18 Apr Racism, sexism, and anger

Discomfort is a moment of catalyst. Unfortunately, ours is not a culture that “learns” from love and compassion – it is one that learns from strife. And so it is that we are situated within a discipline, and a craft (more generally), that critiques before it finds the power of the positive. I have chosen this route. I chose it with a surety that belies my sensitivity.

In the past several months, i have come up against the bitter and sometimes the vitriolic. I have been accused of having an “agenda.” I have been positioned as an angry woman of color. That’s angry. That’s woman. That’s of color.

What amazes me is that not one of the people who has felt compelled to work to silence me has bothered to read my work, to talk to me about my philosophy, or to try to meet me halfway. Each incidence has been one of privilege against the Other. Each one has been within the realm of Geography – at multiple scales (global, urban, personal). I have been positioned as an Other of nefarious intent – in each circumstance, individually and irrespective of all the other incidences.

I had a moment, two weeks ago, with a woman who represents an Other. She asked, “Do i have to become angry to be heard?” I wondered that, myself. I came to understand why people become angry. I came to recognize the absolute desperation that drives us (Other) to a state of anger.I even toyed with it, temporarily.

But i came to a place of peace.

I was struck, recently, with that absolute amazingness of my otherwise less-than-amazing life. I have incurred both physical and non-physical violence because of my race. I have incurred both physical and non-physical violence because of my gender. I carry the scars of the anger of privilege (or is that privilege of anger?).

Look closely. That wrinkle near my mouth is not a wrinkle.

Look closer, still. That quiet hesitance is not shyness.

These are the scars of the attacks that have left me dazed on a hospital gurney and even more dazed still cradling the shreds of my humanity.

But i choose peace. I choose peace for myself because i choose to live in a world of peace. And sometimes it requires that i take on the privilege of carrying others’ difficulties.

I have always been a peace maker. I came into academia to bring that to a wider audience. I came to learn with some of the most ardent and amazing academics whose works inspire me. I came to celebrate the incredible ingenuity of human-ness – in all its guises. And i am ever so grateful to get to practice this with the people who are with me on this journey.

And, more than anything, i am grateful for everyone’s honesty. Your honesty only makes me a better person, in the way that i hope my honesty makes you a better person. We have only our personal experiences, our positionality, to share with the world, and they are precious and beautiful, no matter what they are.

And that discomfort…?

Someone once told me that the moments of dis-ease are not for complaint but for self-reflection. When something is uncomfortable, it is telling you that something is wrong. Don’t ignore it. Sit with it. Examine it (in equanimity). Discover it. Digest it. Analyze it. And get to the root of that discomfort, of that dis-ease. Because it is at the root of that dis-ease that you will find the truth, the seed of discontent, your beingness. Face it. Own it. Scream it. But don’t nurse it. Draw it out and confront it.

Because you are not that dis-ease. Don’t be distracted by it. That discomfort is not the sum of who you are. We’ve seen the sum of who you are – and it is beautiful and has so much to share with the world.