On be-ing Cynthia

Yesterday I found myself standing with a sign in a one-woman protest on the corner of Central Expressway and SMU Boulevard down in Dallas. It’s not the first time that I’ve been involved in a protest, but it was a little unusual to be out there alone.

I had thought that I would be joining a larger group, but when I arrived, most of the others were in the process of moving to another location where they would be for quite some time. My reason for participating in the protest didn’t really make sense in the context of where they were headed, so I decided to stay put. A few others contemplated staying with me but then headed home instead.

So there I was. Alone. On the access road at an incredibly busy intersection. During rush hour. With about a dozen police officers watching me from the other side of the access road. No problem.

My protest sign

I held my sign and smiled at passersby, including the many who waved or otherwise cheered me on. I recalled a time when my Grandma had launched her own solo protest (at the age of 80), chuckling about how this sort of thing must run in the family. Then a man in a business suit crossed the street to talk to me. I smiled and politely asked him how he was doing, and he introduced himself as a sergeant for the police department. He explained that I was within my legal First Amendment right to be there, and then he proceeded to tell me a few rules for standing on that corner (most of which sounded like “rules for not getting run over by a speeding car”).

He asked me how long I would be there, and I said that I didn’t know. I made an innocent remark about how I would have brought some bottled water if I’d known there would be so many officers present, and I said that I hoped they were all comfortable. He laughed, thanked me for my concern, and said they were doing well. I guess he decided that I didn’t require monitoring from quite so many officers because most of them left after that. Two stayed behind, and to be quite honest, it felt more like they were watching out for my safety than anything else. A bit surreal.

I’m telling this story because it relates to an aspect of myself that it took me a long time to come to terms with. When I was younger, I had a rather romanticized view of activists, mainly from movies. I also loved to read about transformative movements such as the Civil Rights Era and the women’s suffrage campaign. I fantasized about living in other historical eras and felt that I was out of my element in my own surroundings.

During once such phase, I declared to my mother that I should have been around in the 1960s because I would have been an excellent hippie. She responded by saying that I would have hated the lifestyle because I valued my alone time too much to live in a commune or travel around on a bus. I wasn’t about to admit it, but I knew deep down that she was right. Yet, it looked so glamorous in the movies: dancing around in fields to “San Francisco” (I loved to wear flowers in my hair), protesting the Vietnam War, and risking the possibility of going to jail for my principles.

As an adult, I’ve learned that I simply don’t have the personality to be a radical activist. I soooo wanted to be one, but I’m not very good at it. Although I participated in debate throughout high school and still sometimes enjoy the challenge of “winning” an argument, it usually exhausts me now. I want everyone to get along. I don’t like war, but my dreams for world peace extend to inner peace. And when pushed, I’m more likely to become rude and say things that I end up regretting, which doesn’t help with the whole inner peace thing.

I will still join in public protests when I’m able (I love the energy of community and collective action), but then I’ll balance these group gatherings with solitary activities such as blog writing and artistic expressions.

A blackout poem that I created on the 9th anniversary of the war in Iraq. (Click on the image for a larger view.)

Now, the most important thing I’ve realized with regard to this aspect of myself is that I’m not better or worse than anyone else because of my method of engaging with the people around me. For so long I felt inadequate because I’d watch friends do all this really cool stuff that I didn’t feel comfortable doing. But there is really no reason for me to feel inadequate.

I can admire some activists’ willingness to capture lots of people’s attention with their bold, aggressive actions and appear regularly in the media while recognizing that I prefer to maintain a lower profile. Conversely, I’m not going to develop an attitude that I’m somehow superior to others because of my more gentle approach to social and political movements. We’re all striving for a better world, and when we work together, each drawing on our own gifts, we can accomplish amazing things.

What I’d like to encourage others to do is to get to know yourself. Learn what your strengths are in terms of advocating for a world in which all people are treated with dignity, live in a safe environment, and have their basic needs met. Then find a way to insert yourself into spaces in which you can make a difference. It’s OK (perhaps even good) to get angry sometimes about the injustices and violence in this world, but don’t let anger consume you. Find balance with compassionate people and with activities that make you happy. Treat yourself with grace, and don’t beat yourself up for being different from others.

