There is something to be said about “sleeping on it.” Last night I went to bed caught up emotionally in the drama of campus protests that appeared to be spiraling out of control. In my distress I blamed everybody…students who seemed so entitled that they were failing to recognize and understand the thoughts and feelings of those with whom they share a community…university leaders who in my mind were trying to cover their behinds and were making bad decisions. And we Americans who had failed to resolve our most intractable problem, understanding who we are to one another. That is what I took to bed with the question what can I do?
I awoke with another question. What are these students trying to tell us? In pondering that question I channeled my 13 y/o self who went to segregated Cleveland Park in my first act of civil disobedience. What was she feeling and thinking? What were her hopes and aspirations? Why did she risk severe consequences by participating in an act of resistance? What was the message that I and my companions were trying to convey?
I often talk about my activism as logical and strategic. I did not and do not believe it was fair to have public places that did not welcome all tax-paying citizens. This sentiment would influence my activism as I joined the Civil Rights Movement… a campaign designed to address systemic injustice. That was the logic.
But as I listened to my teenage feelings, which can be quite wise, I realized that was not all of it. It is the thing I rarely acknowledge… my broken heart. And I suspect I joined a lot of broken hearts. We don’t talk about that in the Movement. It is not part of the literature or even the narrative. We were taught to be stoic. To face the vitriol and outrage with dignity…to be competent in articulating the legitimate aims of the Movement. The closest we have come to expressing our broken hearts is Dr. King’s I Have a Dream speech in which he speaks of his hopes for his children.
I am often asked how it felt to be on the picket line or participate in sit-in demonstrations or go to jail. It hurt. I knew I was not welcomed because of the color of my skin. And in the Jim Crow South, indeed, Jim Crow America rejection would be my fate. Psychological theory suggests that the two things we human beings most fear and seek to avoid are abandonment and rejection. The pain of being rejected as a decent human being because of the color of my skin and/or my gender is a trauma that has left a scar. How we choose to heal our scars is the question. Thankfully and fortunately, I grew up in and learned from a community and a Movement that recognized the healing capacity of love.
I am not sure these mostly white entitled kids fear abandonment or rejection. But I sense they are in pain. And I am not sure we fully know what the pain is about. Maybe they sense that we as a people can and ought to do better. Maybe that is their deepest yearning. And while we may have different opinions about their tactics. Perhaps we should consider that they are telling us something about us.
Are they saying that in the most affluent country on the planet, in which many of them have been privileged, we can do better? Do they sense we have yet to discover what it means to be in love? Particularly toward those who are not like us. What if they are asking us to practice being a neighbor…a lover? Even toward those who are different or with whom we disagree or oppose. What if I am called to love the person that stands in front of me? And in this day and time, when so many behaviors and attitudes trouble me. It is hard work. And I struggle with it every day.
I learned this beautiful prayer when I was counseling those who were suffering from addiction. It is spoken often in AA meetings. Perhaps its wisdom is relevant to all of us, particularly beautiful idealistic young people.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. The courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference. I have found it to be quite useful when faced with the question of what I can do.
I can be a neighbor to whoever stands in front of me. I can actively resist without violence oppressive systems wherever and whenever I recognize or encounter them. I can be a mentor, a teacher, a role model, and most of all a lover. It is a beautiful thing to be in love.