Commentary Race

It’s Not Just the Diet: Racism Is at Play in Immigrants’ Poor Health Outcomes

Miriam Pérez

A recent New York Times article detailed the health effects of immigration on the Latino community, but it neglected to note one of the likely causes of those health outcomes: racism.

A recent article in the New York Times discussed an important connection between health disparities and demographics in the United States: Immigrants, particularly in the Latino community, often have worse health outcomes after coming to the United States.

Unfortunately, however, the article focused almost exclusively on one lifestyle change that comes along with immigrating to the United States—a change in diet—and overlooked what may be an even more important contributing factor: racism.

The article outlines what many of us already know. The American diet is full of highly processed, cheap, and easily obtained foods, and immigrants are not immune to the pull of these choices, or the economic factors that make these foods so prominent in our diets.

Within the context of the supposed “American dream,” it may seem surprising that people who make major sacrifices to come to this country, often risking their lives to do so, don’t actually experience a better life. But for those of us who know more about the actual lived reality of immigrants, particularly those who are people of color, it may not come as a surprise.

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What infuriates me about these kinds of perspectives is that they often overlook the larger systemic elements at play in exchange for a focus on what seems to be a problem resulting from bad choices by individuals. Obesity, although its correlation with shorter life expectancy, as implied in the article, is often disputed, is a convenient scapegoat for a whole host of health disparities. It’s used to explain the growing rates of maternal mortality and morbidity, for example.

Meanwhile, there is a growing body of research documenting the impact of racism on our health, implying that there may be a much more nuanced and systemic answer to the question of why second-generation Mexican-Americans have higher rates of high blood pressure and diabetes than their parents. These possible explanations could include everything from the stress that results from experiencing racism to the ways in which racism affects health care. A recent survey of women who gave birth in the United States, noted, “About one in five black and Hispanic women report poor treatment from hospital staff due to race, ethnicity, cultural background, or language. Compared with 8% of white mothers, 21% of black mothers and 19% of Hispanic mothers perceived such poor treatment while hospitalized to give birth.”

The New York Times article only once hints at how racism may play a factor in immigrants’ health care—in a description about how immigrants in one town stopped walking for exercise because they were afraid of being perceived as undocumented:

The lifestyle takes its toll. The county in which Brownsville is situated, Cameron, has some of the highest rates of obesity and diabetes in the country. The numbers are made worse by a lack of physical activity, including walking. Immigrants said they felt so conspicuous during early attempts to walk along the shoulder of the roads that they feared people would suspect they were here illegally. Ms. Angeles recalled that strolling to a dollar store provoked so many stares that she felt like “a bean in rice.”

This isn’t a question of “lifestyle”—it’s about the lived reality of racism. A white person would likely have no such fears of walking around their neighborhood or to a local business, or fears of being profiled or singled out as undocumented. This is just one example of many that we could likely point to to demonstrate the effects of racism on the health of immigrants and other people of color.

These systemic analyses of health disparities are crucial if we’re ever going to get to the root causes of health disparities. There is even a new movement to shift away from “cultural competency” and toward “structural competency” for medical providers to improve health-care delivery for individuals affected by these disparities.

I can’t wait for the day when estimable journalistic outlets like the New York Times look past the tired tropes of individual choice and toward the larger systemic elements at play. Stop ignoring the elephant in the room.

Culture & Conversation Human Rights

The Prison Overcrowding Problems on ‘Orange Is the New Black’ Reflect a Real-Life Crisis

Victoria Law

In both the Netflix series and real life, overcrowding has serious ramifications for those behind bars. But the issue isn't limited to privately run institutions; public prisons have been overflowing in many states for years.

“I’ve been in Litchfield for a while now,” says Piper Chapman (actress Taylor Schilling) in the latest season of Orange Is the New Black, “and I’ve started to feel unsafe lately.”

Season four of OITNB has taken on prison overcrowding. Viewers may recall that, in the last season, the fictional Litchfield Penitentiary was taken over by a corporation, transforming it from an already underfunded state prison to a private facility whose sole purpose is the bottom line. That means each woman inside Litchfield has become a commodity—and the more commodities locked inside, the more profit the corporation receives.

