In some cases I know who you are. In others, I probably don’t. Either way, as a friend, please hear me out.
I know you had your reasons for voting as you did, and that’s your right. A right I will support and defend with every ounce of my being. Maybe, for you, the Supreme Court was the most important issue and you were concerned about the kind of justices Hillary would have nominated. Maybe your family is struggling with a health insurance premium that went up and covers less. Maybe you’re worried about ISIS. Maybe you depend on an industry that’s been suffering under environmental regulations, or you own a business and hope lower taxes will make it easier for you to grow. Maybe you were making a choice for what you saw as the “lesser of two evils” after the candidate you really liked dropped out.
I don’t know exactly why you voted as you did, but your reasons are your own and I respect them.
I do know you though. I know you because our kids play together while we drink coffee or wine. I know you because we’ve sat around my kitchen doing our nails. I know you because we’ve chatted and watched out kids play from a bench at the park. We’ve shared meals, and celebrated birthdays, and been guests in each others homes. I know you, and I like you. You are my friend.
I see how you raise your kids to be kind and caring and to share their snacks and toys. I see you pack your Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes for children overseas, even as you worry that you won’t be able to afford everything you want to give your own children. On any given day, my kids might be wearing your kids’ outgrown clothes or your kids are wearing mine. I’ve borrowed a carrot or cup of flour from you that you gave without any expectations of anything in return. You donate your time and money to the causes that you care about in the hopes that your efforts can make a little bit of a difference in this world. You would give the shirt off your back or the food off your table to someone in need.
I know you, and knowing you, I can’t believe that you voted as you did because you support the deportation of a college professor who, after 5 years of legal residency here, went to visit her family and ended up unable to return to her job, house, or beloved dog. I can’t believe that you support detaining a mother and her 11 month old baby indefinitely in customs, two weeks before she was scheduled to take her citizenship oath. I can’t believe you support sending a man who risked his life to work as a translator for our troops in Iraq, who has been living in Switzerland for his own safety while waiting for his US visa, back to Iraq where he may be imprisoned or killed for the service he did for us. I can’t believe you want children being told that their Daddy can’t come home from the business trip he went on last week, or that Grandma and Grandpa can’t come visit this year like they usually do. I can’t believe that you support making green card holders wait in ICE detention to be evaluated on a case by case basis before they return to their homes and lives, or have to get special permission before leaving the country.
Whatever your reasons were in voting for our President, I know you didn’t want this. Even if you were concerned about refugees or terrorists, I know you didn’t want it to happen like this.
And here’s where we need you. We need you to tell the President that this isn’t what you voted for him for. That this isn’t what we do as Americans. We need you to tell Congress that although you support their party and this president and their agenda, you don’t support cruel and inhumane acts that go against our shared American values. Friend, you have power. You are not a “snowflake.” You are not one of those liberals who can be discounted or ignored. You are not one of the “losers” who backed the wrong candidate. You are a decent, good person who loves God and your country. You fly your flag, and pledge your allegiance, and you know what “liberty and justice for all” means.
Your country and your world need you right now. Please don’t stand silently by.
Lois Lowry’s Number the Stars was one of my favorite books growing up. I’ve cried in front of a room of students struggling to read portions of Elie Wiesel’s Night aloud. I’ve been to the Museum of Tolerance as both a student and a teacher. I’ve been to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. I’ve toured Dachau. But I’ve never understood.
I was never been able to understand how, if the world knew what was happening, more people weren’t saved. If Anne Frank could be hidden for years in an attic, why couldn’t the “good guys” rescue her and take her away somewhere safe. Like here.
Today I understand.
Today I understand true callousness. Today we witnessed the world’s only remaining superpower turn its back and close its doors to the most vulnerable and desperate people the world over. Today we saw fear of the other win out over our common humanity.
By now we’ve all seen the coverage of the pink pussyhatted post-inauguration women’s marches that took place across the US and in cities around the globe. I chose to participate in the march in Los Angeles (alongside my baby-boomer parents). In both the lead up to and aftermath of the marches I’ve seen many commenters, both in support and derision, questioning what the purpose of these marches was and what marchers intended to accomplish. I’ll admit that this was something I struggled with as well as I crocheted my hats and brainstormed ideas for signs.
On the one hand, I knew I wanted to be there. I needed to be there. But why? I’m privileged. I know that. I’m white. I’m educated. In the great scheme of this world I’ve been raised in wealth. I’m an American woman who has never faced the oppression that is part of daily life for my sisters in the Middle East and elsewhere. No one has ever told me that I can’t do something because I’m a woman. I see people asking what the hell a bunch of privileged white American women are complaining about, and I get that. It’s a totally valid question. But I still knew I wanted to be there.
