It’s important to acknowledge that on this 189th day of 2016. To date this year, more than 500 people have been killed by police officers in this country. The exact figure could be 509. That’s how many such deaths The Washington Post has tracked in 2016. Or it might be 561, which is the total The Guardian reports killed at the hands of police in 2016.
America’s population totals around 322 million people — 62 percent are white and about 12 percent are black. Depending on which source you prefer, 123 or 136 of those killed this year were black, not the 67 people who would be killed if police killings were proportionally equal to the number of Americans who are black. That amounts to an African-American being killed by police every 33 hours. Since Michael Brown’s death in Ferguson, Mo., in 2014, roughly 400 black people have been killed by police, many of them unarmed, a number of them women.
I’m doing the math in order to try to make sense of the senseless. We can’t be naive about the disproportionate rates of police violence and killings in communities that are perpetually subjected to bias. Racism and racial profiling are real and do irreparable harm to black and brown people.
Last year, I came across a quote in a story on Huffington Post that really struck me: “Race is a trigger for police brutality.” The speaker was Jack Glaser, an associate professor at the Goldman School of Public Policy at University of California-Berkeley. His point: Racial bias affects all officers, no matter their own skin color.
Within a 44-hour period between Tuesday morning and Wednesday night, two black men were shot and killed during encounters with police: Alton Sterling, a 37-year-old father of five from Baton Rouge, La., who was fatally shot while selling CDs outside a convenience store, and Philando Castile, a 32-year-old school cafeteria supervisor, who was mortally wounded during a traffic stop in Falcon Heights, Minn.
Widely circulated cell phone videos captured Sterling’s death. Castile’s passenger live streamed the aftermath of his shooting on Facebook. As of Thursday morning, that video alone had been viewed more than 3.5 million times.
You can not unsee or avoid the pain and the anguish in those videos.
I belong to a movement of people who believe black lives matter. We want the long and growing list of mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers and children who die during encounters with police to end with the names Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. We want the lives of Black Americans to be valued. We want an end to the killing. As Jesse Williams, the actor who was recently awarded Black Entertainment Television’s Humanitarian Award, said: “What we’ve been doing is looking at the data and we know that police somehow manage to de-escalate, disarm and not kill white people everyday.” We want to see police de-escalate, disarm and not kill black people.
Minnesota Governor Mark Dayton responded to Castile’s death with these words: “Would this have happened if the driver and the passengers had been white? I don’t think it would have. This kind of racism exists and it’s incumbent on all of us to vow that we’re going to do whatever we can to see that it doesn’t happen.”
Here’s something you can do if you’re exhausted by the litany of police deaths: Go see Hands Up. It is a series of monologues that lays bare African-American experiences of racial profiling by police. Hands Up is playing this Friday and Saturday at the Center for Self Enhancement Auditorium at SEI, 3920 N. Kerby Avenue in Portland. The Collins Foundation and Meyer Memorial Trust partnered to sponsor a nine-show revival of this important production by the August Wilson Red Door Project to give Oregonians more chances to stand in the shoes of our black friends, relatives, neighbors and co-workers. It is an unforgettable experience.
The shows are free, the words are healing, the post-performance discussions are true and transformative. What could be more urgent and timely? Get your tickets here.
We’re more than three years into our equity journey at Meyer Memorial Trust, and people assume we have it all figured out. We don't.
When I got here in 2002, Meyer was a small organization with all-white leadership and a mostly white board of trustees. Today, I’m lucky to lead a very different organization of nearly 40 employees, half from historically marginalized populations. All but one of our trustees identifies as non-white; our leadership team is mostly women, and more than half of the team are people of color.
“How’d Meyer do it?” our colleagues in philanthropy want to know.
There is no easy answer — a topic for a future blog, perhaps. I’ve learned enough about equity work to know that it is not something you nail down in a few short years. Not by a long shot.
Two and a half years ago, Meyer staffers who were putting the finishing touches on our Equity Statement added a final paragraph that has proven true more times than I can count. We wrote:
As we redouble our effort to make this mission a reality, we expect it will be uncomfortable at times. We do not have all the answers. We will make mistakes. This work is worth it. Our shared future is at stake.