In both the Netflix series and real life, overcrowding has serious ramifications for those behind bars. But the issue isn’t limited to privately run institutions; public prisons have been overflowing in many states for years.

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In the latest season of OITNB, viewers see some of the potential consequences of prison overcrowding: It is accompanied by increased threats of violence and abuse, as people, packed like sardines, step on each other, jostle each other, and can’t get away from each other. Supplies, such as soap, sanitary napkins, and toilet paper, are never in abundance in a prison setting; they become even more scarce as the number of people clamoring for them soar. Even food, which prisons are required to provide in the form of regular meals, becomes in short supply.

A scarcity of resources isn’t the only problem in Litchfield. Again and again, we see long lines for the bathrooms and showers. When the prison installs “porta potties” in the yard, there are long lines for those as well. “Too many people in here, everybody getting on each other’s nerves,” remarks Poussey Washington (Samira Wiley), another of the show’s long-term characters. Conflicts emerge as women struggle to navigate daily living in a narrow room with multiple other women. Some of these may seem small, like the nightly snoring of a new bunkmate keeping another one awake all night. But these seemingly inconsequential issues lead to larger ones, such as sleep deprivation. In the show, women resort to comic measures; but these conflicts, especially in a closed and cramped environment, can quickly erupt into violence.

This is the case in Litchfield as well. Conflicts quickly turn into threats or actual attacks. While prison socializing has always been racially segregated, some of it now becomes racialized and racist. Some of the new white women, noting that they are in the minority among the large numbers of Latina and Black women being shuttled in, are unwittingly pushed by Piper to form a white power group. They hurl racist epithets at the women of color and, when they spot a lone Dominican woman on the stairs, move together to attack her.

Prison staff perpetuate the violence, using their authority to do so. They begin their own version of “stop and frisk” in the prison’s hallways, targeting the growing Latina population. While the body searches in and of themselves are humiliating, the (male) guards also take advantage of the additional security measure to grope and further abuse the women. They even force women into fighting, which they then bet on—a nod to the actual allegations of guard-instigated gladiator fights in California’s prisons and the San Francisco County Jail.

Although not everything in OITNB is realistic, the problems the show portrays in this respect reflect the frequent results of overcrowding—and some of its causes. As OITNB notes repeatedly throughout the season, private prisons receive money per person, so it’s in the company’s interest to lock up as many people as possible.

In 2014, for example, private prison contractor GEO Group contracted with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) to open and operate a women’s prison north of Bakersfield, California. Under the terms of the contract, California pays GEO Group $94.50 per person per day for the first 260 women sent to that prison. The contract also includes an opportunity for the company to expand its prison by another 260 beds—although, if it does that, the state only pays $86.95 per person per day. But even at that lower rate, doubling the occupancy increases the private prison’s overall four-year revenue from roughly $38 million to $66 million. (As of June 8, 2016, that prison held 223 people.)

But prison overcrowding isn’t limited to private prisons. In some states, the “tough on crime” laws passed in the 1980s and 1990s are still leading to crammed public prisons today.

California, for instance, is one of the most egregious examples of such legislation leading to prison overcrowding. Years of extreme overcrowding ultimately led to Brown v. Plata, a class-action lawsuit charging that the state’s severely crowded prisons prevented it from providing adequate medical and mental health care, thus violating the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment. In 2011, the U.S. Supreme Court agreed and ordered California to decrease its state prison population from 180 to 137.5 percent capacity.

To do so, the CDCR took several actions: It began shipping thousands of men to private prisons in Arizona, Mississippi, and Oklahoma. In addition, it converted Valley State Prison for Women, one of its three women’s prisons, into a men’s prison, and transferred the approximately 1,000 women there from Valley State Prison for Women to two other prisons—the Central California Women’s Facility (CCWF) and the California Institution for Women (CIW). It also opened the 523-bed Folsom Women’s Facility in January 2013.

