Braving Idaho: The importance of inclusion and the hard work ahead for Idahoans

Let me tell you about a few times I’ve been brave.

When I was 12, I sat for days in a colorful room recounting to a nice prosecutor the details of the sexual abuse I had experienced the years prior.

When I was 15, I went back into foster care, and at 17, I chose to love a brand new family without restraint, in hopes that they would love me back. It didn’t work out, but I wouldn’t change the choice to try.

At 18, I started college as a first generation student. At 22, I stood face to face with my biological parents for the first time while we buried my big sister. Over the next 18 months I would bury the other two women who raised me.

When I was 24, I packed up everything that would fit into a few suitcases and booked a one-way ticket to Colorado. At 26, I married the love of my life. At 27, I packed up everything again and moved to Idaho.

And at 29, three months after founding Inclusive Idaho, I left a full-time, well-paying job, with no assurances, pay or benefits but a deep desire to help create beautiful change.

So you see, I know a thing or two about bravery, but nothing I’ve done or tried or said has been as brave as this. Why? Because most days, even after 17 months, what we are trying to do, it still feels impossible.

But, I’ve learned that building change is loving people. And bravery is much less about being fearless than it is hope.

You cannot work for better without hope. Hope is our fuel.

A mistake made

Now, I’d like to tell you a story.

It was July 12, 2020, and the end of a very long day, one of many long, whirlwind days strung together. Inclusive Idaho was a month old, and I had spent most of the 30 days prior treading an endless ocean of community work and need while juggling another full-time job and a 100-mile-a-day commute.

I sat down to take a phone call that would shape much of our work in the weeks and months to come.

The phone call was heavy. I had used someone’s pronouns incorrectly repeatedly in a public setting. While this may seem small, it is not. The unintentionality of my actions is not important, because it happened. In the span of a few sentences I created a space where belonging wasn’t held.

Yes, I was busy and tired and completely overwhelmed by every single day, but I’ll tell you why this doesn’t matter.

We cannot be so focused on moving those in front of us toward a heart for equity and inclusion that we abandon those beside us, committed to the cause, with full hearts, and an eye for who we can all be. Which is better? We can do better. We can be better.

This single event set forth a waterfall of events that nearly led to me quitting the thing I had just started, and even through apologies, reconciliation and learning many months later, there are still those who cling to this failing and all that I have yet to learn as the banner of why I should step out of the ring of building inclusion in Idaho.

I’ll be the first to let you know that on June 10, 2020, when I unsealed the envelope letting us know that Inclusive Idaho was incorporated, I was scared. I knew I had a lot to learn and that the road ahead would be arduous. I also knew that what I wanted more than anything was to help build a state and community for all of us and especially those that inclusion has historically evaded.

I’ve shared this with you as a reminder that when you set out to create change, you will not always get it right, sometimes in fact you will get it very wrong. Your actions should teach bravery, not perfection, and when you mess up, own it, learn, do better, get up and keep trying.

A mistake is not what disqualifies you from the work but rather your reaction to it. I’ve made plenty, I’ll make some more and so will you. Keep learning and loving people. This is our required response. This work is never about being right, only better.

Meet people where they are

When you make it your mission to meet people where they are in their thinking, life, and work, it happens. You are handed a front row view to the pain of those clinging to what little belonging there is in a place that holds tightly to majority culture and identities.

You see clearly the fear of those who have lived in generations of families, friends and communities who reflect their skin, religion and orientations.

You hear the doubt of those who have taken on this battle long before you ever dreamed of it.

You feel the whispers of scarcity and uncertainty that lie just behind every opportunity.

I’ve learned quickly that there is no work and no person who will bring along everyone. There is no single voice that can do this alone. But do not ask for permission to make our world better. You will absolutely stumble. Again and again. Do it anyway. The cost of loving people is deep failure and forever learning.

Seventeen months ago, full of energy and inspiration around my dining room table, Inclusive Idaho was born. Who we are and what we do continues to evolve, but the choice to press forward every day remains. The desire to see belonging centered in all we do and a hope that Idaho will lean into all facets of its diversity remains strong.

I was wide-eyed and full of ambition and ready to work as much and as long as possible when we began. I can say now I had no idea what it would take and what each of us and those we love would sacrifice in return. My eyes are much heavier and my ambition, although not lessened, looks different. It is steady and reminded daily that the course of change is built brick by brick. Slowly and intentionally.