Meyer has gotten a lot of recognition for being one of the larger foundations in our region to commit to using the privilege of our endowment to do something about the inequities at the root of systemic and institutional problems. We have worked consciously as an organization and as individuals to step past good intentions, to take on the sometimes bruising work of fighting bias and oppression — in ourselves, in our communities and in our work.
We promised, in our Equity Statement, to consider the ways “race, ethnicity, national origin, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, class, ability, geography, age and other forms of bias and oppression are embedded within the institutions and systems in our community, within Meyer Trust, and within ourselves.”
Without even realizing it, our equity declaration hurt and angered people and organizations who battle daily against ableism, a form of oppression I knew too little about.
Stephen Marc Beaudoin, executive director of PHAME, a Portland-based nonprofit that focuses on individuals with developmental disabilities, was courageously critical of our terminology and our — frankly, my — ignorance.
“Why, Doug, does [Meyer] deny existence of the word disability?” he asked in an email in April. “This is deeply unsettling to me, and to colleagues in the sector that I speak with.”
Our equity statement is a declaration of our belief that dismantling barriers to equity helps to improve community conditions so that all Oregonians can reach their full potential. The work is essential to accomplish our vision of a flourishing and equitable state. But by using the term “ability,” Stephen said Meyer was ignoring people with disabilities and their contributions.
Listing grantee organizations Meyer has supported, including PHAME, United Cerebral Palsy, NW Down Syndrome Associate, FACT Oregon, Community Vision, Albertina Kerr and Incight, Stephen wrote that “no organizations in Oregon who serve people with disabilities refer to the people we serve as “people with abilities.”
He was right.
I want to own up to this mistake — and to fully acknowledge Meyer's determination to get it right.
While it was true that our program staff avoided the mistake of using “ability” to signify “disability” in grant applications, I personally did not fully understand the difference. Ignorance isn’t a shield, it is a boulder the ignorant must push aside and step beyond.
Stephen’s critique has set me, and Meyer, onto a fresh equity journey.
If you’ve read my occasional blogs, you’ll have heard me discuss how Meyer began studying racial equity in 2012, including the ways racial and structural inequities limit opportunities and hold some Oregonians back. We began delving into equity about LGBTQ issues earlier this year. We continue on both tracks. But until this spring, it had been years since we made disability a focus of conversation at Meyer.
So we began researching the topic. As with the language surrounding race and ethnicity, the language and terminology around disability are constantly evolving. The many equity conversations we engage at Meyer and with our partners make clear how imperative it is to use the correct wording. Intention is imperfect, but we can strive to use words that are less so. Terms may evolve but the need to respectfully use language that includes and supports people who have historically faced disparities is paramount.
Since Stephen brought Meyer’s error to our attention, we have searched through early drafts of the Equity Statement for clues to how we chose the language, since it did not appear in our demographic, grant-related or operations documents.
We researched how others in philanthropy discuss disability, and the language used most often by organizations made up by and representing people with disabilities. We met and spoke with leaders and advocates for people with disabilities in Oregon and across the country to help guide us, including Sharon Waschler, a writer, longtime disability-rights activist and service-dog trainer from rural Western Massachusetts, who has given a lot of thought about terminology around disability.
“I know that the letters ‘a-b-i-l-i-t-y’ are contained in the word ‘disability’, but the etymology of the word and its meaning as a social construct are not the same thing. … Not including ‘disability’ in a direct and clear way usually results in PWDs (people with disabilities) shouldering the onus of awareness and inclusion.”
People with disabilities, whether visible or invisible, shouldn’t have to shoulder the onus of awareness and inclusion. That’s Equity 101.
So Meyer is — and I am — learning.
Even as Meyer begins exploring how bias and oppression impact people with disabilities, others in philanthropy have taken bold moves to focus attention on the culture and study of disability. Our partners at Northwest Health Foundation began comprehensive learning around disability in 2014, with a goal of helping to build the organizational infrastructure of 501(c)(3) and 501(c)(4) organizations led by persons with disabilities for people with disabilities.
