Trying to Make Sense out of the Senseless

"When you look at unbalanced people, how they respond to the vitriol that comes out of certain mouths about tearing down the government. The anger, the hatred, the bigotry that goes on in this country is getting to be outrageous," said the sheriff. "And unfortunately, Arizona I think has become sort of the capital. We have become the mecca for prejudice and bigotry."
-Pima County Sheriff Clarence Dupni

Like many of you I have been watching the news coverage from Tucson yesterday and today and trying to make sense of a tragic act that defies explanation. People are ready to pounce and want to be able to point the finger and find blame to help explain away why someone would do something so unthinkable in a way that impacts so many innocent people.

My first reaction to hearing the news was "I knew this would happen". Not that I have some prescient knowledge of future events, but I do consider myself to be someone that is tuned into the political discourse and current events. For several years, especially over the past two, the level of vitriol and blatant metaphors for violence have exploded across the political spectrum. It has become acceptable in some sectors to bolster an argument, drive home a point, or set apart a difference with some blatant reference to violence, toughness, or other inflammatory element.

Two months ago I would have put myself at one end and easily pointed a finger at all the others that I felt were to blame for this. You can run the list in your own head I am sure. But I am not sure that that is productive. Rather than saying you are to blame or I told you so, I find myself wondering how I have contributed to this type of behavior. Have I been that person at times that has contributed to a toxic culture? I have prided myself in the past on being a "die-hard" liberal Democrat and have worked hard to try and advance the causes and purpose of the party. Part of that has been to demonize those that thought differently than me and look to score points through my knowledge or mastery of the argument. I prided myself as being "different" than those on the other end of the spectrum. Not only different, but being "better", setting myself apart....being a "good" white person, a "good" heterosexual, a "good" liberal, etc, etc, etc. In the end this didn't serve any purpose to the greater good than helping me feel better about myself.

I think now about those people spewing that hate and that anger and I try to relate. How has that been me in the past? They aren't at the other end of the spectrum, they are me in a lot ways. What needs to happen to turn the conversation in a positive way that recognizes that we are all people connected and needing to work together for the good of all of us. I am frustrated at all sides of the political argument that has allowed things to fester this long and get so ugly. I watched Bowling For Columbine again this week while I was home with a sick child and saw it through different eyes. I was reminded of it's messages again; that violent images in the media, massive gun ownership, and a history of violence in the founding of our nation are not just uniquely American, but still our rates of gun related murders far out pace anywhere else in the world. It plays on the premise that we are a nation that is grounded and rooted in fear. Fear that is perpetuated in ways that pit us against each other. Whether by race, class, gender, or many other identities, those in power now how to exploit our fears to not only keep their stranglehold on power, but to profit off of it and grow their power, all while keeping the door closed for those that simply want a place at the table and equality.

Liberal/conservative and Democrat/Republican, all sides have folks that work on behalf of their own privilege, that exist as part of the agency to keep their power in place and also oppression. Dylan Ratigan wrote a great piece on Huffington Post yesterday that captured some of the emotions I have been feeling from a justice standpoint on this tragedy. One of the things he wrote that really resonated was:

"It goes without saying that the events of today are a wake-up call for every American, regardless of their position in this society. And as we stand as a group at this violent fork in the road, will those within the power class take this wakeup call to acknowledge the responsibility they have to utilize their influence to serve the interests of increased fairness in America -- even if that requires the suffering of personal losses or losses among your powerbase ?

Understand that whether we like it or not, the personal indulgence of this exploitation by some in order to accumulate wealth and power is done so at a mortal danger to all Americans -- each likely as concerned for the wellbeing of this country as you, the passive class, may believe yourself to be.

America is in a desperate need of engagement by all of its citizens, and we all must understand that the luxury of denial and logical apathy among the passive can no longer be afforded."

I plan to cease the cycle of finger pointing and blaming and continue to look inward to see how I can combat the culture of power that allows groups and individuals to think that using these metaphors of violence and fear are appropriate ways to interact with the other humans we share our world with. Ratigan concludes with a powerful statement:

"While your voice may feel hollow by itself, the possibility of becoming part of a national chorus of awakened can serve as a deeper foundation for the compassion and wisdom to accept our own shortfalls and those of our leadership as we continue the national trip toward a more fair and free America."

First Reflections on My SJTI Experience

It's December 4th, 4:15 PST and I am sitting in a plane on a four hour flight to Chicago and I can't stop my tears from falling. I'm worried about the flight attendant noticing, or the woman across from me getting concerned because I am having trouble keeping it together, and I am thankful that this flight is terribly undersold and I have a whole row to myself lest the passengers who could be sitting next to me get freaked out.

But most of all I am freaked out because I can't figure out why I am having such an emotional reaction at this point and time after four intensive days of emotions. I want to know why it is only now that I am noticing the black man who was in front of me at airport security, getting asked to raise his sweatshirt as he goes through the metal detector, even though he is only wearing sweatpants, while no one asks me to raise my sweatshirt. Why am I having such a reaction to the flight attendant snapping the curtain across the door between first class and coach, even as I know that I counted the entirely white population of first class. Why do my ears perk up when the flight attendant laughs about being asked about what channel the in-flight movie is being broadcast in Spanish. How many times before this week did I never bother to notice any of these things? How many times did I walk by and remain silent, wrapped in the shroud of my own privilege and blinded by my own sense of entitlement gifted to me by my dominant identities?

I don't want to name my tears as tears of shame or tears of guilt, but I know that part of these tears are wrapped up in my own self-healing towards the process of owning that I am enough and that the time to start this work is now. It doesn't make it any easier. I think to myself that I may be the only white-skinned person on this plane thinking about race and what I am seeing and I suddenly feel very alone and overwhelmed about the journey that is in front of me. I know there are allies on-campus that want to work on issues of social justice, but I can't help wondering, do they feel as lost as I was before this experience?

I called myself an ally. I embraced justice. I talked the talk. What I realize now is that I had no clue how much I didn't even know. I feel like I was living a lie and my perceptions of what it meant to be an ally, a human, and an activist were so naive. Why did no one ever call me on it before? Did it give comfort and cover to others?

I know things are different now. I know that I am different now. I am not content. I am not comfortable. I am angry. I am on guard feeling hyper sensitive. I feel recoiled like a spring ready to pop and I am not sure how or when it is going to happen. And I want it to pop in a positive way that does ultimate good.

I am tired of continuing to exert myself in ways that take the grace from other people. I do not want this new grasp of my power or my new perspective to erupt in negative ways. I feel like a smolder was ignited with me the past four days and that it popped into flame while I sat at LAX reading the packet provided on re-entry.

I am scared about what it means to give up my place of privilege, but I am more scared about what it means to myself and those I care about if I don't. I am scared about the first step. What does it look like? Where will it be? What will the trigger be? Will I speak? What does it mean if I stay silent? Who will I lose in the process of speaking truth to power? Who will think this is just Greg's next "fad"? How do I embrace it authentically so it isn't just a "fad"? How can I even deign to write that when I know I am talking about people's lives?

I'm alive in a way that I have not ever felt. I sense. Empathy I am not sure that I ever knew I had is bubbling up. Anger I knew was there is bubbling up, but at the same time I am able to manage and see it with new eyes. Frustration is fluid. I am in the moment and I am ready to see, ready to speak.

The tears I cry are tears of sorrow and tears of shame for who I was, that person is gone. The tears I cry are tears of happiness for the person that I can be and for the world that I hope to create for everyone, but especially for my boys. The tears are for who I am, and I am enough.