Young, Black, woman, transplant

So why have I dared to call this endeavor brave? I’ll tell you why.

I am a transplant. I am Black. I am young. I am a woman.

Transplant. I’ve lived in Idaho for three years. When we launched Inclusive Idaho, I had called the Gem State home for less than two years. Some people believe you must let time be your guide when striving for change, but this is not necessary. Learning and loving is our guide. You need just a single moment to decide you want better for yourself, your neighbors and future generations no matter where you live or how long you have lived there.

Black. Recent census data shows that of the 1.8 million folks who call themselves Idahoans less than 1% of them identify as Black. Idahoans who look like me are scarce. Idahoans who look like me leading businesses are few, and Idahoans who look like me leading inclusion work are even less. Sometimes you will set out on an endeavor with no examples, no playbook and no mirror images. Do it anyway.

Young. I don’t mind telling you that I am 30 years old. I remember when I thought 30 was old, really old, and I’d be lying if I told you that I’ve never doubted if I was ready to take on this work. Just like those around me, I’ve questioned if I know enough, if I have enough experience, If we should try again when there is more funding, more life lived and more wisdom. The answer is no. Youth is never a disqualifier. You cannot learn if you do not attempt, and you cannot know if you do not try.

Woman. We know that women have come far, but complacency in how far we have come will not serve ourselves or future generations of women who hope to advocate, lead and change their communities and world for the better.

As a young, Black woman leading a nonprofit that I founded, I draw daily from the women who have lined the pathways of my life. Cheering me on, providing mentorship, wisdom and inspiration. They serve as a constant reminder that there is always someone who came before you and laid the foundation for your ability to take up space and you have a deep responsibility to steward your work, actions and words in a way that will provide opportunity and a pathway for those who come after you.

Braving Idaho

Braving Idaho has taught me many things, but maybe the most significant is that we are all afraid. Afraid of what we don’t know. Afraid of change. Afraid to be uncomfortable.

Fear is the driving force behind so many of our decisions. How we vote, the jobs we choose, who we love and choose not to love. Those we call friends and those we don’t. Where our children go to school. Our commitment to faith. When we speak up and when we don’t.

I’ve had a front row view to the fear that so many Idahoans have expressed when it comes to inclusion. Does it mean that they don’t matter if other folks matter, too? Is our goal to exclude them because they don’t hold a certain identity? Idaho is great, why are you trying to change it? These are the questions so many have or the ideas so many believe.

Inclusion does mean change. It means tough conversations and many uncomfortable moments, big and small. It means learning. It means listening to those who don’t look, speak or live like you.

Creating belonging is heavy and hard. It requires a self-awareness that reminds us constantly how we can do better. It requires empathy and the ability to look past what we know and our own experience to hear and understand the lived reality of those around us.

Join us

When I think back to the beginning of Inclusive Idaho, I am always reminded of the flood of messages we received from Idahoans gripped with fear that we are here to change their way of life and all that is good about it.

To each of you, I say this. I dare you to love. You have a choice. Even if you are afraid of what those around you might think or say. I dare you to love. Even if you have to do it with trembling hands and a fearful heart.

You might save the life of an LGBTQ+ teen struggling with self worth. You might be the reason a family of color chooses to stay in your neighborhood, city or state, instead of leave. You might be a desperately needed friend for a refugee placed into a country and community foreign to them. You might be the reason a woman chooses to lead in a male-dominated field. You might learn that the same-sex couple you know are really great parents and incredibly kind.

That the older Latino man speaking in Spanish in the grocery store line has spent 25 years harvesting the food you feed your family.

I don’t intend to imply this will be easy. It takes courage to love those who might not love us back, to work for the liberation of those not in our own circles, to truly believe in our connectedness and shared humanity and to find the most unlikely friends and allies.

When we choose to love, we step out of fear and into vulnerability. We see and know people for who they are and not who we choose to believe they are. Letting love fuel your actions, your words and your thinking. This is bravery. This is courage. Loving those we don’t know or understand. This is inclusion.

It is easy to believe that you are just one person and that your actions won’t be enough and do not matter. This is almost never true. Bravery is not perfection. Love is not the easy or weak choice. It is risky, it will hurt and it will require grand amounts of listening, forgiveness and understanding.

Join us.