This past Fourth of July, pro skier Amie Engerbretson posted a photo of herself skiing in an American flag top and jean shorts. Her caption described why she always loves to ski on the Fourth but how it was hard this year to find reasons and ways to celebrate. She discussed “the extreme world we are living in,” “the situation,” “our flaws and the things we are getting wrong.” The caption ended with: “With all that in mind, I do celebrate the 4th of July today. I celebrate with an awareness of necessary change and with hope. I send that love, consciousness and celebration to all of you.” The post was liked by over 3,500 people and widely praised in the comment section nearly 70 times.
When the post came across my feed, I knew its intention was genuine and meant to show solidarity, but I also saw how it was problematic. In the comments, a group of people criticized Engerbretson for failing to specifically name the racism that made the Fourth difficult to celebrate. And by then declaring that despite her discomfort she’d celebrate anyway, Engerbretson was criticized for bypassing and being tone deaf. One such critique was deleted because Engerbretson felt it was “aggressive, presumptive, and felt mean.” And that was criticized as well, for tone policing.
In the past, Engerbretson has used her social media platform and position in the outdoor world for climate change and female empowerment, but—like many of us—is new to anti-racism activism. Recently, she committed herself to researching and donating to organizations doing diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) work in the outdoors, and sharing those organizations with her more than 37,000 followers weekly. She’s reading anti-racism books and articles, following the work of folks like Brooklyn Bell and Rachel Cargle, and listening to podcasts focused on allyship. She amended her contract with Spyder to include mandatory community involvement in diversity initiatives and proposed that all the Spyder athletes do the same. She’s highlighting the work of BIPOC community members in her social feeds. And even with all that, she got this wrong. And she knows it.
“I am in my infancy of the work in learning how to be an ally both privately and publicly,” she told me over the phone. “It’s no longer appropriate to just be an athlete. You need to use your platform, your voice to advocate for things. But at the same time, I’m not a writer, a researcher, a sociologist, a therapist, a social worker; I am not an expert on any of this. I am terrified to do or say the wrong thing. And I know I am probably going to get it wrong more than I am going to get it right. ”
Engerbretson messaged one of her critics and had an hour-and-a-half conversation to understand her missteps of glossing over the issues. “The criticism was that I wasn’t specific enough,” she told me. “I was speaking about systemic racism, the global pandemic, the lack of political leadership. The feeling behind the post was that I am actually not proud to be an American right now and I don’t feel like celebrating because I am appalled at systemic racism and the handling of the pandemic. I am ashamed at our political leadership. Could I have said that very specifically? Yes.”
In future posts condemning racism, Engerbretson says she’ll use more detailed language. “I am going to keep trying, and I am probably going to get it wrong more,” she said. “I learned from this experience. I just have to do better.”
She’s right; we all have to do better.
Those of us—and by “us” in this context, I mean “white folks”—who are trying to move beyond statements of support on social media and to more fully understand our personal biases and blindspots, are discovering a hard truth: Racism and white supremacy within our communities runs deeper than we realized, and the work of anti-racism is more complex than we appreciated.
When outdoor brands, publications, and athletes took to social media in
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