Yesterday, as I donned my nasty woman shirt and my homemade pussyhat, gave my daughter a kiss, picked up my signs, and headed out I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t know that I’d spend part of the day pressed up as tight as can be against complete strangers on a train into the city. I didn’t now that I’d be literally leaning on a friendly man in a wheelchair for support as he steadied the lurching passengers around him. I didn’t know that I’d end up in crowds that felt more like a flash flood surging and spreading around obstacles looking for any way to flow and join the river of humanity moving through Downtown LA. I didn’t know that I’d march with men chanting “her body, her choice” or white women carrying “black lives matter” signs. Or generations of American citizens chanting “Immigrants are welcome here!” I didn’t know that we’d march past construction sites and instead of being catcalled or jeered, have men in hardhats leaning out of skyscrapers applauding and cheering us on.
This may have been billed as a “women’s march” but the reality on the ground was far more than that. In November, the voters of this country affirmed, supported, and elected a man who has disparaged the diversity that makes America great. Whether intentionally or unintentionally he has insulted women, Latinos, disabled people, Muslims, and the LGBT community among others. He claims some of those insults were misinterpretations or media lies, but the reality is that the hurt is real. As children we are taught that whether we hurt someone intentionally or accidentally, the right thing to do is to apologize. Our new President seems to have never learned that lesson. And more importantly, the citizens of this country just told him he doesn’t need to.
I marched yesterday because I needed to know that I’m not the only voice screaming into the void. I needed to be with sisters and brothers from every walk of life who believe in diversity in every sense of the word. Fellow citizens of this planet who believe in science and think our home deserves to be protected from corporate giants who want to mine her fossil fuels and reap profits at the expense of biodiversity and clean air. Men and women who believe that access to all forms of healthcare is a human right. The list of reasons that led us as individuals to this march would be endless, but every single one of them comes from a place of love whether for family, neighbor, community, country, or world.
Yes, as has been reported by much of the media, the marchers I saw yesterday were overwhelmingly white, middle class, straight, cisgendered, able-bodied, and neurotypical. But that doesn’t mean that’s who or what we marched for. We marched because we love and value those who are different from ourselves. We marched out of frustration that too many people who look like us and live like us voted against the interests of those, both here in the US and abroad, who do not. This was not a protest. This was not a march of opposition. This was a rally of support for diverse values and life experiences. This was about progress and moving forward in our efforts to know and love each other, because the truth is, we really are stronger together.
And now, I only have one question left. What’s next?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about empathy. If there’s one value I try to embody on a daily basis and teach my children, it’s to have empathy for others, but when I look around the world I feel like there’s an awful lot that’s missing.
Empathy is what allows us to have thoughtful conversations with people we disagree with. It’s what allows us to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes and assume that while they may act in a way we disagree with, that they do so because they think they are doing what’s best. In the wake of our presidential election, I’m seeing this lack of empathy more than ever.
Social media is flooded with stories of families dreading coming together for Thanksgiving because of deep rifts. Whether it’s LGBTQ college kids afraid of returning home to face Trump supporting parents, or liberal Clinton supporters who have decided anyone who voted for Trump is racist, it seems to me that the underlying issue is one of empathy. Instead of making an attempt to actually listen to people we care about to learn WHY they disagree with us, it’s easier to condemn and vilify. But that doesn’t get us anywhere.
My daughter will tell you that my favorite word is “why” and it drives her nuts, but I think it’s one of the most important words at our disposal. It’s easy when someone shares an opinion you disagree with to go straight to disagreeing. It’s a lot harder to ask why and then wait and actually listen to the explanation. We all see the world through our own personal lenses, and when we hear someone say something that runs counter to our view of the world our immediate reaction is to dismiss and reject it as being wrong, but in doing so we not only dismiss that opinion, we also run the risk of dismissing that person’s lens on the world too.
Although our problems with empathy may have come into sharp relief in the aftermath of the election, they didn’t start there. In fact, the election as a whole, from how the candidates ran their campaigns to how different demographics voted is an exercise in empathy (or a lack thereof). One of the prevailing themes in post-election analysis seems to be that many of the residents of more rural and industrial parts of America feel like their problems aren’t recognized by the coastal elites, and the liberal coastal elites feel like conservative rural Americans don’t believe in supporting and protecting their cherished diversity.