Despite these efforts, overcrowding continues to plague California’s prisons. As of June 8, CCWF was at 143.6 percent capacity; while CIW was at 129 percent capacity.

Even before the influx of women from Valley State Prison, though, the numbers of people packed into CIW had led to reports of violence from inside. In 2012, Jane, who has been incarcerated at CIW for several years, wrote in a letter that was later reprinted in Tenacious, “When eight women of widely disparate ages, social backgrounds, ethnicities and interests share a 246-square foot cell, there are bound to be conflicts, and there is little tolerance for any behaviors that are different.” She recounted a woman named Anna who spoke little English and was mentally ill.

“Little Anna has spent the last several weeks being alternately beaten up by her cellmates, who don’t understand her behaviors, or drugged into a drooling stupor in the Specialty Care Unit,” Jane wrote. According to Jane, housing staff ignored the violence. When Anna tried to complain to a higher-ranking staff member, Jane said that correctional officers, “angry at her inability to follow directions, threw her to the floor, cuffed her hands behind her back and twisted her arms until she screamed in pain.”

Two years later, after women from Valley State Prison were moved to CIW, Jane wrote in a second letter published in Tenacious, “What this overcrowding has created in terms of living conditions is continued horrendous health care and failed mental health care.”

The situation seems to have persisted. As noted earlier, women have also reported a pervading sense of hopelessness, exacerbated in part by the inability to access mental health care. CIW has a suicide rate that reportedly is eight times the national rate for women behind bars. In 2015, it had two suicides and 35 attempts. As of June 16, 2016, there have been two successful suicides and nine attempts. “A lot of us are only hanging on by hope alone. In a hopeless place, most don’t make it,” one woman told Rewire one month before her friend’s suicide this past April.

In many men’s prisons, overcrowding is even more severe. Valley State Prison, now a men’s prison, is currently at 172 percent capacity. The vast majority of the state’s other male prisons operate at over 100 percent capacity.

But it’s not just California that suffers from prison overcrowding. Oklahoma, which has especially harsh sentencing laws—particularly for drug offenses—has the country’s highest rate of incarceration for women. And the number of those behind bars continues to rise: In 2014, the state imprisoned 2,979 women, a 9.3 percent increase from the 2,702 women imprisoned the year before.

Mary Fish has been incarcerated at Oklahoma’s Mabel Bassett Correctional Center (MBCC) for the past 15 years. She told Rewire that prison administrators recently added 40 more beds to each unit, increasing its capacity from 1,055 to 1,291. (As of June 13, 1,250 women were incarcerated at MBCC.) This has led to competition, even for state-guaranteed items like cafeteria food (especially fresh fruit, which is infrequent in many prisons). “This overcrowding is all about who can get up there and bull dog [sic] their way to the front of the line,” she wrote in a letter to Rewire. She said that two days earlier, the prison’s cafeteria was serving bananas with lunch. But, even though each woman only received one banana, by the time she reached the window, all of the bananas were gone.

“It really gives new meaning to overcrowded,” Fish reflected. “Bodies rubbing in passing, kind of space-less, boundary-less environment. I’ve never had so much human contact in the 15 years I’ve been incarcerated.”

The state’s medium-security women’s prison, the Eddie Warrior Correctional Center (capacity 988) currently holds 1,010 women. “There are huge overcrowded dorms crammed with bunk beds and steel lockers,” wrote “Gillian” in a letter to Rewire, later printed in Tenacious, shortly after being transferred from MBCC to Eddie Warrior. “The population is young, transient and the majority are disrespectful. They have no clue how to live successfully in a crowded communal environment. The dorms are filthy, loud and chaotic for the most part. There is no peace.”

The situations in Oklahoma and California are only two examples of how state prison overcrowding affects those locked up inside. Institutions in other states, including Alabama, North Dakota, and Nebraska, have also long been overcrowded.

