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Rising to the Challenge: Race and Inclusivity in the Sangha

Image of people singing around a campfire

Last summer I traveled from my home in Berkeley, California to Pátzcuaro, Mexico for a weeklong “young” sangha meditation retreat. I say “young” because in our group of roughly 20, though we varied in age from early 20s to 40s, chronological years didn’t matter. We were artists, activists, educators, and scholars united by a curiosity to explore how creativity and contemplative practice might inform the larger social and environmental ills of our time. As a 33-year-old dancing, writing, Buddhist, I felt right at home. In addition to the Mexican participants, the young-at-heart arrived from across the United States and Europe. By day, we meditated, studied the Dharma, and engaged in experiential activities. By night, we enjoyed campfires, conversation, and maybe a few sips of tequila.

As the days turned into what felt like years, we became close. Romances blossomed, disintegrated, and blossomed again. Our nighttime campfires morphed into uninhibited sharing free-for-alls with impromptu poetry, mystic storytelling, and group sing-alongs. We were connected to each other and the lush, blooming forest that held us—one beautiful, breathing organism.

Then, someone dropped the N-word.

It happened innocuously enough. During one evening of group singing, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” led (naturally) to Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” and then Biggie’s “Juicy.”

“…And if you don’t know, now you know n***** …”

I’d sung that hook millions of times while cruising down the highway in my car and in the comfort of my own home—but never with an international crowd, and certainly not with white people.

My body tensed as we approached the chorus. Most, including the Europeans and Mexicans, skipped over the offending word. A blonde girl, who had initially started spitting the familiar rap lyrics, plowed through apparently unaware. I froze. Did that really just happen in this spiritual place with this engaged, progressive, socially conscious crowd? I wanted to pretend it had not, to resume our one-breathing-body bliss, but my body told me this was no longer an option. The utterance of n***** in a playful setting hit me like a dagger to the heart, and suddenly I felt the pain of separation, isolation, and oppression. I weighed how best to address the situation, without “ruining the fun.” I didn’t want to be that girl.

In truth, none of us knew how to talk about race or begin unpacking all the baggage that’s often included in that conversation. We were ill-equipped because as products of a society still recovering from the wounds of slavery, we’d learned “how to not see race.” We’d honed the art of avoiding such dialogue or saying something by offering empty words that meant nothing at all. Experience had shown me that when it came to discussing race, the feeling that often came up was fear. Maybe you’ll offend or inadvertently reveal some unsavory truth you didn’t know you were holding and be labeled ‘racist.’ As a biracial girl who identifies as Black, I worried I might not properly convey the sentiments of my people, or worse, share my point a little too well and be labeled ‘angry.’

I learned how to not talk about race at an early age while growing up in a small town outside of Salt Lake City. Like most, my primary objective through adolescence was fitting in. That meant quieting the parts of myself that were different from my largely blonde-haired, blue-eyed classmates. Daily I diligently pasted my wild curls into a tight, braided ponytail secured with LA Looks Mega Hold 8—industrial strength for the most unruly hair. I begged for the Doc Marten shoes and Girbaud jeans and picked up the best Utah slang, including using “fudge” as an expletive. Example: “The Green Jell-O salad melted in the sun! Oh, fudge!”

By amplifying some aspects of my personality and amputating others, I was able (by appearances) to succeed in my community. I had friends—lots of them, I made the cheerleader team, I sold the most Girl Scout Cookies. Eventually the white world became “my” world. Even as I lived in more ethnically diverse areas including Chicago and Birmingham, Alabama, I found myself befriending whites and spending time in predominantly white spaces. I spoke their language fluently and readily forgot those parts of myself I could not fully inhabit.