I think in both cases a large portion of the point is being missed, and in the interest of digging deeper let’s take a small detour to review good old Maslow and his hierarchy of needs:
For anyone needing a quick brush up from Psych 101, the basic concept is that we all have some needs that need to be met before we can begin to address others. Someone who is lacking access to clean water and food isn’t concerned about friendships. To extrapolate this back to our recent election, people who are concerned that their recent job loss is going to prevent them from feeding their family are going to vote for whichever candidate they believe will help them put food on the table and won’t be concerned with broader global implications of their foreign policy proposals. Someone who is deeply convinced that they are at risk of being attacked by a terrorist isn’t going to be overly concerned about someone else’s right to get married. I’ve seen a lot of political debates lately in which people focused on lower levels are being told they should be worrying about concerns higher up the pyramid. (Whether or not candidates’ campaign pledges are actually practical or just empty promises is a topic for another time)
What’s missing in this model, at its core, is empathy. We all live consumed by our own needs and it’s only at the higher levels that we start looking around at the lives of others. A few weeks ago my family had dinner for my dad’s birthday and, inevitably, the conversation turned political. Even in our fairly politically homogenous family, there’s plenty of discussion to be had. I was particularly struck at one point as my father, a 67 year old relatively wealthy successful cis-gendered heterosexual married white man, began expounding on his concerns about a Trump administration. He’s concerned about the breakup of immigrant families through deportation, the loss of abortion rights for generations of women, the continued threat to Black and Latino people from racist public policies, the normalization of sexual assault, Muslim registries, global warming, and the loss of protections for the LGBTQ community (and plenty of other things). What hit me as I listened is that none of those things, literally not one of them, is a personal threat for him. In a sense, this is the ultimate expression of white privilege. He can vote for any candidate and his life in most ways won’t be impacted at all. He chooses, however, to cast his vote out of empathy and in the interest of others.
A lot of people (most even?) don’t vote from a large scale place of empathy. They vote their kitchen table concerns and in the interest of their own family (and maybe close friends or their own community). Sure, maybe they theoretically care about healthcare for people with pre-existing conditions, but their Obamacare premium is set to increase by 22% next year and upend their family budget and that’s a more pressing concern. Even among the comfortably wealthy who aren’t worried about making ends meet, it’s easy to get caught in a debate between what’s best for your family and what’s best for most people. “Debt-free college” sounds great, but if you still have to pay full tuition for your kids while your taxes support other kids, that can be a tough pill to swallow. Which is where that empathy comes back in.
I’ve been reading the Federalist Papers on the theory that you can’t protect a country and a constitution you don’t fully understand, and I’m struck by how much our founding fathers understood the need for our votes to be based in empathy. In Federalist No. 1, which serves as the introductory essay in building the argument in favor of the adoption of our Constitution, Hamilton openly lays out that voting in favor of the Constitution will, for many people, be a vote against their own self-interests.
This idea will add the inducements of philanthropy to those of patriotism to heighten the solicitude, which all considerate and good men must feel for the event. Happy will it be if our choice should be directed by a judicious estimate of our true interests, unperplexed and unbiassed by considerations not connected with the public good. But this is a thing more ardently to be wished, than seriously to be expected…Among the most formidable of the obstacles which the new Constitution will have to encounter, may readily be distinguished the obvious interest of a certain class of men in every State to resist all changes which may hazard a diminution of the power, emolument and consequence of the offices they hold…
This idea carries through the rest of the essays as the case is made for the voting public (which, I should probably take a second to acknowledge, was made up of land owning white men) to vote with the public good in mind rather than merely to further their own individual interests. And they did.
Somewhere along the line, that sense of duty to our collective wellbeing has, for many people, been lost. We no longer feel like we’re in this together. The common refrain from working class white voters is that they’re shouting their pain and frustrations and challenges into the wind and no one is hearing them. Small towns are dying, businesses shuttering, factories moving, but those coastal elites just keep flying by overhead, more concerned with racial tension and how to provide for illegal immigrants. Bill Clinton felt their pain, but here we are 25 years later and the reality is still much the same. Where is the outrage on the behalf of those multi-generational union workers who are spending the twilights of their careers in low-wage service industry jobs? Is it any wonder they jumped ship? And now they’re getting called racists? Where’s the empathy for their reality? And on the flip side, just because you aren’t Black, can’t you feel the pain when a child is gunned down by police? And when it happens again and again and again? Where’s the empathy for that child and his mother, or the women who have been assaulted, or a family facing the agonizing choice of ending a wanted pregnancy, or a young person who did everything “right” and has graduated college unable to support herself because she’s saddled with enormous debt?
