Proving it

Photo credit: www.LeanInLiveEngaged.com

I pass this rock on my walk each day. At first glance I saw:  "Black Lives Matter. Silence = Violence".  Yes! So proud to see this in my community. But when I got closer I could see what you likely noticed right away: the red spray paint is not for emphasis, it is actually painting over the word "Black" with "All". And it kinda seems like someone else came back and used red paint to highlight the "C" and "K" to make the original message stand out again. There are a lot of messages here. Let's break it down. 

The initial message of "Black Lives Matter" is important and powerful. It is a constant reminder to walkers, cyclists, and drivers passing by that justice has not yet been served for the many black men and women killed at the hands of the police and also represents the general marginalization of black people. For many, this elicits fury at systemic racism, inequalities, and a lack of sufficient response from our community leaders. 

But someone else came along and had some feelings about Black people getting (appropriate) attention for the issues at hand, stomped their feet, pouted, and despite not being in danger at all at the given time thought, "But what about me?!" They decided they were going to make sure that people heard their stomp and saw their pathetic pout in the form of red spray paint taking over someone else's message. 

But here's all it did: this person with the red spray paint actually PROVED the historical issue with the power imbalance perpetuated by white privilege and white fragility. What could be a better analogy for the history of our country than black people having a message to share and a white person getting their feelings hurt and trying to cover it up. 

So, to the pouty, red spray painter, thank you for your public reminder of why the Black Lives Matter movement is so important. The message is clear. White fragility is strong and bold and continues to attempt to silence the messages of marginalized groups. Your actions prove it. But see how the initial message still holds strong? Black individuals and communities and their allies have had enough. 

I hope this rock stays this way. I hate that someone felt the need to attempt to take over and distract from someone else's message. But supporters of the Black Lives Matter have been screaming that they are tired of being silenced and that silencing is real. This rock is just proving it.  

Things that are true

One of my career highlights is writing a book on conflict with a good friend of mine. We have spent years diving into the research and human behavior involved in conflict. And despite the, what we think are excellent strategies for engaging in and resolving conflict, we still find ourselves in the midst of emotion-fueled confusion with other humans at times. How can we be so good at this yet still stumble our way through it? For starters, we are all human. We are social beings with complex thoughts and feelings and we are all uniquely different which inherently means we will sometimes disagree. 

Last week at work, I found myself in a fairly tense conversation with someone who works in the grounds department responsible for the property my building is on. We both made several attempts to explain our perspective but they simply didn't align. I finally threw my hands up and calmly said, "we are both saying things that are true." I was simply asking for a truce. What you're saying is right. And what I'm saying is right too. We just hadn't yet discovered the overlap of those truths where the mystery of the situation existed. 

My colleagues who overheard the discussion have brought up my peace offering statement multiple times, "We are both saying things that are true." It was such a powerful pause to allow us to see we are not against each other, we simply haven't figured out how to make space for both truths. And I've started to think about where this conundrum exists in other parts of my life or the broader society. 

You can love your country and want better for it. 

You can believe science and still be confused by it. 

You can support our leaders and still be frustrated by their decisions. 

Masks can be uncomfortable and keep people safe and healthy. 

School can be essential but also risky. 

You can be faithful to your religion and let someone else live by theirs.

You can speak your truth and respect the truth of others. 

The remarkable outcome of speaking these truths together, at the same time, and making room for both (or many) is that the emotional intensity of defending your perspective falls away. When there isn’t a risk of not being seen, it’s easier to pause and see the perspectives you were previously overlooking. In any situation there is not just one but many things that are true. 

Someone Else: A reflection on loving a racist

(Image credit: PM Notes) 

I remember growing up and hearing my Grandpa say the n-word often. I knew it was a "bad word" but as a child I understood it as a bad word just like "shit", "fuck", or "bitch". Adults could say it but children couldn't. I didn't understand why it was bad or wrong. And I grew up with the implicit understanding that it was ok to get angry. Especially for men. Especially for white men. And when white men were angry they could say the n-word. 

