In
the interest of full disclosure, I am a Southern born, white female
raised in a Democrat-turned-Republican household that supported
desegregation and my dad was appointed to Nixon's sub-cabinet. I'm
also a recovering union stage manager, recovering Southern Baptist,
current Chinese Medicine practitioner, Democratic Independent and
Taoist - oh, and bisexual, hetero-monochromatically married mother of
a 10 year old boy, living in Baltimore. Needless to say, I've got a
lot going on and there are people in my life from all across the
spectrum.
That
being said, regardless with whom I engage, what I'm hearing over and
over again is that we all need to change how we move in the world.
The time for being armchair activists is over.
Years
ago, when GW got elected a second time, much to my horror, I decided
I needed to know why intelligent, compassionate people, that I loved,
had voted for him a second time. So, I called one of my sisters and
asked.
I
did not say, “How the hell could you do that?”
I
said, “I'm calling to ask you a question – not to be political or
to argue but because I really want and need to know the answer. Why
did you vote for him a second time? I need you to explain it to me
because I just can't reconcile it with who I know you to be.”
And
so, she did. The conversation that ensued was eye-opening and amazing
and important. We did not change each other's point of view and yet,
we came to understand why we each did what we did in a way that was
healing and brought us closer.
We
are not all meant to get along and agree on everything. There are
just too many of us on the planet for that to be feasible. As one
might guess, I'm not fond of boxes. I learned years ago not to assume
that people fall neatly into ideological groups by what race,
profession, gender, or whatever they are. For example, I knew a a
theatrical technical director that was Republican. Who knew?! And
what a surprise when I learned that not all lesbians were well read,
interesting people.
It
is tempting, however, to want to insulate ourselves from those that
think and behave differently than we do. It can be a very needed form
of protection. For a while. It if becomes a habit, though, we become
too insular. The circle gets too small and chokes the humanity out of
us. This is why I continue to engage with people with whom I, often
vehemently, disagree.
I'm
drawing a bigger circle, however painful that may be. One we can all
live in. Because I believe that is the only thing that can save us.
I am not saying condone abhorrent behavior. I'm saying find the
common ground where healing can begin. As the poet, Rumi, would say,
“There is a field out beyond right and wrong. I'll meet you there.”
I'm willing to meet anyone there, who is willing to do the work.
This
brings me to G, whom I knew in high school and have reconnected with
on Facebook. We are on opposite sides of the political and social
spectrum. We are also both white. We disagree on everything from the
environment to politics to U.S. race relations. There are many times
I have wanted to shake him by his ears and on occasion, unfriend him.
I haven't, though. Articulating the things I feel strongly about so
that I hope he can hear them has taught me to hone my intention and
language in a way that draws that bigger circle. It is important that
our entire dialogue exists in type for all the Facebook world to see
and I am very aware that our discussions are not just for us. It's
like having guests over for dinner. Suddenly, everyone's table
manners are better. Both G and I are very aware of the wording of our
interactions and have, in the past, labored for actual months to be
able to find one sentence of common ground between us.
And
we found it.
Because
I continue to have these types of conversations with my family and
friends and strangers, I understand the fear and passion and sadness
of “the other side” while honing a clearer and clearer
understanding of what I hold dear and why. Were I only preaching to
the choir, none of us would learn anything and the world would remain
a very small place.
Through
these discussions, I have not only learned more environmental
science, political history, and social history but I have also gained
more understanding of the lived experience of being transgender, a
person of color, Muslim, Jewish, devote Christian, Republican, died
in the wool Democrat, socialist, conservative, a member of the police
and so many other things. Most importantly, it has informed my
experience and understanding of being white, Southern, female,
educated, and American, and how that impacts me and everyone around
me.
It's
a practice. I don't always get it right. And I keep practicing.
Because
of these conversations, when I am with my friends, family, strangers
and my patients, I have more ease in asking, “How are you? How are
you holding up?” after the killings of unarmed black people, GLBTQ
people, and white police officers - or in the case of Native
Americans, knowing why not to ask, “Did you have a good 4th?”
or “How was your Thanksgiving?”.
Then
– here's the important part - just listening - to their pain and
sadness and anger without judgment, my heart open to the point of
breaking and yet, not making it about me. If I can do this for
others, then I know, when my heartbreak comes, they will do it for me
because the circle is big enough for all of us and together we will
heal.
Eloquent. Compelling. Important.
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