Just this week, Ford Foundation CEO Darren Walker acknowledged making an embarrassing mistake when Ford, the third largest foundation in the country, overhauled its programs to focus on inequality without “meaningfully considering people with disabilities.”
“I am personally privileged in countless ways — not least of which is that I am able-bodied, without immediate family members who have a disability. In my own life, I have not been forced to consider whether or not there were ramps before entering a building, or whether a website could be used by people who were hearing or visually impaired,” Darren blogged on fordfound.org. “In the same way that I have asked my white friends to step outside their own privileged experience to consider the inequalities endured by people of color, I was being held accountable to do the same thing for a group of people I had not fully considered. Moreover, by recognizing my individual privilege and ignorance, I began to more clearly perceive the Ford Foundation’s institutional privilege and ignorance as well.”
His words articulated what I’ve been thinking about since Stephen’s email popped into my inbox.
I have started to pay closer attention to issues and news related to people with disabilities, particularly close to home.
Roughly 747,000 Oregon adults have a disability, a little more than a quarter of the state’s adult population in 2008. Disability becomes increasingly common as people age, from 15 percent of Oregon adults up to age 39, to 47 percent of adults over age 80. And disability often accompanies other disparities, including economic disparities, with about half of people with disabilities in Oregon living on a household income of less than $35,000.
I learned that people with disabilities experience violent victimization at rates three times higher than people without disabilities, and for people with cognitive disabilities, rates are even higher. I’ve discovered that beyond just a term, disability is both a shared social identity and a political status. I’ve gained fresh respect for the concept of People First language. This fall, University of Oregon students for the first time could pursue a Minor or a Graduate Specialization in disability studies as part of their degree programs.
I just finished reading a book by Michael T. Bailey, past president of the National Disability Rights Network as well as Disability Rights Oregon. Here To Stay chronicles our country and our state’s historical failure to recognize that disability is natural, and it catalogs the systematic exclusion and silencing of voices of people with disabilities. Even as a longtime Oregonian, I was not aware of all the deplorable conditions heaped on and encountered by people with disabilities here. I want to be part of changing that arc.
Meyer’s communications style guide was created in an era when the People First movement was gaining steam. Our communications team has updated it to keep our staff and trustees in tune with the language of multiple areas of equity: how we speak about race, ethnicity, gender, sexual identity and class.
Now it reflects our learning around disability, learning we have only just begun.
Every day since January, Matt Kinshella has created an illustration depicting something he’s grateful for, from Italian architecture to Mexican hot sauce to a baby that sleeps through the night.
Equity Is About Resources: Matt Kinshella, (he/him), placed third in the 2016 Equity Illustrated design contest sponsored by Meyer Memorial Trust and Northwest Health Foundation.
The exercise hones the San Diego native’s graphic artistry. Spurred by an interest in illustration as a method of social change — and explored during his 3 a.m. wake-ups with his newborn — Matt decided to enter the Equity Illustrated contest in January with an animated GIF showing how inadequate resources separate equality from equity.
“You see it driving around Portland, which has a national reputation as this place where young people come to retire, where it’s all about food carts and stuff. But there are so many barriers in the Portland that isn’t on the national radar,” Matt says. “We all get to learn and have more enrichment when these barriers in business, in our neighborhoods and in schools are removed.”
The two-frame illustration focuses on deep structural, systemic and historical disparities between some communities. It placed third in the Equity Illustrated design contest sponsored by Meyer Memorial Trust and Northwest Health Foundation.
Matt’s own equity journey began after settling in Portland in 2008. Over the next six years, he worked for 211Info, a Meyer grantee, and at the Chalkboard Project, an initiative of Foundations for a Better Oregon, a collaboration of six Oregon foundations, including The Collins Foundation, Ford Family Foundation, Oregon Community Foundation, JELD-WEN Foundation, The James F. and Marion L. Miller Foundation and Meyer Memorial Trust.
Now 30, Matt is the communications director at Neighborhood Partnerships, a statewide nonprofit focused on bringing opportunity to all Oregonians through housing and financial stability initiatives and advocacy (and a Meyer grantee). Working with people from a range of backgrounds on poverty, housing and education reform opened his eyes to issues facing people from different backgrounds and income levels, he says.