On OITNB, the private corporation in charge plans to bring even more women to Litchfield to increase revenue. But in real life, as state budgets grow leaner and prison justice advocates continue to press for change, local legislators are beginning to rethink their incarceration policies. In California, a recently proposed ballot measure would change parole requirements and allow for early release for those with nonviolent convictions if they enroll in prison education programs or earn good behavior credits. If the ballot garners at least 585,407 voter signatures, it will be added to the state’s November ballot.

In Oklahoma, meanwhile, where the state now spends $500 million a year on incarceration, former Republican house speaker and leader of the coalition Oklahomans for Criminal Justice Reform Kris Steele is pushing for two ballot measures—one that allows reclassifying offenses like drug possession from felonies to misdemeanors, and another that sets up a new fund that would redirect the money spent on incarceration for low-level offenses back to community programs focused on rehabilitation and treating the root causes of crime.

Still, these changes have been slow in coming. In the meantime, individuals continue to be sent to prison, even if it means more bunk beds and less space to move (not to mention the devastation caused by breaking up families). “Last week, Oklahoma County brought a whole big RV-looking bus to deliver a bunch of women here to [Assessment and Reception],” Fish, at MBCC, noted in a May 2016 letter to Rewire.

The following week, she told Rewire, “They keep crowding us. There’s no room to even walk on the sidewalks.” Fish regularly reads the local newspapers in the hopes of learning about pending legislation to ease overcrowding and allow for early release. Though the senate recently passed four bills that may reduce the number of people being sent to prison, she feels that the new laws won’t help those currently trapped inside. “It’s getting pretty awful, and it looks like no bills passed to help us so there’s NO END IN SIGHT.”

Culture & Conversation Human Rights

‘I’m Not Saying Anything That’s Radical’: A Q&A With Matt McGorry

Regina Mahone

Matt McGorry spoke with Rewire about his experience working at the intersections of Hollywood and activism, how personal fitness is nothing like social justice awareness work, and why more men should care about targeted regulations of abortion providers.

You may have seen Matt McGorry’s face splashed across the internet today along with his co-stars promoting season four of Netflix’s hit show Orange Is the New Black. But this interview isn’t about that series’ latest premiere or McGorry’s role in one of my favorite ShondaLand productions, How To Get Away With Murder.

In the past year, McGorry has become an outspoken advocate for gender equality, Black Lives Matter, the importance of sexual consent via the White House’s It’s On Us campaign, and reproductive rights. And I have to admit: I’ve been a bit skeptical of all the headlines about him. For womenespecially Black women, who are constantly being talked over—seeing white men praised in the media for talking about what we’ve been talking about for decades with often zero recognition can feel about the same as when partners are praised for “babysitting” their own kids or for making dinner. As even McGorry will admit, “it can be triggering,” and the actor said that he was planning to pause interviews about his social justice work so he could actually “reflect and figure out a way to have deeper impact.”

But after speaking with him before the annual Gloria Awards in late April and then again in May via phone about everything from the film Captain America: Civil War to targeted regulation of abortion providers (TRAP) laws, I can report that McGorry’s not mansplaining or looking for applause. It’s the media that must focus less on how much of a bae he is and more on how other aspiring allies and accomplices can learn from him. So that’s what this interview is about.

McGorry and I spoke at length about his experience working at the intersections of Hollywood and activism, how personal fitness is nothing like social justice awareness work, and why reproductive rights is a men’s issue.

Here is an edited transcript of our conversation.

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Rewire: You talk a lot about being an advocate for gender equality. What does that mean, and what does that look like in practice?

Matt McGorry: There are obviously many different ways to do it. I think as a man, a big part of it is learning to understand and parse apart my privilege and my understanding of that, essentially how it influences my life and the choices that I’ve made in the past and the choices I continue to make even in doing the work. And continually learning and reading books and reading articles. It’s really about listening, and part of that listening is self-education. And part of that is talking to and being open to conversations with people in my life who are women or people of color when it comes to racial issues, but still being aware of the fact that it’s not women’s responsibility or people of color’s responsibility to educate me about these things.

I have to be careful that I’m not requiring that of people that I’m talking to who are marginalized. Sometimes I won’t be wanted or invited to conversations, and that’s OK too. And sometimes they won’t even tell me that they don’t necessarily want me in the conversation, and I have to be aware of that and take that into consideration as well.

