Anatomy of a Message — Cindy Olnick

Prepping for a webinar last week, I came across a link from the Boston Preservation Alliance to an Instagram video by Tory Bullock.

I was looking for examples of preservation groups sharing the mic with Black Americans. Little did I know I’d find an inspired example of advocacy messaging.

With candor, kindness, and humor, the artist and activist suggested how white people can be helpful right now. The issue at hand was Boston’s copy of the Emancipation Group statue (the original’s in DC).

Also called the Freedman’s Memorial, the statue depicts Abraham Lincoln standing over the crouching Archer Alexander, a formerly enslaved man.

Tory described how the statue has bothered him since childhood: “’I would always ask myself ‘If he's free why is he still on his knees?’”

I lived in Boston for 15 years and don’t recall ever noticing this statue. Ever.

Did Tory want people to show up and pull it down? Nope. He wanted us to sign his petition to the City to remove it peacefully.

After the webinar, I went to Tory’s IG feed for the rest of the story. Eleven days after his request, Tory posted an update: the petition had 12,000 signatures, people had called the City in protest, and the Boston Art Commission (which had been assessing its problematic monuments since 2018) would vote on the issue the following week.

The day after the BAC meeting, Tory’s triumphant third video celebrated the commission’s unanimous decision to remove the statue. He offered generous thanks—then gave us our marching orders.

The videos got thousands of views, and Tory has done mainstream press as well. But what struck me—in addition to my personal cluelessness (see “I lived in Boston for 15 years”⬆︎)—was how naturally he delivered some of the best advocacy messaging I’ve seen. Here’s how.

Instant connection

“Hey, white people,” Tory starts, acknowledging the outpouring of statements, social shares, and other professions of solidarity since our racial reckoning began. He invites us to pour that same energy into listening and taking action. “If you’re gonna act like you care, I need you to care.”

A compelling story, in context

He ties his personal story – a vivid, passionate account of how it feels to grow up seeing the statue – with the broader context, including Frederick Douglass’s response after the original memorial’s dedication in 1876. (Douglass also delivered quite a speech the day of the dedication.)

A vision of the future

Tory has a specific purpose: to have the statue removed, civilly, by the powers that be. Beyond that, (perhaps) with tongue in cheek, he describes a world where he can take his son to a museum called Crazy Stuff that White People Used to Believe In (filled with this statue and others like it). Yes, please.

Clear calls to action

Really simple, really clear. First, sign the petition. Then:

Sincere gratitude for specific impact

After the BAC vote, he thanks supporters and explains exactly how they helped. To those who signed the petition: “You guys gave me legitimacy…” To those who spoke at the hearing: “It wasn’t Tory Bullock that got these statues down, it was you guys telling your stories of your children and how they view the statue.”

He also thanks Raul Fernandez for his 2017 article about the statue, which served as a resource for him and many others. He even gives props to Boston for taking this step on the long road to racial equity.

A shared sense of purpose

Just when we think the story has reached its happy end, Tory turns the question he gets the most, back on us: What comes next?

He challenges each of us to find our purpose and act on an issue we’re personally passionate about. And he offers a shot of inspiration.

“You’re powerful. We are powerful. What’s next? We’re all next. Let’s get to work.”

Update

The City removed the statue on Tuesday, December 29, 2020. Tory was there.