Directing: A-
Writing: A
Cinematography: B+
Editing: A

More than once as I watched Who We Are: A Chronicle of Racism in America, I thought about the many Black creators I follow on social media, particularly on TikTok, who put in the work to educate white Americans—and white people around the world, really—and regularly note that they accept donations for their labor. They are certainly well within their rights to accept compensation for offering education for people who are perfectly capable of finding the information themselves. And so, I wonder: how much was writer, activist and lawyer Jeffery Robinson—who is also Deputy Legal Director and Director of the Trone Center for Justice & Equality at the ACLU—compensated, both for the TED Talk-like presentation he gave in New York City on Juneteenth 2018, and for the adapted film, largely consisting of footage from that talk, now in theaters? I certainly don’t personally need to know exactly how much he was paid. I’m only saying I sure hope he was compensated handsomely for this work.

Because it isn’t work he has to do, or even that he should have to do. Lucky for all of us, somehow, he still feels compelled to do it. Who We Are does not spend very much time with Robinson’s interactions with those who disagree with him, but early on in the film, there is a sequence in which he has a brief debate with a man in Charlotte, North Carolina, who is waving the Confederate flag and insisting the Civil War wasn’t really about slavery. Robinson quickly has enough of it, but walks away on cordial and friendly terms with the guy—later reflecting on how he doesn’t know if he can ever get through to such people, but if he doesn’t try, “he’ll definitely never change.” And my immediate thought was: why should you have to try? Other white people should be putting in the work to change that Southern white man’s mind.

Evidently, Robinson doesn’t have to do this work; he wants to. And it’s clear throughout this incredible and enlightening film, he’s really never talking to any fellow people of color here, or certainly not other Black people. I can’t fathom recommending this movie to any Black people, who, sure, almost certainly will learn specific details about American history that they didn’t already know, but who won’t walk away with any new information about the role of racism in America that they didn’t already know. This is a movie written and presented by a Black man, and made for white people. And they only way America will truly move forward is if more white people pay real attention to things like this.

Robinson talks a lot about symbolism, and how it is either used by white supremacist systems as a means of oppression, or to downplay the impact of such systems. A lot of images are brought up on the screen behind him onstage, which have deep, often disturbing meaning in context: the 1859 Slave Patrol badge, widely seen as a precursor to present-day sheriff badges. In one of the documentary segments away from the stage, when Robinson is traveling to other parts of the country, he presents us with images of the “Steps to Nowhere.” These are the many staircases to houses destroyed in the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre, but which were never rebuilt. They are now just concrete staircases that go up to grass.

It would be easy to assume Who We Are is just preaching to the choir, as happens so often with films like this. It’s striking that this film even got a theatrical release given the current financial climate of the film industry: granted I went to a very early showing just after noon on a Sunday, but I was the only person in the theater I went to. Good for Covid safety; bad for getting this movie in front of more eyeballs. Nothing about this movie demands that it be seen on the big screen, so hopefully it will be available on a streamer soon. Because it is indeed vital viewing, regardless of the size of the screen. And it won’t be preaching to the choir, far from it—Jeffery Robinson takes the Chronicle part of the title pretty literally, tracking the major “tipping points” of possibly moving toward racial justice in this country, from its founding to the present day. You won’t just be hearing things you already know, and you certainly won’t just be told what you want to hear.

That said, Robinson certainly knows who his audience is here—again, it’s white Americans—and he comes to us with a level of understanding and empathy far too seldom afforded Black people in this country. And although this feels very much like his movie, Who We Are is co-directors Emily Kunstler and Sarah Kunstler, who happen to be both white women. While I often openly wish movies that are about people of color were directed and/or written by people of color as well, in this case it feels appropriate, given the very specific conversation happening here—and, again, given that Robinson is the credited writer. These three have clearly collaborated very effectively, without ever falling into the common trap of centering whiteness in conversations about race. Not even when Robinson meets with a close childhood friend from Memphis who is white, or when he learns about white family friends who helped his parents buy a house the realtor would not sell to his Black parents.

Such scenes help illuminate who Jeffery Robinson is as a person, and how he came to where he is today, but they are far from the most impactful scenes in the movie, which is as it should be. The broader message of Who We Are is right there in the title, with example after example of America refusing to reconcile its elevated vision of itself with the darkest parts of its history and legacy—most specifically, slavery. Early on, Robinson tells his audience that the history of slavory is not their responsibility (a particular point that is up for debate among many), “but it is our shared history.” White America isn’t even comfortable with that idea, but Who We Are is a film that will help them take the tiniest of steps closer to it. And tiny or not, every step counts.

*Only when we come to terms with how far we* haven’t *come, do we have any hope of getting much further.*

Overall: A