I have been fortunate enough to have a platform due to acting that, since I have a certain number of followers [on social media], as I’m educating myself on these issues, I can retweet or repost articles or videos. I think that’s valuable for people to do even if they don’t have a following of my size.

One of the friends who got me very interested in Black Lives Matter was posting about these issues—and, unfortunately, it took my friend who’s a white man … to get me to pay attention. But sometimes that is the unfortunate nature of privilege.

It’s not that I need to be telling Black people about Black Lives Matter and I don’t need to be telling women about gender issues, but I need to be telling the people who are in my position. Some people have said that it’s useful to be able to point to me when talking to their white male friends about these things … I think there is some value for other men to see a man who says, “I am a feminist.” But it’s now asking myself the question: How do I make a deeper impact?

Rewire: You’ve written and spoken about how it’s only been a year in your journey as a feminist. Tell us what that experience has been like up to this point.

MM: I’m starting to examine my own views on the world … I don’t care how well your parents raised you or how inclusive your parents are—and my parents were very inclusive. You still grow up in a society where your media, your peers, and all these outside forces are pushing you toward sexism, racism, and all these things in a very insidious way. So … I then said I want to hold myself to a higher standard, but you don’t even know what that looks like at that time.

As you start learning about injustices, you start to realize aspects of your own self that are problematic. And that can be painful because, in these moments of realization, someone calls you out and you already feel like this is a risk. Obviously, the risk that I take in speaking about these things is relative to the risk that people who are not white or men or cis or straight take in this.

Rewire: I do wonder if there is a bit of a tension between the celebrity aspect of your identity, which may be about promoting the self, and the activist aspect, which is about lifting up other people who are not as privileged. How do you navigate that?

MM: I’m always thinking about it and always trying to figure out what might be the best way … as I have had opportunities like this or getting on the Nightly Show to say these things, it was important for me to have enough education on these topics, and conversations [with people] in real life to know how to not fuck up something like that, and to hopefully be more of service to any of these movements than to make it about myself, therefore excluding people and not being able to have as much of an impact. 

There’s not any [clear-cut path with these things] … I can ask women in my life about issues of feminism, and they are going to disagree with other women. And there are people online who don’t think that men should call themselves feminists. It was a conflicting moment for me actually when I was nominated [through an online poll, by supporters] as a potential “Feminist Celebrity of the Year.”

It’s a tricky conversation and has to be had with the right people because … essentially feminism is about gender equality. I think even in the community the word does tend to be gendered … and there were people, even friends of mine, who were like this [nomination] feels wrong.

I said, what if it was “Gender Equality Advocate of the Year,” would that feel different? And a lot of the time they would say, yeah maybe, which is very telling about our own perception with how we gender the word that we know is not really supposed to be gendered.

Bridging the gap between celebrity culture and [advocacy] is tricky … [but] if we’re not making ourselves uncomfortable, then we’re not really growing and we’re not forcing other people to grow too.

Rewire: It’s like when you decide to go on a diet, right? In order to go on this diet, you need to change your lifestyle. You want to exercise more, you want to start eating healthier, but often the people around you will say, “What is wrong with you? You’re acting strange.” Has that been your experience?

MM: I’ve never inherently been someone who likes confrontation. I was a personal trainer for ten years and even then I never really liked to force anyone to do anything. I would have clients come in and say, “Well, how much should I weigh,” or “What body type should I be”? I would answer, “Well, it’s whatever you want it to be. If you’re happy the way you’re now, then that’s great. Let’s work out, have fun, and keep you healthy. But if you have an issue with the way you look or with your health, let’s examine that.”

But social justice work is different from the world of personal training. In the world of fitness and personal training, it’s all very much personal preference. I do believe there is a right way of treating other people in this world, and I think that’s why activists and social justice work can quickly get so radical. It’s because, as soon as you see that you’ve been doing things wrong for a long time and then essentially, if there is a right way to do the things, it’s hard to pace oneself in terms of how much you try to turn other people to that as well and—I’m only a year in doing this. I’m engaged to see how the journey evolves over time, but I’m in a optimistic stage right now.