I didn't understand the presence and performance of white supremacy, racism, and toxic masculinity in my upbringing until I was in my 20's. And it hit me hard. This post isn't about the answer or helping you figure out how to handle this in your life. This is merely my story and reflections. 

My Grandpa loved Notre Dame football, he traveled to Ireland regularly to study his ancestry, he walked several miles every day, he loved hanging in the pool, he played the harmonica, he had a deep voice that carried, and he loved beagles. All of these passions shaped my identity and show up in my day-to-day life. I loved him. Without question. He brought so much joy to our family. He contributed so much to who I am and who my family is as a collective group. 

There wasn't a single moment in which I realized he was racist. It came in waves of shock, questioning, shame, guilt, confusion, and feeling distraught. How could someone I love so dearly believe something so toxic, violent, and harmful? And a genuine question of what that says about me. If I believe so strongly in the worth of Black people, being anti-racist, fighting for social justice, and dismantling systems that perpetuate racial inequities, how could I be so blind to someone in my family who embodied the exact opposite of what I believe? Fundamental character flaw? Unconscious complacency? Am I just like him? Am I a fraud? 

My experience is not unique, I'm sure. I imagine there are many people facing familial ties that clash with their belief that Black lives matter and white privilege and white fragility exist. I'm sure like me, many people struggle in that situation. Both in how to address it in those relationships but also in how to process what that means about our own character. In the relationship with others, there are really only 3 (albeit simplified) options here: 

Ignore it. 

Cut this person out of your life. 

Confront them. 

Unfortunately for me, my grandpa is dead and has been for over a decade. I'm left with only being able to reflect on the above questions, confront the implicit bias in my family that still exists with other members, and to carefully explore where this explicit and implicit racism exists in my blood and seeps into my life. 

I'm embarrassed to admit that for many years I ignored the implicit and sometimes even the explicit racism that existed in my family. It was easier and I genuinely didn't understand how harmful it was. I didn’t recognize that ignoring it was part of my white privilege. And absolutely complicit in contributing to systems that continue to harm Black people. About 10 years ago I abandoned that approach of ignoring it. And cutting people out of my life isn't my style. So I started confronting racism as it surfaced in words and actions among my family members. But in order to do that I first had to confront how it showed up in my own words and actions. 

This wasn't easy. It was and is still exhausting, embarrassing, confusing, and at times overwhelming. I stumble and make mistakes. And it's hard to always see the implicit racism and microaggressions that I commit. Unlearning words and thoughts that have be habit for decades requires a lot of paying attention, reflecting, correcting, and not being afraid to continually make mistakes. I feel ashamed for the years I didn’t know better and for the years that felt like an acceptable excuse.  It’s hard to forgive myself. 

And I still can't come to terms with my Grandpa's view. The only understanding that I've gained is that racism runs deep. Through generations, ideologies, and is perpetuated by people within those systems who look away. I don't know that I've changed anyone else’s thinking. But I do know that with the people in my family whom I've confronted, our relationships are more authentic and I am more skilled at naming racism as it exists. My behaviors have changed. My words and thoughts have changed. And I understand a lot more about who I am, letting go of what I accepted as a child, and am raising my children with a different set of implicit and explicit values. 

I still shake my head in disgust and my heart breaks to know someone I loved so deeply carried a hate I can't fathom. I can only be vigilant in living my values and recognizing I have a chance to be someone different than who my Grandpa was. Despite my exposure and the intergenerational transmission, I can actively name and push back against the racism as it shows up in my life. Loving him will always feel complicated but for as many things as he and I have in common, greater is my opportunity, power, and commitment to be someone else. 

A man's job

Yesterday, my husband and I were discussing our Governor's decision and execution of orders put in place to protect people in the time of the COVID-19 outbreak. We are the kind of people that, for the most part, trust scientists, medical experts, and leaders to make these kinds of large-scale decisions based on information we don't have, that may impact a lot of people in ways we don't understand. It's not without scrutiny but we recognize the complexity that far reaches our limited experiences.