Also remember that some people will be able to dedicate more time and energy to social causes than what you might currently be able to do, and that’s OK too. We’re all on our own journeys. Be proud of what you are able to accomplish, and hold onto this wisdom from Mother Teresa: “Peace begins with a smile.” Smiling is something that almost all of us can do, even when it’s only on the inside.

Spiritual But Not Giving a Damn

Spiritual But Not Giving a Damn. A provocative blog post from my friend Roger Wolsey, author of Kissing Fish: christianity for people who don’t like christianity. I find that I’m at my best when I work and share in community, in spite of my introvert tendencies.

It’s not all relative

Back in the summer of 2001, I spent a month studying African drumming and culture in Ghana. My mother met me in London afterward, and when she asked me about Ghana, I found that I didn’t have the language to talk about it. This scared her. She worried that something awful had happened to me, or perhaps she worried that I might have converted to the indigenous religion.

My time in Ghana was wonderful and transformational, and I still look back on it as a pivotal moment in the formation of my adult value system. I needed time to process what I had experienced, and in a way, that process continues to this day.

The lack of words had to do with my own concerns that I would somehow exoticize the culture, and I didn’t want to say anything that would make my new friends sound strange. Since then, I’ve developed a set of tools for talking about other cultures, and I strive to do so in a way that is respectful and honors the amazing breadth and depth of humanity.

This doesn’t mean that I agree with everything I encounter. For that matter, I don’t even always agree with myself…ideas, belief systems, and ways-of-knowing in this world can be complex and seemingly contradictory at times. It’s in the recognition of fluid “in between” spaces that we can begin to connect with one another on a deeper level.

As I move forward with my posts about Cuba, I’d like to request that readers keep this framework in mind. This is something of a generalization, but I find that we in US-American society tend to look at other cultures through a lens of superiority, or alternatively that we might over-romanticize the “Other” outside of our own heritage and traditions.

The more I travel, the more I realize that everyone I encounter has something of value to  offer in terms of how I view myself and larger communities. Rather than reduce other cultures to some sort of comparative “We’re better” or “they’re better,” perhaps we can begin to delve into the situations and conditions that give rise to both differences and shared humanity.

There will be times that I might say, “Hey, this is cool! I wish we could do things that way,” and then there are other instances where I might provide an analytical critique of what may or may not be working. In the midst of that, it’s important to understand that different cultures are not always relative. Some things don’t translate. And some comparative interpretations are subjective, depending on one’s perspective.

The challenge is to try not to fall back on the crutches of superiority and exceptionalism (or the inverse inferiority and relativism). I might push you a bit to consider new ideas, but it’s not intended to put anyone in a defensive mode. Let’s stretch together!

I can see clearly now

This gallery contains 11 photos.

Something odd happened the last full day I was in Cuba. The sky suddenly seemed brighter, colors were more vivid, and Havana seemed so vibrant. I felt kind of like Homer Simpson in the episode where he finds himself in a 3-dimensional world. It was utterly, truly surreal. I attribute the transformation to a couple […]

The power of one

When I arrived at my home tonight, I discovered that my heater isn’t working. It’s kind of cold outside right now. Well, cold enough for the local emergency homeless shelter to be open tonight so that those who are unhoused in our community can sleep indoors. Still, not as bad as last week when it snowed and created a cold slushy-wet mess under the bridges.

I contemplated going over to the emergency shelter to hang out with friends there. I spent several hours over there on Christmas night, and I had a great time. Icy bridges made it dangerous for me to drive to my aunt’s house (about 45 minutes away), so I had spent all of Christmas day at home alone. I honestly enjoyed the time at the shelter because it offered me a place to share in community.

Tonight I just wanted to be alone. I’ve been traveling for the past few days, and while I loved my visits with family and friends, I needed some quiet restorative time. That’s definitely part of my introvert nature (although in the past couple of years, I’ve experienced spells when I’m more of an extrovert).

There has been a lot of talk about the care and feeding of introverts lately. It’s been something of a hot topic as some of us introverts peak our heads out of our shells and talk about how we often feel out of place in a society that rewards extroversion. I can usually fake extroversion, even when I’m at my most introverted, thanks to my INFJ personality type (inasmuch as the Myers-Briggs system is ever accurate). In fact, I can fake it so well that it sometimes surprises people that I am an introvert because, as has been pointed out by several vocal introverts, shyness is different from introversion. We’re not nervous or afraid to speak in public–it just takes a lot of energy, no matter how much we enjoy and even thrive on social interactions.