I feel like it’s quite possible that two years from now or a year from now, I won’t be arguing with someone like Piers Morgan because I’ll realize that he might not ever get it.

I think there was a value to having that conversation about what he thinks of as “reverse racism.” Having that conversation publicly in a way that other people can see it as well, even if he doesn’t get it. But it’s a very strange process. Because, it felt like the moment that I understood how bad things were, was the moment I felt compelled to act. There’s a bit of a disconnect for me [when I see] people that do understand it or that have some understanding of it or are starting to understand it, but that don’t act.

And what I’ve found is anyone who doesn’t take action on these things doesn’t really fully understand them yet. We can understand there is a problem with how our criminal justice system is run in our country, but I think understanding it in a really full and deep way and understanding how … someone like me gets to benefit from the criminal justice system that essentially keeps us safe but doesn’t keep everyone else safe in quite the same way.

Rewire: So, you have aligned yourself as an ally with various social justice movements. Are there any issues in particular within these movements that you’re most concerned with?

MM: In terms of racial justice issues, I would say that The New Jim Crow has had a profound effect on me and my view of the criminal justice system, and according to [its author] Michelle Alexander, that’s the biggest issue of our time, or what she calls the New Jim Crow. And so that’s been the thing that has stood out the most for me—how the “war on drugs” disproportionately has had negative effects on communities of color.

People are still serving lifetime sentences for first-time nonviolent drug crimes. And getting to meet in Washington, D.C., a number of these people who have received clemency from different administrations and are now free and are now really incredible members of their communities who are advocating for at-risk youth and other incarcerated individuals—I mean it’s incredible.

We have these internal biases—a lot of us do—that if someone ended up in prison, [we think] they must have done something that was terrible and violent. It’s not to say that drugs are good, but people make bad choices and people are more likely to make bad choices when they don’t have a lot of choices available to them.

Understanding what other people don’t have the luxury of has made me appreciate and understand more what I have had the luxury of growing up. Things that I didn’t even particularly like—I didn’t really enjoy much of classes in college or being tutored in high school or taking SAT prep classes—but those things are actually all privileges. And it does put me in a more advantageous position to succeed if I do have those opportunities available.

The criminal justice stuff for me stands out in a very big way because it’s just something that I’ve been totally blind to my whole life. I think what the book is very successful in accomplishing is forcing us to look at how we discriminated against criminals or people who have been incarcerated and how we justify the tactic, and we think that that’s okay.

Rewire: Earlier this year you launched a fundraiser to benefit NARAL Pro-Choice America. Why was it important for you to advocate for reproductive rights?

MM: A lot of men don’t understand it, or that this group is under attack, because of the TRAP laws and all this new legislation that people are trying to push. And again, as it always is with any of these issues, it’s really important to have people with privilege give a shit and say something and stand up against [bad policies].

These are not just women’s issues: They are human issues and human rights issues. In my mind, staying silent on this stuff when you have an opportunity to say something is essentially just telling women, “It’s your problem to deal with pro-choice issues.” That’s not fair and it’s not right.

We [as a society] need more men who care, and who care enough to say something. I’ve come to believe that if you say that you care about a thing but you don’t actually do something about it, you can’t really say that you care that much.

You might feel like you care. You might, if you had the choice to make abortion legal everywhere, you might wave the magic wand and say yes. But if you’re not willing to take a risk on for yourself, then you’re really not doing the work that needs to be done.

And I actually lost an opportunity because of the shirt. But it’s important for people in my position to be willing to make those sacrifices. The more men we have speaking out about these things, the less anyone else has to take the brunt of all these attacks.

If enough men gave a shit about women’s reproductive rights, these clinics would be staying open, and these TRAP laws wouldn’t be going into effect. The problem is, ultimately, not as many men care about these issues as women do.

