Faith

Stepping into the Circle, Stepping into the Ring

I find that I’m turning these days to the internet for a view of what’s going on in the big, wide world. I can choose to read great, long articles laced with links and gorgeous photographs. Or, I can get my news in petite, digestible bites.  One of my recent internet finds was a primer on how online authors and commenters should engage on issues of equity when they write from a position of privilege. I am a woman of many layers of privilege: I’m white, I’m the 4^th generation of college-educated women, I get to do work that’s meaningful to me, and I have enough money to purchase exactly the brand of shampoo that makes my super-short, coarsening, red hair stand at age-defying attention. So when I stumbled on this internet gem it seemed important to me that I try to do a better job of reaching around my privilege to address equity in online exchanges.   

The writer of this article provided useful vocabulary, what amounts to the etiquette of engagement and some sage advice about how to emerge from these exchanges enriched, enlightened, relatively unscathed and without intentionally hurting other people. But what I also garnered from this post was this: the internet provides a rich opportunity for engagement with this big, hairy issue. People are writing with fierce honesty, calling each other out on their shit, doing some awesome truth-telling and describing their experiences with bare-knuckled bravery. And I also learned that I don’t belong in that ring. Yet.

For all kinds of excellent reasons, this author was careful to detail the ways in which one might try to connect with diverse communities online and totally fuck it up. They wrote about all the ways in which I mustn’t take personally the understandable reaction of the marginalized community when they “called me out” for fucking up. And that I cannot be defensive when – having fucked up – this community “piles on” with their justifiable outrage at letting my privilege show without knowing it. And I’m grateful for the guidance of this faceless, fearless, electronic community of voices.

You see, I know I come from enormous privilege. I understand the value of sitting quietly and listening to someone tell their story without trying to add to it, without trying to say back – “I understand.” Because I very well might not. And I also know (intellectually) the cost of sitting quietly without saying anything at all. The cost of withdrawing so far from this intimidating, though largely anonymous exchange is that I miss the wave of emotion and honesty that might actually promote a profound change in understanding. If I sit too far from the fray, then I might miss all the good, gruesome, constructive stuff that’s going on in the ring. The goal is to open ourselves up to transformative change and then act on our altered view of the universe.

But here’s the thing. I’m not ready to step into that ring. I’m not ready for the “blood sport” of online debate about equity in a tee-totally inequitable country. And even if I did step into that bare-knuckle environment, I’d only end up hurting myself and others. That ring is for the seasoned advocate who comes from a place of deep knowing. It’s for people who have to speak and who have so much to lose if they don’t speak.

What I will do for now is sit quietly in the circle and listen. I’ll engage. And I won’t sit in the circle forever. But I’ll bring a friend or two and make those friends comfortable enough that they’ll stay when things get as deeply uncomfortable as they should. Not everyone belongs in that ring, in much the same way that not everyone belongs on stage or on a ballot. There has to be an audience – or voters -- who sit quietly in a circle, hold hands with one another for support, and let themselves be transformed by the experience as it unfolds in front of them.

I will choose to write for the people in that circle. I’ll try to uncover the experiences and lessons we share, remembering that as different as we are from one another and the people in that ring; that as separated as we are by either our own privilege or our own marginalization – we are also connected. We all love to watch kids who get the giggles about stupid things. We remember being the kid who got the giggles about stupid things. We all have sense memories that trigger vivid recollection of a time or of a person or of a place. We have stories that we bring to the circle. And we are richer for summoning and sharing those stories as we watch the brave souls who grapple in the ring. We will sit in the circle around them, we will hold hands, tell stories and take turns in the ring.

But first things first. I’m writing for the circle. Take my hand.