Yet, for all this recent attention, I’ve felt that a certain aspect of introversion hasn’t really been discussed. Or, at least, I haven’t encountered it in the books, TED Talks, interviews, and articles. I suspect, though, that there are academic critiques that delve into what’s been lacking in the popular media.

Underlying the discussions about introverts is an implicit class privilege. Oh, I know, I have a tendency to bring up this notion of privilege a lot, but that’s because it’s so much a part of my world. I’m increasingly aware of the advantages that I have.

And yes, the ability for introverts to rejuvenate quietly is indeed a privilege. I’m able to sequester myself in the privacy of my home whenever I am feeling particularly exhausted or overstimulated. This holiday season has brought out my need for alone time, as I’ve been contemplating where I am and where I’m headed. I find that writing helps me to think through my ideas, but unlike extroverts who might prefer to write in coffee houses and communal office spaces, I usually accomplish more when I am by myself.

Not everyone has the luxury of retreating to a quiet space. I am able to afford to live alone, and the last time I shared a bedroom with anyone for an extended period of time was during the first semester of my freshman year of college. That lasted for less than two months before I was able to get a private room.

I’ve shared a room with others during travels abroad, but I think that my record was during the month that I spent in Ghana in 2001. I had the best possible roommate in Ghana–she was laid-back and usually didn’t get back to our little grass hut until long after I had gone to sleep. The same was true during the two weeks that I spent in the Czech Republic (minus the grass hut).

Chelle and me in front of our hut, August 2001.

It’s not that I intend to spend the rest of my life living on my own. I did share a space with my mother during the years that I cared for her…well, my mother and, with the exception of the nights that no one showed up, a string of nurses who sat with her so that I could sleep. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to close my bedroom door and hide away. If I ever get married or cohabitate, I’ll need a designated “Cynthia space.”

Poverty doesn’t afford this kind of space. When my parents separated, I lived with my mother and sister in a small apartment where my sister and I shared a room. The only reason we were able to move into a three-bedroom house was because my mother’s parents made the downpayment. But even the apartment offered more privacy than some of the places I’ve visited. After all, my mother had her own bedroom.

Her bedroom couldn’t have been much smaller than the one-room hut that I saw in Haiti where a single mother and her five children piled onto two small beds each night. And Mom’s room was certainly more private than the emergency shelter that I visited on Christmas, where the most personal space that anyone had was a few feet immediately surrounding each cot in the open room.

A tent city in Port-au-Prince, Haiti

In a way, there’s a certain irony in that, as I have written elsewhere, poverty is often incredibly isolating, while at the same time not usually allowing people to experience intentional aloneness. Community is incredibly important, even if it’s for the sake of surviving together under a bridge or in a tent city.

I think that the key word is “intentional” when considering the value of solitude. When I feel that I would benefit from alone time, it’s a choice for me to retreat. Having my own space affords me the privilege of deciding when I want to be by myself and when I want to spend time with others.

I don’t want to isolate myself from others–I love building community and connecting with the world around me, both in one-on-one interactions and in larger groups. I am better at this when I can occasionally recharge alone. The degree to which I need quiet time varies, but I get to make that decision myself. It’s a privilege that many people in this world don’t have. While I’m going to continue to relish my solitude, I try not to take it for granted but, rather, be mindful and intentional about it so that I can offer more to others. Yes, there is power in oneness.

Homefulness

Every once in a blue moon, I stumble upon a community of like-minded people who feel like lifelong friends from the moment we meet. That’s how I felt when I attended the Revolutionary Change Session hosted by POOR Magazine in San Francisco this past June. The weekend was truly transformative, and I’ve been blessed to continue building the relationships that started over that powerful weekend.

I’m writing this as a member of the Solidarity Family that’s committed to supporting POOR’s efforts. We converge by way of a conference call each month, email regularly, and I have Skyped several times with a longer-term member of the Solidarity Family who has served as something of a mentor to me.