“It wasn’t like I was born knowing about equity. I am really grateful and privileged to be exposed to people who get this in a deep and rich way. And I learn from them still.”
His winning equity entry reflects a clear understanding of equity.
Two frames, two communities. On the first frame, one community has many assets: a school, buildings, a hospital, solid housing. The other community has no school, no hospital and buildings in disrepair. A pipeline delivers equal resources to both. This is equality — and it’s not working, Matt says.
The second frame shows the two communities receiving resources that meet their needs. Now the two communities thrive. Equity, in a word.
“Bottom line, people should not have less opportunity because of the color of their skin or the ZIP code where they are born.”
Check out more of Matt’s designs from his yearlong project to illustrate something he’s grateful for every day in 2016 (#365gratefulillustrations) on Instagram, @mkinshella.
If you're seeking permission to use Matt's equity illustration, please email Meyer communications: communications [at] mmt.org (communications[at]mmt[dot]org) or Matt directly: mkinshella [at] gmail.com (mkinshella[at]gmail[dot]com).
A PDF version of Matt’s winning illustration is available here.
Turns out a collaboration born of a deep understanding of equity, an appreciation for urban planning, and diverse skills, can be a successful one.
Kathryn Hartinger, 39, develops zoning code for the Portland Bureau of Planning and Sustainability (BPS). Marc Asnis, 29, works as an urban designer at the city agency.
Over lunches and a few weekends of brainstorming, their “Oregonians Are All Connected” illustration took shape. Together, they partnered to turn a concept into a tangible representation of how equality and equity differ. Their efforts earned them second place in the Equity Illustrated adult design contest.
“I had an idea but I had no graphics skills. But I knew Marc did. So we just started chatting,” says Kathryn, a native of Springfield, VA. She uses a masters in Urban and Regional Planning from Portland State University, a PhD in conflict resolution from Syracuse University, and a background in mediation to turn arcane policy into the rules that guide growth and development in Portland.
“We started with the idea that equity was a key to success,” says Marc, a native of New York City. A master’s degree in architecture from the University of Oregon and a knack for visualizing ideas helps Marc turn dreams into brick-and-mortar reality.
The colleagues learned about the contest about a month before the deadline, when Desiree Williams-Rajee, BPS’ equity specialist, announced the contest at work.
Their four-panel submission makes the case that education, healthcare, housing, the environment, government and philanthropy are gears in the machine that is Oregon. Applying identical, cookie-cutter resources to the needs of different Oregonians and institutions doesn’t work. But when resources are applied equitably, addressing our unique needs, the state functions.
“Equity isn’t about some people getting something and others not getting something. It’s about people just needing different things,” Kathryn explains.
In city planning, Marc and Kathryn watch different needs and resources play out in neighborhoods across Portland.
“Some neighborhoods don’t need new sidewalks,” says Marc. “Some need paved streets, some need stormwater mitigation, others need tree canopies or need to remediate pollutants in the air. A major guiding principle of our City’s newly adopted Comprehensive Plan is to create a more equitable city.”
Kathryn says they are no easy answers on the road to making a more equitable Portland.
“We do a ton of public outreach and engagement with communities, business groups and coalitions to determine what each neighborhood needs. People have different opinions so we have to balance those. But equity really is about tailoring those solutions and prioritizing resources where they’re needed most.”
Split down the middle, Kathryn and Marc plan to put their prize money to good, but different uses.
“Kathryn is going to fix her roof,” says Marc.
“Roof or tires,” she agrees. “But I would also probably do something with my kids.”
Marc says he’ll take his prize money and apply the resources to a different need: “I am hoping I can finally have some money saved away. This could be my nest egg.”
Kathryn Hartinger & Marc Asnis’ winning image:
A PDF version of Marc and Kathryn’s winning illustration is available here.
Oregonians Are All Connected: Marc Asnis, (he/him), and Kathryn Hartinger, (she/her), placed second in the 2016 Equity Illustrated adult design contest sponsored by Meyer Memorial Trust and Northwest Health Foundation.
