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OT - though still on race, identity, and kinship
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From: Elizabeth Bluemle <ehbluemle_at_gmail.com>
Date: Fri, 21 Feb 2014 23:02:32 -0500
On Fri, Feb 21, 2014 at 8:19 PM, Barbara Binns <bab9660_at_yahoo.com> wrote:
> [...]
>
> I think different people can understand each other, but as my friends and
> I say, there is understanding, and then there is UNDERSTANDING.
>
Barbara,
What you said above made me think of the gate I walked through after my mom died. I was almost 22, and I so clearly remember the difference between empathy from my friends whose mothers hadn't died, and those who had. Both kinds were beautiful and loving and supportive and deeply valued. But there was a club I now belonged to -- sadly, one I most definitely did not wish to belong to -- of people that GOT IT in a fundamental way. Even though the members of the club were all very different individuals, and our experiences were all unique, I felt a kinship with people whose mothers had died. I didn't have to explain anything to them, I didn't have to pretend anything. They just got it. And they could laugh. People whose mothers hadn't died were often afraid to laugh with me, for fear of seeming to disrespect her memory. That wasn't an issue with my club.
I think it's like that with race. A certain kind of nod, an internal relaxation happens, among people who recognize one another as kindred members of a minority/non-dominant culture. No matter how well-meaning I am as a white woman, I can't inhabit that particular piece/peace with and for my friends with different backgrounds. And you know what? I'm glad there's a place I can't intrude. Sometimes I feel like we white people want to own everything, have access to everything, not ever feel excluded. Even when that comes from a kind place, it is breathtakingly arrogant.
One of my old college boyfriends, a couple of years after we broke up, dated a wonderful woman, Kate. He and I were still good friends, and I often hung out with the two of them. Kate's mom was white, and her dad was black, and one night she told me, "I am only fully myself with black people." What an eye-opener. She wasn't saying it to hurt my feelings; it was a gift of honesty. This was in Berkeley, California, hotbed of tolerance and openness and acceptance -- and my little liberal self got a great education that night. It made me very sad, for HER, and mad that she had to ever feel not fully herself, and I never forgot it.
I think the problems arise most when we don't know what we don't know. As sensitive as I try to be, I'm sure I have recommended books in the past that I would think of differently today, and may be recommending books today that I will look back on in a few years with greater insight. These discussions continue to deepen my thinking and better inform my choices.
At the end of the day, I do believe we are all trying the best we can, and the experiences we share with each other will help us get to a place of better listening, and better understanding.
I am just Chatty Cathy tonight. Please forgive!!
Off to do laundry, Elizabeth
Elizabeth Bluemle Co-owner, The Flying Pig Bookstore 5247 Shelburne Road, Suite 102 Shelburne, VT 05482 802-985-3999 www.flyingpigbooks.com
Check out our PW blog at www.publishersweekly.com/blogs/shelftalker. For my author website, visit www.elizabethbluemle.com.
Date: Fri, 21 Feb 2014 23:02:32 -0500
On Fri, Feb 21, 2014 at 8:19 PM, Barbara Binns <bab9660_at_yahoo.com> wrote:
> [...]
>
> I think different people can understand each other, but as my friends and
> I say, there is understanding, and then there is UNDERSTANDING.
>
Barbara,
What you said above made me think of the gate I walked through after my mom died. I was almost 22, and I so clearly remember the difference between empathy from my friends whose mothers hadn't died, and those who had. Both kinds were beautiful and loving and supportive and deeply valued. But there was a club I now belonged to -- sadly, one I most definitely did not wish to belong to -- of people that GOT IT in a fundamental way. Even though the members of the club were all very different individuals, and our experiences were all unique, I felt a kinship with people whose mothers had died. I didn't have to explain anything to them, I didn't have to pretend anything. They just got it. And they could laugh. People whose mothers hadn't died were often afraid to laugh with me, for fear of seeming to disrespect her memory. That wasn't an issue with my club.
I think it's like that with race. A certain kind of nod, an internal relaxation happens, among people who recognize one another as kindred members of a minority/non-dominant culture. No matter how well-meaning I am as a white woman, I can't inhabit that particular piece/peace with and for my friends with different backgrounds. And you know what? I'm glad there's a place I can't intrude. Sometimes I feel like we white people want to own everything, have access to everything, not ever feel excluded. Even when that comes from a kind place, it is breathtakingly arrogant.
One of my old college boyfriends, a couple of years after we broke up, dated a wonderful woman, Kate. He and I were still good friends, and I often hung out with the two of them. Kate's mom was white, and her dad was black, and one night she told me, "I am only fully myself with black people." What an eye-opener. She wasn't saying it to hurt my feelings; it was a gift of honesty. This was in Berkeley, California, hotbed of tolerance and openness and acceptance -- and my little liberal self got a great education that night. It made me very sad, for HER, and mad that she had to ever feel not fully herself, and I never forgot it.
I think the problems arise most when we don't know what we don't know. As sensitive as I try to be, I'm sure I have recommended books in the past that I would think of differently today, and may be recommending books today that I will look back on in a few years with greater insight. These discussions continue to deepen my thinking and better inform my choices.
At the end of the day, I do believe we are all trying the best we can, and the experiences we share with each other will help us get to a place of better listening, and better understanding.
I am just Chatty Cathy tonight. Please forgive!!
Off to do laundry, Elizabeth
Elizabeth Bluemle Co-owner, The Flying Pig Bookstore 5247 Shelburne Road, Suite 102 Shelburne, VT 05482 802-985-3999 www.flyingpigbooks.com
Check out our PW blog at www.publishersweekly.com/blogs/shelftalker. For my author website, visit www.elizabethbluemle.com.
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Received on Fri 21 Feb 2014 10:03:36 PM CST