We further discussed the frequency of people in our state (as well as the current president of our country) to belittle our Governor on social media. Everything from her decision, to how it was communicated, to how she dresses. Someone even shared a photo from January 2019 and shamed her for being within 6ft of other people - a full year before social distancing was a thing. The disdain for her is evident and very rarely focuses on the big picture impact of the state. The criticism is specific, targeted, aggressive, and lacks perspective.

My husband pointed out this very insightful fact: men don't want to be told what to do by a woman. That's what it is. Misogyny in the 21st century. Men aren't mad about her doing her job. They are mad that she has the job. But is that archaic tension held just by men? Do women feel this way too? It's 2020 but are we simply unable to accept that women can do the same work as men?

Aside from our limited ability to skillfully pee standing up, I've never experienced a man demonstrate a skill or competency that woman couldn't also perform. Certainly, individual ability and performance varies but this has never been calculated down to specific amounts of estrogen or testosterone. There is certainly no shame in a woman not choosing a leadership role, just as there is not shame in a man respecting a woman in leadership.

Consider your thoughts. Have the gender-stereotyped, biblical roles of the past been ingrained in the way you think, live, and vote?

Deeply ingrained misogyny aside:

What is it about a woman that would make her less capable of leading a state or a country?
What is it about a man, would make him more capable of holding leadership positions?
What qualifications do women lack that prevent them from holding a man's job?

Who's Invited to the Lifeboat?

When fear spikes, when people cry out, when the ship starts to sink, who's in the lifeboats?

Did you even realize there were lifeboats or were you too busy trying not to drown? 

Was it invitation only? 

Who's invited to the lifeboats when things go wrong? 

When the Coronavirus pandemic hit the United States, we were delivered a message of "we're all in this together". If we all stayed home, followed executive orders,  and sheltered in place, we would all be safer and better off in the long run. But that's not exactly how it happened. Many people could stay home. Because they had the option and resources to work from home. They had substantial savings and assets to rest back on financially. They had food and could afford delivery services. When they needed to go out, they had reliable personal transportation and protective gear. They had support systems, resources, and safety nets. They managed to stay afloat when things got rocky. 

All of this rested on the most vulnerable in our population: the people who were already at risk of financial, emotional, and economical destruction without a life preserver in sight. This has looked like: low-wage employees continuing to go to work with out protective gear or paid sick time so the rest of society could continue to have grocery stores, delivery services, mail service, and more. They relied on public transportation, they brought the risk of the virus home to their families and overcrowded communities. They struggled. And that's best case scenario if they got to keep their jobs and had substantial child care. 

It feels necessary to point out, among the front line workers are the absolutely essential medical staff. They are putting their lives at risk every single day. And our communities would be in even greater devastation if it were not for them. There are a few major differences here from the at-risk community. For many front line medical workers, they received substantial emergency sick leave if they become ill with COVID-19, they are offered separate living spaces from their family if they become ill, and they have high lifetime earning potential. There is no question about how awful things are for them right now. But when this is over, for a vast majority of them, they will be able to afford therapy to cope emotionally, they will take their families on vacations to relax and reconnect, and their financial livelihood won't suffer, now or for years to come. 

But for many of our most vulnerable, this will be years, decades, potentially even generations of financial and emotional devastation. A stimulus check will not bring loved ones back. A new job making minimum wage does not reverse an eviction or repair a credit score that suffered from months of unemployment. Thoughts and prayers will not make space for them in the lifeboats. 

For them, their plight was years in the making. This is not a sudden circumstance of inequity. This is systemic patterns of keeping the poor, poor. Of marginalizing people of color. Of resting on the weakest to keep the most powerful afloat. Of carefully worded propaganda to maintain the imbalance of access to resources and opportunity. A country built on some, taking advantage of many.

The lifeboats were always there. The invitations went out a long time ago. If you weren't on the guest list, it's sink or swim.

Watch the people in the lifeboat.
See them waving as they head off on their voyage of privilege, safety, and opportunity.
Smiling with pity.
Grateful for your sacrifice. Your struggle. Your dollar. Your vote.

Are you paying attention? Who's invited to the lifeboat?