Naturally, there was a lot of pain associated with often being the only Black girl in my friend circles, including such minor inconveniences as not feeling attractive or ever fully understood. But there were also benefits. I adapted my own version of white privilege, believing I belonged everywhere whites were. This allowed me entrance and complete ease in jobs, schools, and networking opportunities. It was the proverbial white ticket in my back pocket that led me to Buddhism’s door. Had I not already found comfort in homogeneous settings, it would have likely struck me as strange that 95% of my sangha was white. Even more odd was the fact that the founder of our lineage and the current lineage heir were Tibetan. How might such a community develop? Alas, I did not question these things because I did not see them.

Then, I moved to Berkeley and shaved my head.

My hair had always been my beacon of difference—the part of me that proclaimed my ethnic ambiguity. My naturally sun-bleached locks hung around my face and obscured my Black features. I took delight when I was confused for Colombian or Brazilian. Without my hair, I became an undeniably Black woman. I felt it immediately. The day I cut my hair, Black women suddenly acknowledged me, were more courteous in the grocery store, said they liked my shorn-head, and commented on my bravery. As Black men passed me on the street, where they once would have been “spitting game,” I now received respectful head nods. Without my hair, I was admitted into a racial tribe I had never known I was not a part of.

And as I began to recognize my heritage, the atrophy of the Black parts of my being suddenly began to come to life. No longer embarrassed to not be someone else, I began celebrating my Black features, recognizing other people of color in predominantly white spaces and for the first time, eagerly discussing race. As this awakening unfolded, I began looking at the places where I spend time with new eyes, starting with my spiritual practice. Why aren’t there more people of color in my sangha, I wondered. Am I part of an alienating culture?

I saw the subtle: The uplifted spaces with plush sofas and ikebana arrangements where my Buddhist community gathers. They were simple, comfortable and elegant rooms, but they reminded me of the “formal living room” I was not allowed to enter as a child. I recalled my first experiences in our meditation center and the feelings of uncertainty as my body wondered if it was “allowed” to enter such pristine spaces. I remembered others nonchalantly napping or propping their feet on the coffee tables in these rooms and how it struck me as a point of distinction, an example of comfort with privilege.

And I recalled the obvious: In Buddhist classes as we connected the Dharma to our everyday lives, had we ever discussed race and white privilege? Did the Buddha not achieve enlightenment (in part) through abandoning his own privilege? Is the wound of white privilege not at the forefront of American society? How could this not have been addressed?

Luckily, some are addressing it. Reverend angel Kyodo williams Sensei put forth a provocative call in the Summer 2016 issue of Buddhadharma magazine. She writes: “If you have ever wondered how you would have shown up in the face of the challenge put before white America when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat, upending the accepted social order, now is when you will find out. Will you actually embody our practice and teachings—or not?”

This call to action invigorated me. Finally another was calling attention to what I’d been feeling. In this politically provocative climate, how could any Buddhist, steeped in teachings of compassion and insight, not consider how they take part in the racial dialogue?

Still, in discussions of race with my white Buddhist friends, I’ve noticed a tendency towards “spiritual bypassing,” an eagerness to jump to the absolute—that really we’re all one—and move away from the confusion and muck of the relative—the discomfort of All Lives Matter, #SayHerName, and Donald Trump. And while I recognize interconnectedness as a key tenet of our teachings, shifting swiftly to the ultimate conveys an inability to simultaneously acknowledge the challenges of being a person of color in this world. It invalidates my experiences. Where I previously swept such insensitivities under the rug, I felt a developing intolerance.

When I looked, I realized there was much I had been hesitant to acknowledge because I was fearful of being considered out of touch, “playing the race card,” or simply being labeled a complainer. I also deeply enjoyed my Buddhist community and respected many of my teachers. If I looked too closely, would I still be able to take part?

But once the door was open, awareness flooded in:

Most of the teachers in my sangha are white. How many recognize that my experience of the teachings is impacted uniquely by the color of my skin?

