Unbound: My Story of Liberation and the Birth of the Me Too Movement

by Tarana Burke

I had found a new thing to become: radical.

Love love love this!

But that day, my rage showed up and the shame disappeared.

She, a history teacher, couched her racism in such a cowardly place that I said the only thing I could muster up. “Get the FUCK outta here!”

God, those types of history teachers are so common.

There is no question that self-hate severely limits one’s capacity to love fully and wholeheartedly. Capacity and desire are not the same thing, especially in discussions of love.

In my early organizing training, our elders told us that to be an effective organizer you had to meet folks where they were. I had to find what was common between me and the folks I was trying to reach, and then let them know what skin I had in the game and how my work would help meet their most basic needs. It never occurred to me for a moment that those guidelines could be useful here. It didn’t occur to me because I had never been here.

I struggle with this so much. As an organizer, I BLOOM when folks lead with compassion. And I’m skilled in doing this when I work with children. However, when I work with adults, I consistently stumble when I’m faced with ignorance or ambivalence.

After all, I didn’t see my story as my gift, only as my shame.

These words are life¬changing.