Productive Tension and the Truth About 'Race'
Photo by Aditya Wardhana on Unsplash
When we talk about discomfort in conversation, many people feel their bodies tighten at words like privilege, identity, or race. But these conversations are necessary. Not because they’re easy — but because they reveal where we still have work to do. They invite truth. They hold the potential for healing. And they bring us closer to a version of community built on honesty, not just harmony.
In a recent episode of Soul Drops, I talked about something called productive tension — that uncomfortable but necessary feeling that arises when we sit in real conversation. The kind that stretches us past the surface, past the performance, and into real awareness. It came up during a gathering I attended at a Bahá'í Center for what was called "Race Unity Day," and it stuck with me.
During that event, people of all backgrounds came together to talk — really talk — about identity, division, power, and healing. And in the reflection portion, someone said, “This feels like productive tension.” That moment reminded me that discomfort isn’t always a sign that something is wrong. Sometimes, it means we’re finally getting real.
Why I Don’t Use the Word "Race"
In that episode, I also shared something I think more people need to understand: I don’t believe in race as it’s been defined by society. There is only one race — the human race. What we commonly refer to as race is more accurately ethnicity or nationality. The concept of race as a dividing category isn’t natural, spiritual, or biological. It’s political.
A Brief History: Where "Race" Came From
Before the concept of race was formalized, people identified themselves in far more nuanced and accurate ways:
Ethnicity: Shared cultural, linguistic, and ancestral heritage (e.g., Yoruba, Han, Berber, Celtic).
Region or Homeland: Geographic or national identity (e.g., Athenian, Ethiopian, Persian).
Tribe or Clan: Smaller kinship or familial units within larger communities.
Language: Dialects and mother tongues were a strong part of identity.
Religion: Faith-based identities like Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Animist, etc.
No one was calling themselves “Black” or “White” in the global sense. These categories weren’t part of how people naturally saw themselves — they were introduced by colonial powers to simplify, control, and separate. That’s why I believe it's important to reclaim the language of our identities and be intentional about how we speak.
The idea of separating humans into "races" based on physical features has roots in European colonialism. In the 17th and 18th centuries, European thinkers and rulers needed a way to justify slavery, land theft, and the exploitation of African, Indigenous, and other non-European peoples. So they created a system. A hierarchy. And they called it race.
According to historian Ibram X. Kendi in Stamped from the Beginning, early classifications by figures like Carl Linnaeus and Johann Blumenbach laid the foundation for race science. These pseudoscientific categorizations ranked humans by skin color and alleged intellect, fueling the transatlantic slave trade and white supremacy under the guise of "natural order." (Kendi, 2016)
Race was never based in biology. As scholars at the American Anthropological Association have stated, "The idea of race is a powerful social myth. But it is not biological." (AAA, 1998)
What Productive Tension Teaches Us
In Soul Drops, I shared that productive tension feels like a stretch in your chest — the moment where your mind wants to close but your heart is still listening. It’s when you’re being asked to hold space for something that challenges you — and instead of shutting it down, you lean in.
It’s being willing to hear perspectives that challenge your own. It’s sitting in silence after someone shares something heavy, without rushing to fix or defend. It’s staying open, even when part of you wants to walk away.
This kind of tension makes space for growth. It deepens empathy. It builds bridges — not by ignoring the pain, but by walking through it with intention.
At that Bahá'í gathering, I saw people who didn’t look like each other — didn’t come from the same places, same generations, or same beliefs — sitting together in truth. That’s not just community. That’s love.
Not the kind of love you post for likes. The kind that chooses to keep showing up when things get hard. The kind that understands healing doesn’t always feel good — but it always feels necessary.
Final Thoughts
If we want to move forward — together — we have to be willing to challenge language, systems, and even ourselves. Unity isn’t the absence of conflict. It’s the willingness to face it — with honesty, patience, and a steady heart.
Let’s keep talking. Let’s keep listening. Let’s keep creating spaces where productive tension is welcomed — because the world we’re trying to build is worth the discomfort it takes to get there.