In the course of our conversations, we’ve talked about how to get out the word about POOR’s innovative efforts to create an alternative to the poverty reduction models that treat poor people as if they have no wisdom and expertise about how to overcome their own challenges. It’s a difficult subject, but even the words “overcome their own challenges” hint at a paternalistic philanthropic attitude of “Here, if you’d only do things my way, you’d be so much better off.”

That sort of approach is elitist and often misses the point about why some people struggle with long-term poverty. The thing is, I’ve lived in poverty. Short-term situational poverty, but full of struggles nonetheless. My dearly departed mother often worked three or more jobs to make ends meet, and even then, there were times when our electricity got cut off. It’s hard to talk about even now because we closely guarded our financial situation from our surrounding community.

One thing I learned is that poverty can be incredibly isolating. People judge you all the time when you’re poor. They look at you as if you’re somehow less virtuous, as if you deserve your situation because you have failed. It’s incredibly humiliating. And it often happens in the places where people go to seek help, such as soup kitchens, welfare lines, and homeless shelters.

POOR Magazine’s current office is in the Mission District of San Francisco. This area is currently undergoing “gentrification,” which is a fancy word for raising rent as a way to push out the people who have lived and worked there for generations in order to make room for wealthier folks.

I’m fortunate to live in a town where the local soup kitchen is incredibly welcoming and non-judgmental, but I’ve been in a receiving line where the volunteers “serving” looked at me with condescending pity. If you’ve ever experienced that look, you know what I’m talking about: the “I’m so thankful I’m not you” look. The “I’m doing this so that I can be reminded that my life isn’t as bad as I thought” look. The “It’s a good thing I get to go home after this” look.

POOR challenges all of that because it’s led by people in poverty who are often busy worrying about how to get through the day and how to help others who are in a similar situation. It’s really powerful stuff. With every email message and phone call, I learn more about my own attitudes and limitations as I hear about the struggles that others are currently facing.

It’s because of those dialogs that I’m super-excited about a project called Homefulness that POOR has launched. Homefulness is a viable solution to the problem of homelessness, and although the current project is based in Oakland, California, I honestly believe that this model has the potential to transform communities all across the country. The thing that makes it work is that people in poverty are making decisions about what works for them, rather than having social service agencies tell them how to do things.

Homefulness sounds so appealing that I’m actually a bit envious that I won’t be living in that amazingly supportive and equality-centered community myself. The land has already been purchased, and pro bono architects and engineers have jumped onboard because of how exciting the project is. In other words, highly skilled experts have agreed to work for free because they believe in the power of this movement. The City of Oakland has been incredibly cooperative as the project has moved forward, and construction should start this next year. Even now, the land (which has already been purchased in full) is growing vegetables for a community-based garden. Really cool stuff.

I’d like to invite everyone who reads this to contribute to the fundraising effort that will bring Homefulness to fruition. There’s currently a challenge grant that will match dollar-for-dollar ever donation up to $35,000, and over $6,000 has already been raised. If you give $10, it will immediately multiply to become $20 thanks to the challenge grant.

You can support Homefulness through POOR Magazine’s website (if contributing via PayPal or check, be sure to put “Homefulness” in the memo in order to count toward the challenge grant) or with this Indiegogo campaign.

Oh, and I should mention that this project will be eco-conscious. In addition to renovating the existing structures on the property, several eco-friendly adobe homes will be constructed on-site, as well as a cafe, school, and office space. The goal is to use an alternative energy source for electricity, and the garden will make Homefulness even more self-sufficient.

The garden at Homefulness, as imagined by children who will help tend to it.

If you believe in contributing to a project that will help people in poverty become less dependent on government and charitable assistance, now is the time to make a donation. Contrary to what the media tells us, the vast majority of people would prefer not to have to stand in line for food stamps and welfare. Homefulness is a model of how that can start to work, and I believe that other communities can learn from what POOR is doing.

The other thing that I value from POOR’s structure is the way that those of us with race and/or class privilege are reminded that we don’t have a monopoly on how to do things. Sometimes it’s easier to ignore the realities that most of the world is struggling to survive, and then when we do “help,” we want it to be on our own terms. POOR Magazine is also indeed an alternative media source, and the news reports aren’t always warm and fuzzy.