Our community offers teachings on gentleness and warriorship that show us what enlightened leadership can look like, yet we still, perhaps subconsciously, hold beliefs that leaders look and behave like Type-A white men. I had encountered this personally when a white male counterpart was continually deferred to and put into a higher position of authority by staff and participants at a retreat we equally facilitated. Why? I was not incompetent or challenging to work with. I could only assume that it was because I did not look or sound like a stereotypical leader. After a period of time, I started to believe this myself.

Luckily, as these painful feelings surfaced, so did suggestions of how we might address these challenges.

I believe that anyone in a leadership role has a responsibility not only to recognize the racial differences of the students in their group but also to make it a point to connect with minorities individually and simply listen.

I believe that empowering people of color means specifically encouraging us to step into positions of power, supporting our voices and recognizing our bravery even if our leadership feels “shaky” or different from that which you are accustomed. Part of this is being aware of what we face in leading a predominantly white crowd. Society continually offers images showing people of color that we don’t measure up to the standard. We’re not fed the ideology that we’re born to be CEOs, professors, or even movie starlets, and we’re often not empowered by our own communities. Stepping into leadership is intimidating for all, but especially for those who have not been groomed to believe that they should be followed.

It’s as simple as recognizing and offering verbal appreciation when a person of color raises her voice into a predominantly white space.

When I open my mouth in a room where I’m the only minority, I’m acutely aware of who is listening. I feel a pressure to get it right, to represent my race, to say the thing that will make the crowd nod their heads in agreement. I’m always seeking approval. But inside I feel, “I have not studied race relations, who am I to discuss such things? I have too much skin in this game to try to be eloquent.”

I flash back to the moment around the campfire at the retreat.

“I like singing with you guys, but can we please not say racial slurs?”

I wish I had said it, but the comment came from the only other Black girl in our midst. I felt immediate relief and then shame. Why hadn’t I been able to express my discomfort? The group acknowledged her request, apologies were uttered, and the singing continued. I went to bed. Days later, the girl who had spoken the epithet pulled me aside to personally apologize. She never intended to offend and was “caught in the moment.”

How many moments had I been caught off guard and acted in a way I wished I had not?

In learning to speak about race, I’m discovering that it’s ok to disrupt, to not always be liked or even understood. Things are going to get messy, and this is good news so long as we recognize that allowing ourselves to not “get it right” is how we will all move forward.

Kelsey Blackwell is a somatic coach, writer and facilitator committed to fearlessly creating spaces for women and PoC to trust and follow the wisdom of their own bodies so they may powerfully shine their lights in a world that sorely needs this brilliance. Follow her at

Illustration by Alicia Brown

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  1. Christina Nelson says

    What amazing, heartfelt writing. And so beneficial! Thank you so much for putting it out here so that I could read it. I needed to read it!

  2. Dori says

    Adding to the kudo’s here, Kelsey. Thank you for your warriorship. I have been contemplating your words, and Angel Roshi’s calling out of our “hyper-individualist” Buddhist habits. I think you called it spiritual bypassing – ignoring the suffering that is present and has taken place. The call to genuineness and action is being sounded so clearly; I long to both hear it and heed it with love and effectiveness.

  3. Jane Arthur says

    A deep “thank you” for this courageous, poignant, potent piece on your experience. Please keep being so honest. Thank you for offering such a window in for all of us to wake up to our unconsciousness with each other in so many ways. I have a lot to learn…. And I know it is my work to do, but being awakened regularly by each other with honesty is so helpful.

  4. What a fabulous article Kelsey. You express so well your own truth which connects to others of color as well as people who the world identifies as “white.” We need each person’s story to grasp the Full story. I’m honored that you have chosen to be in our InterPlay community.

  5. Nicki Dayley says

    Thank you for your wonderful writing and for opening your heart. It can only bring benefit for us all to have this on-going conversation. Thank you so much!

  6. Tina Marzell says

    Thank you for sharing this. I applaud your speaking your truth whether it is done gently or shakily or thunderously.

