Deborah Chilcoat, MEd
Arianna de la Mancha
February 12, 2026
The rage is exhausting these days. Not aligning lockstep with those you respect and love is terrifying. And being iced out—for any reason, or no reason at all—is crushing. If this is resonating with you, you’ve got to read Calling In: How to Start Making Change with Those You’d Rather Cancel (2025) by Loretta J. Ross.
Loretta Ross is no stranger to intense feelings and reactions about injustices in our world as a social justice activist since the 1970s and one of the mothers of the reproductive justice movement. However, after decades of doing this work, she has arrived at the practice of “calling in,” and I think she is right in saying that this approach may be the only way we are going to actualize a more humane, empathic society in which people’s rights are not trampled upon or stripped outright.
Without investing time and energy in one another, nothing changes.
Ross writes that Ngọc Loan Trần’s practice of “calling in” reminds us that we are fully capable of building connections with those with whom we disagree, genuinely listening to their experiences and beliefs, and the values they hold, and getting to know them as individuals rather than lumping them together based on preconceived notions or what an algorithm feeds them. Without investing time and energy in one another, nothing changes. We will sustain our pain, be afraid of conflict, and isolate ourselves. Nothing will change.
What is “calling in?” It’s simple and complex, simultaneously, and certainly why Ross’s book gripped me so strongly. She describes calling in as a rigorous practice and an appeal to join together and soften our stance in small and large ways to achieve a common goal. Calling in is an opportunity to heal “our relationships with ourselves and others, which requires radical forgiveness and radical love” (p.30). Every moment of every day, we have a choice to call someone in rather than calling them out.
Deb’s Take: The Choice of Calling In
I love that Ross shares stories and reflects on a time in her life and work when calling people out was the tactic she relied on and her “go-to” response when conflict arose. She talks about how a call-out is thrilling and addictive because of the power that comes with it. Sometimes, dishing out sharp words and spewing rage does feel good in the moment. The problem is that when the moment ends, as Ross writes, call-outs do serious damage. They hurt and alienate people, even allies and potential allies, and damage relationships and reputations.
For those who have been on the receiving end of a call-out (and who hasn’t?), they likely steer clear of the person who called them out, and similar situations, in the future for fear of getting called out again. It is demoralizing and humiliating. The target of a call-out has their dignity and power often stripped bare.
When trying to change the world—or your corner of the world, at least—for the better, call-outs, according to Ross, should be reserved for times “when they target powerful people beyond our reach and when public scrutiny is a strategic weapon we deploy against the unreachably powerful” (p. 42).
Ross shares poignant stories in her book to make the point that calling in is more effective—and less violent—than calling out. She notes, “that all of the successful organizations and movements I’d been a part of had been able to succeed because they adopted the tenets of calling in before we’d even been able to put a name to these practices” (p.31).
Is calling in easy? Not in the least. We are human after all, willing to scrap verbally and/or physically to defend everything we (think we) know, believe, and possess. We’ve been taught not to compromise because it makes us seem weak. The problem with that way of thinking and being is that we remain isolated, ignorant, hurt, and afraid.
We can choose to adopt the practice of calling in, or not. What will you choose?
Arianna’s Take: The Quiet Work of Calling In
Reading Loretta Ross’s Calling In stayed with me longer than I expected. Not because it felt easy or comforting—but because it challenged something I’ve been holding tightly: the instinct to protect my peace at all costs.
One idea that keeps echoing for me is Ross’s reminder that people can evolve. Minds can change. Values can shift. But the path to that change is rarely clean or linear. It’s filled with missteps, awkward conversations, defensive reactions, and harm along the way. That reality doesn’t excuse harm—but it does complicate the way we think about accountability, growth, and connection.
I find myself constantly toggling between a genuine desire to build bridges and a very real need to protect myself.
I think that complication is exactly why so many people resist Ross’s ask to “call people in.” I know I do. I find myself constantly toggling between a genuine desire to build bridges and a very real need to protect myself. In the current moment, it often feels unproductive—or even unsafe—to try to understand “the other side,” especially when those beliefs are rooted in hate or actively deny the humanity of others. There’s a deep exhaustion that comes from being asked, again and again, to extend grace in situations where harm feels intentional and ongoing.
This doesn’t mean every situation deserves engagement. Protecting our peace is still necessary. Boundaries are still acts of care. But calling in offers another tool—one that reminds us that transformation, while slow and imperfect, is still possible. And that how we move through conflict matters just as much as the values we claim to hold.
I don’t have this figured out. I’m still learning when to lean in and when to step back. But Ross’s work pushes me to stay curious, even when it’s uncomfortable—and to remember that change rarely comes from silence or shame.
Photos By: Jonas Jacobsson and Julia Avamotive
