by Carol Bier-Laning, Fellow
“We are our own, little, precarious echo-chamber. The real work, at least for me, is to move out into the world.”
The end of A Year of Courageous Conversations. Did I do my part? Did I accomplish what I set out to accomplish? Was that the goal—to “accomplish” something?
I have heard and absorbed many hours of lectures, conversations, responses, socializing. And yet, I feel, in some ways, more powerless, more stuck than when I began this journey.
I do think I have learned much more than I knew before. I believe I do understand the anger of those left behind, constantly left behind. My eyes have been opened to the fact that it is not just those apart from me whom I judge to be racist, or prejudiced, close-minded or intolerant that are “the problem.” I am part of the problem. I have benefited from a racist culture that has allowed me to enjoy privileges that I have no more right to than anyone else. And smiling and making eye contact with those around me who have been hurt and left behind by this same culture does not make it better.
Over my life, I have often pondered the circumstances of my upbringing. Why was I born to loving parents who raised me and loved me? They wanted to and were able to provide for me, including music lessons, summer camp and a college education. That education was not just offered, it was demanded. And they were able to demand that we attend college, because they could support the four of us kids to attend college. My oldest sister went to law school, and until this very moment, I never even thought about who paid that bill, but I am pretty sure my parents played a part.
And so, I come to the end of this portion of the journey, and I am full of sadness and grief. Not sadness for what is ending, but sadness about the state of our world, our society, our community. We have heard many encouraging words, that change starts with us, that we must hope. But I do not feel hopeful. It is not clear to me that anything I personally say, or do, will really change the trajectory of the world. But why did I think I had that power in the first place? I am reminded of a little prayer from a children’s book— “Lord help me. The sea is so big, and my boat is so small.”
We have lost many things with the pandemic that has ravaged our world. And there is another pandemic. This second pandemic is, for many people, less well known and less risky to them personally. And that is the pandemic of intolerance. When Black men and women are murdered over and over by authority figures, when our society collects guns like some societies collect art, when we cannot even mention the name of our president without the hair on the back of everyone’s neck standing up, we all lose.
I wish that I had an uplifting, encouraging post to write. And I could write that. But it would not be my genuine feelings. We can, all of us involved in this Year of Courageous Conversations, talk to each other and smile, nod and agree with all we hear. But we are our own, little, precarious echo-chamber. The real work, at least for me, is to move out into the world of my workmates, friends, acquaintances, particularly those with whom I differ, and continue to be curious, continue to look for the complete story, continue to listen more and talk less. That is really hard work for me.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
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Carol Bier-Laning is a Fellow of A Year of Courageous Conversations to explore how to foster greater inclusion and belonging in our communities. The series is presented by Urban Consulate at Barrington’s White House in Barrington, Illinois. To read more, visit CourageousConversations.us.
(Photo Credit: Christina Noël)