  7. Katrin says

    Kelsey, thank you for raising your voice! It inspires and holds us all accountable to do the same. There is difficult work to be done, but it will restore us to health, sanity and joy so why resist?
    Reverend Angel is an excellent catalyst in this movement, but we need more and you are one! I can’t wait to talk more with you about where we go and who we are from here.

  8. Calandra Smith says

    Well said. I like to challenge all the isms I encounter in and out of the sangha… and that many are more or less visible at times… and they intersect. Have experienced a number first-hand, these days increasingly and naturally becoming more attuned to ageism… less prone to identify these days as a Shambhalian, or Buddist for that matter, because on some level every identity I take on is an act of othering…

    • Calandra, thank you for sharing your perspectives. Interesting to consider the identities we willingly take on vs. those that are hoisted upon us.

  9. Pingback: Be careful what you don't say • The Marvelous Crumb

  10. Wayne says

    This is one of the most cogent discussion of race I have ever read…and I’ve read quite a bit in an attempt to understand clearly something that I will likely never understand.

    • Thank you! It’s my pleasure to share my experiences. If you’re interested, I could suggest some salient authors I’ve found inspiring.

  11. Barbara says

    Courageous. Clear. Compassionate. Wise.
    Thank you for putting this out there.

  12. Kelsey, this is so beautiful, and necessary. I used to be a member of the SF Shambhala Center and lived in Oakland, but I don’t think our paths crossed. I’m in New York now. I take very seriously the admonition from Black civil rights leaders that white people need to do our own work. To that end, I offer retreats and workshops on how white people (of any spirituality or none) can use meditation to examine our racial conditioning, and develop the compassion we will need to dismantle racism, within ourselves and throughout society. Feel free to check it out. You can find me online at, on Facebook ( and Twitter (@onethousandarms). May all beings be happy and free from suffering.

    • Kara, what incredible work you are doing! This was one point I realized this morning that I forgot to make in the article. Dismantling racism begins by looking at privilege. As a person of color, when I walk into a predominately white space and those present have not done this work, I can immediately feel it. It manifests as feeling small, unable to take up space, unable to be heard. It’s like a subtle strangulation. It’s not that anyone in these groups has done anything wrong, it’s just a subtle energy emanating from un-examined privilege. It’s remarkable how much more ease I feel to ‘just be’ in diverse settings and where white folks have done this work. Kudos to you.

  13. Charlene Leung says

    Thanks you Kelsey for expressing so well what so many people of color experience everyday. Your courageous journey is benefitting countless sentient beings! I am honored to walk beside you, Sister…

    Charlene Leung

  14. Drew Bromfield says

    Kelsey, thank you so much for this. I need this. Our sangha needs this. Our world needs to share your felt experience. Let’s get messy. Lately I’m feeling like we could err a little more on the side of aggression, calling out privilege, rather than on the side of ignorance, leaving it unsaid. Even so, I experienced your writing as supremely nonaggressive. Victory to the True Command.

    • I like this phrase: Victory to the True Command! I hear the trumpets. Thank you Drew for your willingness to roll in the mud. How liberating compared to the cautious side-stepping and/or not seeing we’ve been trained to engage in? Mess? What mess? Let’s dive.

      • Drew Bromfield says

        “Victory to the True Command” is 100% Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche in his kasung manifestation. Let’s dive indeed! May our paths cross face-to-face sooner rather than later.

  15. Deboarah M says

    Thank you Dharma sister.
    Your words arrived right on time.

  16. Tyler T says

    Go. Dharma. Sister. Keep on disrupting, in that most buddhaful way only a K2B can.

  17. Lodro Rinzler says

    Kelsey – I want to applaud you for writing this and raising awareness of this important issue. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  18. Daniel Baker says

    Thank you for your vulnerability, for your insight and just being all of who you are.

    • Thank you Daniel! I’m reminded of this quote from Audre Lorde: Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down, and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end. And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had … And you will still flirt and paint your nails, dress up and party, because I think Emma Goldman said, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.” And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.

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