Rewire: You spoke in a recent interview about how important it was to your gaining a deeper level of consciousness that you are working on shows like Orange Is the New Black and How to Get Away With Murder that allow you to wave your intersectional feminist flag with pride. What about the folks who aren’t in those environments? Just thinking about what it might be like if your next gig isn’t as “woke.” How do you see people navigating those spaces?

MM: I’m not in a place in my life where I have enough money to live even an extended period of time without working .… There is almost a guarantee that at some point in my future where I will work with someone on a project who is problematic, and I unfortunately won’t necessarily be able to call it out in a way that I would want to.

I have thought about that and I dread that day.

I just saw Captain America: Civil War, and there’s a great quote in that movie that resonated for me in terms of the social justice work. The theme behind it is that the United Nations wants to govern the Avengers and some of them do think it’s okay to be governed and some of them don’t want to be governed.

The quote is, “Compromise where you can. But where you can’t, don’t.” That’s not an easy thing to figure out, where you can and can’t. But it is an important part [of the work] and it’s one that’s a continual process.

I also think that part of the thing that scared me initially [about taking a stand] was I’m not always going to know what opportunities don’t come to me because of this stuff. The director is not going to call me up. They are going to go another way and you are not going to know.

I think for people who think they can’t speak out in some way, there is always other work to be done. There is always volunteering, community organizing, and having conversations with people [in small groups and] educating them.

I hope that I’ll be able to stay as much in line with my beliefs as possible as time goes on. It’s a constant process of figuring out and navigating, and I think it always will be. Any time you’re trying to go against the status quo, that’s not going to be a simple task.

Rewire: In the past year, you’ve gone from posting on Facebook about the gender pay gap and writing for Cosmo about your feminism to calling out Piers Morgan on Twitter about his response to Beyoncé’s Lemonade. In the spirit of trope-ing, why are you such an angry white man speaking about these injustices?

MM: There is a component of it that I’m never [taking] the direct brunt of this, of speaking out about these issues the way, for example, that Black women are. And I’m not getting that same backlash and hate and threats of violence against me.

So when I do speak to other people about this, I try to remind myself that the less angry I can be or the less angry at least I can appear to be, the more effective I think I am at having these conversations. That has to be the paramount thing, because I am angry but I am not angry from a first-person perspective having to experience these things directly.

There are too many people who don’t listen to Black women for example, and claim that it is because they are too angry. As you know, if someone is telling you the right thing, even if they are not telling you it in the way that you want to hear, it is important to listen to them as much as you can.

Ultimately white people, white men, need to be more outraged with the injustices of racism and discrimination than we are when someone is telling us that they don’t like something that we are doing, for example.

I think if I’m talking to people whose points of view I simply couldn’t help but be infuriated by, I probably don’t need to be talking to them, because they are not welcoming any sort of actual dialogue.

It’s unfortunate that some of the deeply, deeply bigoted people are harder to [communicate with] and are not going to change through social media posts. But most of my work is really focused on how do I activate and change the minds of those people who really are interested in justice and maybe don’t understand these things fully, and don’t understand how to be an ally or that they even can be an ally as a white person. For me, if we can get enough people in these positions to care and to take action, there would be a point of critical mass that would pull the rest of everyone else even further toward the side of progress, whether they wanted to or not.

It’s what Martin Luther King said in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”—he said that the KKK is not the greatest stumbling block for the African American; it’s the white moderate who prefers order rather than justice. And who says, essentially what in today’s terms would be, “Whoa, you are being too loud” or “You should not go to these political rallies and yell Black Lives Matter.” It’s the people who prefer the order, who think, “not now, this is not the time or the place.”

I read in an article a while back how the movement [for racial justice] doesn’t need allies; it needs accomplices. That was an interesting way to think about [the work white people like me can do] too. We need to be there getting our hands dirty and taking on some of the risks, even in Hollywood, where we pretend we’re expressing those [messages], but we’re really not.

Again, I’m not saying anything that’s radical or that women and people of color haven’t been saying for years.

This interview, which was conducted in-person and later finished on the phone, has been edited for clarity and length.