So, whatever side of the aisle you’re on, as you head home for Thanksgiving, or welcome friends and family to your home, in addition to that bottle of wine or side of sweet potatoes you’re bringing, try bringing some empathy. It doesn’t mean you have to change your opinions or agree on everything (or anything). And yes, there are absolutely some people with abhorrent opinions that may not be deserving of your empathy, but I’m pretty sure that’s not most of us. Maybe you’re a Trump voter who didn’t vote with racist or sexist intent, but by listening you can understand how that vote can have racist and sexist impacts. Or you’re a Trump protester ready to secede from the nation or hoping the electoral college changes the election outcome, but by listening you can understand why Mr. Trump’s message connected with so many people with real economic concerns. If 2016 has taught us anything, it should probably be that way too many people in all walks of life feel unheard and invisible.
Regardless of where you stand, or whether you think we’re on the right track or not, there are a lot of real issues we need to address, but the first step is to recognize that we aren’t going to get anywhere without empathy. This is an enormous, diverse country and most of us only see the small bit of it around us. We have to talk and we have to listen if we want to have any hope of understanding the full scope of what’s at stake. And only then can we begin our critical work of holding our elected officials accountable to their job of upholding our American values and working on behalf of all of us.
Last night in your acceptance speech you said to the American people, “I pledge to every citizen of our land that I will be president for all Americans, and this is so important to me. . . I’m reaching out to you for your guidance and your help so that we can work together and unify our great country.” Although I didn’t support your candidacy, I continue to be a proud American and today I have no choice but to take you at your word. So, since you asked for it, here’s my guidance and help:
I know you have promised to repeal Obamacare. I know you have a Congress that will likely support you in that effort. But please, on behalf of all the families like mine that grapple every day with chronic pre-existing conditions that made coverage all but impossible to come by before reform, please don’t sentence us to a lifetime of poverty, or even death, because we had the misfortune to develop conditions that require expensive medication and medical care. While right now we are fortunate to have employer provided insurance, the peace of mind that comes from knowing that we can all survive should my husband lose his job is, to use a word I know you understand, tremendous. Yes, there are big problems with Obamacare. There are things that need fixing, not the least of which is the rising cost of premiums. You have run on the promise of being a great dealmaker, so please, before you rip the rug out from under 22 million families, please make sure you have a deal worked out to replace it.
I know you also have your doubts about whether or not climate change is real, and even if it’s real, whether it’s manmade. I know what scientists say, and I hope you’ll meet with some of them. But regardless of what you personally believe about the temperature and sea levels, I think we do all know that pollution isn’t good for us. We breathe this air, and the more we burn fossil fuels, the more that air makes us sick. We also know that fossil fuels are a non-renewable resource and as a businessman I trust that you understand that when you run out of the materials you rely on it’s not a good thing. So whether we invest in cutting our carbon use because of global warming, or to make the air healthier for our kids to breathe, or to reduce our dependence on foreign oil, or because we’re using it at a pace that’s going to cause us to run out, the progress we can and should be making is the same. We are developing incredible clean energy sources in burgeoning industries that can help make up for some of those manufacturing jobs you’ve been so concerned about. Even if global warming turns out to be a Chinese hoax, what’s the harm in keeping to our promises to our neighbors in the world and beginning to transition our energy sources toward solar panels and wind turbines? Instead of continuing to import our most efficient cars from overseas, why not put Detroit back to work doing what they do best making the electric cars of tomorrow and helping to make those cars affordable enough for everyone?
And lastly, we need to talk about your stance on immigration. Like many white people, immigration reform was an abstract concept for me that seemed relatively straightforward until I started teaching. I’ll never forget the day in my first year of teaching when I was helping my high school senior students fill out their FAFSA applications as part of their college application process. One of my best, brightest students wasn’t filling one in. I asked him why, and he told me that there was no point because he was undocumented. He had been in the United States since he was 3 years old. He had been a student in American public schools since Kindergarten, learning from American teachers who put their heart and soul into his education and his future. He was a straight A student who always had the most insightful feedback during class discussions and a wry smile and incredible sense of humor. He had learned English because his native Spanish wasn’t acceptable in school. Going back to Mexico for college wasn’t an option because although he spoke some informal Spanish having learned it at home, he would be considered illiterate because our laws had prevented him from receiving a bilingual education that would have taught him to read and write in proper academic Spanish. He stood every morning to pledge allegiance to our flag as he had for 13 years. This vibrant, bright, young man hung his head as we talked about his future, or lack thereof. He didn’t know what he would do. He knew that he would be forever in the shadows, caught between two worlds that he couldn’t fully belong to. Since that day, I’ve had that same conversation with different students more times than I can count. And then, one day, the man who will precede you in the Oval Office signed DACA and suddenly those kids were able to hope and dream and plan for futures in the country they call home. With tears in my eyes I hugged kids who came to school late because they had been getting their applications processed and came to class with their heads held high and grins wide like an incredible weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Today I again have tears in my eyes as I weep for them as that uncertainty returns to their lives. As they don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to keep those jobs they’ve been working in or stay in the schools where they’ve been learning the skills to lift themselves and their families from poverty and achieve that elusive American Dream. With nothing more than a signature, you can plunge them back into the shadows, or worse. We have invested our resources in these young men and women to educate them to be contributing members of our society. It is a waste to send them back into darkness just when we were starting to see how they will in turn invest in America.
