I See You
When I wrote about "Modern Day Abolitionists," a couple of gentle readers attested that I'd missed an important part of the story. They were absolutely right!
When crafting the last piece, I keyed in on a situation in my own family...and it lent itself to the prose I published. I dedicate this newsletter to Betsy and Lisa, for speaking up, and to honor their "Modern Day Abolitionist" actions that impact our world. I am grateful for your voices, encouraging me to tell the wholeness of a thing (from my view point), whenever possible.
In my work, and in my day-to-day existence, I witness a common theme; I bet you've noticed it, too. Nearly every person responds positively to being seen and heard as his/her true self. There is a kind of magic that happens when, after experiencing a series of dismissive or abusive interactions, we meet up with someone who pauses, sees, and listens. That kind of attention affirms that we matter.
True, we can all fall into the trap of only believing that we matter if someone else says so. That's a hard and ugly place to suffer, because then we only count if someone else makes us significant. For our own well being, I believe it's essential to find this inherent truth within: if we are here on this earth, we matter. For many of us, discovering and living into this truth is a life-long journey.
For just a moment, I invite you to scan your memory for a time when someone truly saw you; stood with you; didn't ask you to change or tell you that you shouldn't feel the way you feel. It might have been a family member, a teacher, a friend, or a boss. In retrospect, do you notice, under the warmth of a seeing gaze, how you blossomed? Those precious occasions of being truly seen help you (and me) to remember the essence of who we be. This gentle, loving act has value, beyond what can be expressed in words. When you enter the world, free of the artifice of what you think others want or expect you to be...free of the expectations you've concocted for yourself...you make the unique contribution ONLY YOU can offer.
However, if you feel under threat; if you experience overt bullying, disparaging remarks about who someone thinks you are or what you look like; if you live in a culture that treats you as a second class citizen, perhaps without even being fully aware of it, it's easy to lose sight of your essence. It simply takes a toll when the people in your life do not see you as who you truly are, with a willingness to hear and honor the experiences you've endured.
I remember, in junior high school, my social studies teacher, Mrs. Robinson, taught a section about Russia and China. Students used to make snide comments about her choice of topic, calling her "commie," and "hard ass," because she didn't put up with any bull in her class room. A petite, elderly woman with a smoker's rasp - Mrs. Robinson frightened the dickens out of me.When the big exam for the Communism unit came around, I'd done absolutely zero studying. Truly, it was the last thing on my mind, until Mrs. Robinson pulled me into her private office after seeing my abysmal results, and said, "What happened here?" I was terrified. I didn't know what to say. I had no excuse, because I really hadn't studied, so it made sense that I didn't finish the test, and further, had done a terrible job on the portion I completed. With a tremendous amount of guilt, I said in a small voice, "Well, my grandfather died." I couldn't believe I'd just used his death as an excuse for failing this test. Oh, boy!
Mrs. Robinson looked at me with her weathered, no nonsense face, and said, "I'm sorry to hear that. Why didn't you tell me?" I don't think any words came out. I just stared at her dumbfounded. She was buying this as a legitimate excuse! "How about if you take some time, in this private office, during today's class, to see if you can finish it up?" The hot ball of tears in my throat and behind my eyes threatened to rush forward, but I couldn't cry in front of a teacher...certainly not this teacher. While I didn't know any more about the Russians than I had when I'd originally sat for the test, I agreed to her plan. And truly, I have no idea what happened. I suspect she gave me a passing grade due to the circumstances.
Here's the thing...my grandfather meant the world to me. I'd lived with him (and my mom and grandmother) for most of my 13 years. Although he was a racist, and guilty of pitting his daughters against one another for his affection, he was the one person who really saw me, as me, and as a child. He didn't project expectations on me about who, what, or how I should be. He thought I was funny, and liked to make me laugh. He tickled me, taught me how to ride a two-wheeler, and volunteered as my playmate when I seemed bored. I'd just lost my life-line...the most reliable source of unfettered warmth and love...and because no one in my family seemed to think it should be a big deal for me (for them, yes - me, no), I believed telling Mrs. Robinson that he'd died was akin to lying.
But, she did an amazing thing that day. She saw me. From this hard as nails teacher, I spent a few moments basking in the warm glow - the glow arising from her willingness to see what I was experiencing - and it brought forth a wave of emotion I hadn't really connected with since my grandfather had died. She offered me compassion. What an incredible gift.
How then, does this relate to ending prejudice of all varieties. As I mentioned in the previous newsletter, we are all divine/human creatures. If we can see through the packaging of another, to that BIG TRUTH, we walk the path of a Modern Day Abolitionist. What is simultaneously true is this: each person has a story - a series of experiences that have impacted how they enter the world. Acknowledging that story matters just as much as seeing beyond the color, creed, age, gender, sexual orientation, physical limitations, etc. Honoring the story (not the complaints or agenda - I mean the challenging and delightful experiences of one's life) is analogous to the warmth of the sun. It offers a light for reflection - a reminder that the individual inherently matters.
This is true across the board: for 13 year old girls who've lost their grandfather, mothers separated from their children at the border, men subjected to police intervention because of their skin color, 20-somethings in wheel chairs, worshipers in a mosque or synagogue, the women who say #metoo, and same-sex couples holding hands at a cross walk...this list goes on.
In every case, being willing to see the individual, instead of lumping them in with a category of people, is an essential part of being a Modern Day Abolitionist. If the people suffering, or experiencing oppression, believe you see his/her human/divine inner self, but ignore the weight of what (s)he endures, we neglect a crucial element. I do not think this is an either/or scenario. Nor do I believe what I'm describing is necessarily easy. I believe courage, effort, patience, and compassion are all essential for success.
Over the past 26 years, my husband and I have had many intense conversations about what it is to be a man vs. what it is to be a woman in western society. In the past two years, the frequency and volume ramped up significantly in our household. Each of us tells our own experiential stories, optimistic about the other considering and understanding the differences...the blind spots...the things taken for granted.
These exchanges are rarely painless! If you will, pause for a moment, and hear what I'm saying. We are two people who love each other. Two people who've gone through all kinds of wild misery and unimaginable successes, individually and together, and worked in a host of ways to come out the other side stronger. We've celebrated, encouraged, and enjoyed one another for over a quarter century, and yet, either or both of us can get caught when we attempt to shine a light on the dark corners that the other didn't realize existed. The discrimination, so ingrained, appears invisible...we think we see solid wood, rather than recognizing the veneer.
How much more difficult is it, then, for those who don't know one another, and have preconceived notions about what it is to be the other? You may have a perception about what it is to be transgender, a wobbling 90-year old, a homeless teen dressed in Goth garb, or the rich white lady in the mansion, without knowing who they are! And, if you believe you don't like that kind of person, because of their packaging, you miss an opportunity. Likewise, if you see them as simply another human/divine being in the world, without a willingness to honor their story, you miss an opportunity then, too.
I believe the work is the integration of seeing the individual with their unique and challenging experiences and the inner spirit of their human/divine being-ness. When we manage both, it is the true and remarkable gift of "I See You." Awesomely, the benefit extends to both the one being seen and the one doing the seeing. It's an extraordinary win-win for both the beings and supports a Modern Day Abolitionist movement.
I thank those of you who actively engage in these practices. Your compassion, patience, and willingness to participate in changing the world touches my heart. I See You, and I feel grateful.
With love,
Joanne Lutz