pause.

“That’s why I’m calling,” said Tarana. “What do you think about working together on a book about the Black experience with vulnerability and shame resilience?”

There was no hesitation.

Burke and Brown are the perfect pair to usher in this stark, potent collection of essays on Black shame and healing. Along with the anthology contributors, they create a space to recognize and process the trauma of white supremacy, a space to be vulnerable and affirm the fullness of Black love and Black life.

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Edited by Burke and Brown, this collection of essays by African Americans is "a space to recognize and process the trauma of white supremacy, a space to be vulernable and affirm the fullness of Black life and Black possibility." I read this series of essays for Black History Month. Many are very raw and as a white reader, continually made me confront just how deeply insidious and harmful racist structures are in America. This book is explicitly not "for" White readers, rather as Burke says above it is a space for Blacks to be vulnerable and share sides of themselves that they often keep hidden for safety. Having said that, I would encourage anyone to read this, including whites who want to do the hard work of "talking less, listening more." You can do worse than to start listening (reading) here.

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"Missing from so much of the scholarship on shame is how the reality of systemic oppression affects a Black woman's ability to be safely vulnerable on a much larger scale than just our personal relationships. We can believe in our inherent worth and value all we want, but moving through a world where our very survival often depends on an acceptance of dehumanization makes healing from trauma complicated."

Shadawn McCants... explains it as "a legacy burden that makes it hard to 'kumbaya' in a world that hates me for the color of my skin, the texture of my hair, the bass in my voice, and the will to want to live the American dream." In white supremacy culture, it's a dog eat dog world, and everybody is fighting for as much privilege as they can possibly get. Vulnerability is seen as weak and for suckers.

We weren't ever taught to grieve, only to be sad and then never speak of the pain again.

When considering what it takes to get to vulnerability with white people, this differs for each individual. Based on my experience and what has been shared with me, there are themes for when we can trust and venture to be vulnerable:
1) Learner mindset - Engaging with someone who is interested in actively learning for the sake of growing and improving can further relationships with white people.
2) Acknowledgement of privilege and inequity- White people who understand and own their privilege and the inequity it can yield are easier to be vulnerable with.
3) Bravery - We can't conclude because a white person is an active learner who acknowledges their privilege and recognizes inequity that they will also be brave enough to take action or use their voice to counter inequity. Seeing a white person who is a learner, who is actively using their status, privilege and knowledge to be present and vocal in countering inequity is powerful.… (altro)