So, congratulations Mr. Trump. You may not be the president I wanted, but like I tell my kids for dinner every night, sometimes you have to put up with what someone else picked. I hope that you are able to show this country what making a deal actually looks like, because at least in my understanding of the concept, that’s called reaching compromise and building consensus. You may have used divisive rhetoric to win this office, but I hope that underneath perhaps there’s a pragmatic businessman who knows that you can’t anger half your customer base and colleagues if you want to make progress. I hope you truly meant that you will be a president for all Americans, and I hope you add that you will be a leader for the world as that is also part of the job description.
A few months ago I was helping in Cupcake’s kindergarten class and watched an interaction between one child, a teaching assistant, and the rest of the class that has stuck with me since.
The kids were all having “rug time” and the teaching assistant began to read a book. One boy raised his hand and after being called on said,”We’ve already heard this book. Can we find the letter of the week on that poster instead?” pointing at a poem hanging on the board. The teacher’s assistant stopped and said that would be fine with her, but since some of the kids were enjoying the book they should vote on which activity the class would rather do. She asked how many of the kids would prefer to work on the letter of the week and a smattering of hands went up. Then she asked who wanted to hear the book and the majority of kids’ hands went enthusiastically straight up in the air. The teacher’s assistant turned back to the boy who had initially asked and said she was sorry but that she would finish reading the story and if there was time left at the end they could work on the letter of the day too.
For me the most interesting part of this was watching the young boy who had initially asked the question. He was quiet throughout the vote aside from nudging a friend next to him to put a hand up. He watched his classmates share their opinions, and after his proposal lost, he turned around and faced away from the teacher’s assistant while she resumed reading with tears in his eyes. But he stayed quiet and seated and did not make an attempt to disrupt the class. After a few minutes he turned back around and rejoined the class, and after the book was done the class did end up having a little time to look for the letter of the week. He even got to use the whiteboard marker to circle the letters as the kids spotted them.
Even now, months later, I continue to marvel at the difference between the peaceful respect of the basic tenets of democracy that I saw in that kindergarten classroom as compared to the behavior currently on display among grown adults and even our elected officials and candidates for office. Yes, the stakes were much much lower, but if you’ve spent much time with a kindergartener lately, you know that for that boy this was the MOST IMPORTANT THING that happened in his world that day.
Watching the kindergarteners I was impressed at their grasp of the concept of fairness and that each child’s voice and opinion was equally important. They may have not agreed, but there was no name calling or arguing. No one questioned the results or asked for a “do-over.” These are kids who are just learning to be part of a community and how to balance their individual wishes with those of the class as a whole, yet they were already internalizing some of the most important norms and traditions of our society.
As this child understood, it’s okay to be sad when your chosen position loses. In a democracy we all win some of the time and lose some of the time. We celebrate our victories and we mourn our losses, but hopefully we have learned, even as 5 year olds, that it’s important to respect the result. Pout if you have to. Shed a tear. But when it’s all said and done, we’re still all in this together and if you can come back together and work with everyone else, maybe you can still get some of what you wanted too. That’s the true American way.
I’ve lost track of the number of people over the past few months who have encouraged me to find a platform and write, but if you’re one of them, THANK YOU!!
I’m honestly not sure what this blog is or what it will become at this point. I’m not starting out with some sort of contrived mission to cook my way through a cookbook or share my non-existant detailed craft plans or tell you how to raise your kids. I guess more than anything, I’m hoping that I can use my own little corner of this far ranging internet to add my voice to whatever conversations are going on. Will there be food and recipes? Sure! Parenting? Of course. Politics? Probably, although hopefully not in an inflammatory way since that doesn’t help anyone. Comments on education trends and social issues? As if I could avoid it!
Wherever this takes me, I hope you’ll come along for the ride. If something strikes a chord, share it. Or comment and let me know. Or call me out on something if you need to, I’m always up for a lively debate or to learn something new.
So without any further ado, welcome to Ginger Babies and Coffee. I know they’re what gets me up and going every morning, I just don’t always know what comes next.
Ginger Babies and Coffee 