11-12-16

The Light of My Life

I don't know enough about politics or political demographics to ruminate about what happened this past Tuesday that made Donald Trump the next President of the United States and Hillary Clinton a historical figure. I know more about the longings of the human heart and that is what I want to write about today.

It seems the shock of Trump's victory was as startling to some of his supporters as to his opponents. The bewilderment was evenly spread among us and stemmed from the fact that someone so little schooled in history and the mechanics of governance and someone so personally and openly crude and cruel could ascend to the highest office in our land. We had, indeed, become numb to his bombast and vitriol over so many months and as a result had not really considered what it would mean if he became the 45th President.

When it was clear that he had won the presidency, emotional turmoil and trauma were visible among those whom he had mocked and demeaned for so long and for many others whose perceptions of stability had been shattered.  If it is true that those who thought of themselves as voiceless found a champion in Trump, it is equally true that millions of others in different minority categories whom Trump demonized have been voiceless in their opposition to what he stands for. Why should that be when the stakes for remaining silent are so high? How much fear does it take to draw back and hide? I don't think it takes much fear at all. Fear is a human emotional default. It takes energy and will to be courageous. A little fear of exposure goes a long way in how we respond to confrontation or criticism. We do have experience with resistance built into our history. Our nation was born from the throes of resistance to perceived wrongs. We have had demonstrations and movements associated with some of the most important social experiments in our history. While many of them have been in the spirit of minority causes, such as women's suffrage and civil rights, all of us have benefited from their ultimate absorption into our national character. The sacrifices of others have cemented rights and benefits for all of us. We are in debt to those whose vision of a better future for everyone drove them to the sacrifices they made.

These times of turmoil and trauma will be no different. What is happening today is a response to the descent of a darkening veil of intolerance, racism, sexism, misogyny, and violence as political coercion. There haven't been voices of opposition heard until now because the presumption of civility and common decency was part of what we thought of as the foundation of our civic conversation. We thought we had fought important battles and were prepared to go forward with the social progress all of us enjoyed, building on what we shared, albeit facing difficult issues and extremes of persuasion.  The campaign and the election have uncovered festering sores of complaint, disaffection, suspicion, bigotry, and outright hate. While some may claim a political victory, all of us have before us a torn civic fabric. No one wins when hate and violence are accepted forms of personal interactions upon which our nation depends for stability.

The gaps in our national community are wider today than before the election. It is my impression that what will happen now is that small communities will be formed and energized by common bonds of affection. These communities might be book clubs, breast cancer support groups, congregations of the faithful, even family gatherings. All of us will discover that our communities overlap and that our voices are heard among several or many of them. We will begin to listen better to one another because we will trust the support we find in them. We will feel safe in ways we don't now because we will have joined in a union of support. The accumulation of support and trust will build over time, but it will always be based on how safe we feel inside ourselves. Gandhi said: "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Personal change sets the stage for other transformations large and small.

In these past several post-election days, a campaign (another campaign?) has arisen from the grass roots to reach out to one another to offer safety. The symbol of that support is the simple safety pin. It holds things together and it can bring ragged edges of the social fabric into juxtaposition until more permanent mending can occur. When worn, it signifies to the "other" that s/he is in the presence of one who offers safety. I believe that this simple sign has the potential to lift a corner of the darkening veil. Of what uses can we make of such a simple thing? Isn't this what they used to use to diaper babies? Isn't this, plus duct tape, what can hold and repair just about everything? Is this what they mean when they refer to "underpinnings"?

Leonard Cohen died just after the election. He was someone who experienced the darkening veils of his own life and yet was able to make music because of and in spite of them. In his oft-quoted lyrics he says:

   "Ring the bells that still can ring.
   Forget your perfect offering.
   There is a crack in everything.
   That's how the light gets in."

They echo my own experience with darkness. There always seems to be a crack in the darkness through which a splinter of light can escape. This seems especially poignant this week with all its disappointing surprises. My late adulthood has been suffused with the world and the work of compassion. For a while it seemed to have served me well. I have had light shine through cracks I didn't recognize at first. For someone who has never been comfortable in the front lines of social action and demonstrations, I have been happy with the quieter and more subtle forms of compassion. But the events of these past many months and the past week have made it clearer that compassion is necessary for social cohesion and intimate care, but it isn't sufficient. What I hear now is a call to compassionate advocacy. Feeling compassionate is not the same as acting compassionately. When one abandons one's own closeted security and steps into dark corners, then the slivers of light can be seen. The dark corners of cancer care, of hospice, of oppressive places of work, of abusive households, of complaint and unearned privilege, are all places where the creative experimental work and practice of compassionate advocacy can come alive. If the lowly safety pin can point us out to one another, then let us wear the pins on our tattered fabrics. Let us see if millions of safety pins can hold the worn and stressed fabric of our Republic together. Let us see if one safety pin can bring us into closer relationships of tolerance and understanding.

Strong women, people of color, immigrants, disabled, other-gendered, and the strong among those in minorities cried openly the past few days for a reason. They felt the loss of dignity and safety. The safety pin is for them and for all of us who hope for a greater unity of purpose and acceptance. I am wearing a safety pin and walking into darker corners. Let us walk towards the light together. Let us not forget Donald Trump for who he is and let us not forget Leonard Cohen for who he was. Let us think that we can learn from everyone. Let us know ourselves better, the better we will be at loving ourselves and each other. Let us celebrate our differences and the resistances that empower us in causes for the greater good. Let our intention be compassionate advocacy. May kindness and patience be the lights of our lives.