I’ve been thinking about how to present this fundraising initiative to family members, and I realize that some of the word choices and topics might make relatives feel uncomfortable. I think it’s good to feel uncomfortable because that’s how we grow. If we constantly live in a sheltered, protective state, we don’t have the opportunity to stretch our hearts and minds. This includes looking closely at the reality that many people are barely surviving, and considering how this impacts them. Not everything is going to be wrapped up in a pretty package and presented with a glossy-sheen, but that’s a good thing.

So I encourage you to check out POOR’s Homefulness campaign and support it. Also take the time to read and listen to the powerful stories of those who are involved in this movement. If we all join in together, recognizing that we have far more in common than we have differences, we can make this world a better place. And Homefulness is a great place to start.

Shelter from the storm

Yesterday I shared on Facebook that I spent several hours on Christmas night hanging out with folks in an emergency shelter. When I talk about this aspect of my life–the cultivation of community among people who are marginalized or downright ignored by society–I find that friends often respond by praising me for doing a “good deed.”

I don’t want to minimize these compliments because I do truly value the encouragement. At the same time, I feel uncomfortable with lavish compliments for things that seem to be a natural progression of where I’ve found myself in life. Going to the emergency shelter wasn’t some sort of noble act of sacrifice, but rather, an opportunity to spend time with some really cool people. I recognized two faces right away, and by the time I left, I had enjoyed conversations with several more.

I’m thankful that the shelter was open last night because the temperature was way too cold, and the accumulated snow meant that those sleeping outdoors had to deal with freezing wet clothes and puddles on the ground. That’s no way to spend Christmas night…or any other night.

I’m also thankful for the community that shared space in the shelter last night. After dinner, some people went upstairs to watch movies while others played cards. Then a number of us visited, talking about our past experiences (good and bad) with the holiday and random stuff.

It’s hard to convey to those who have not spent much time around folks who are unhoused, but we all have far more in common than we have differences. I feel that they are my brothers and sisters, and I honestly believe that more people would feel the same way if we stopped focusing on our differences.

Unfortunately, the biggest difference is that those who find themselves on the streets don’t have a support network to help out when the going gets tough. I think back to times when I’ve needed financial assistance, and I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to turn to friends and family. Not everyone has those same resources. That doesn’t make me better than others–it means that we need to make greater efforts to take care of one another.

One of my biggest hopes is that we can work together to improve the living conditions of every single person in this world. That starts with treating everyone with dignity and respect instead of using dehumanizing language and pretending like the problem of homelessness doesn’t exist. It’s real, and it causes immense and intense pain for lots of people. They deserve to be treated better.

What I’d like to challenge us to do is to take tangible steps to reduce poverty in the US and around the world. Think about one thing you can do in the near future to reach out to those in your community who are living in poverty. Maybe spend time at a soup kitchen or in another environment where those who are struggling congregate.

If you choose to help out at a non-profit, please consider one other thing. So often, serving lines are clearly divided into the “servers” and the “recipients.” I think that I’ve written elsewhere that there’s a tendency to demarcate which side of the table the “volunteers” are on, and for the table (or even an imaginary barrier) to separate the “haves” and the “have nots.”

Those barriers might make the servers feel safer and more comfortable, but we should start working to remove the structures and ideas that keep us apart. We’re not going to make real progress as long as we’re remaining in those designated areas. It’s when we reach beyond our comfort zone that we begin to understand what others are going through. One new friend I talked with last night agreed with me when I mentioned the awkward looks of pity that I’ve received when others assume that I’m “needy.” It’s a common response, but it can make those who are in the receiving line feel even more isolated and alone.

I don’t have all the answers, and I’m still learning how to relate to others in this world. What I have concluded at this point is that I don’t want to spend my life insulating myself from the challenges that others face. Those of us who are working for a better world shouldn’t be the exceptions, the outliers, the “saints.” We should be the norm. The only way this will happen is if more people commit to joining us. I’ll be writing some more thoughts on how we can achieve this goal, so stay tuned.

And back to last night, I probably received a lot more than I gave of myself. I truly enjoyed the time that I spent at the emergency shelter. I feel blessed to have been welcomed into that community of folks who had nowhere else to go, even though I’m also aware that I had the luxury of driving home and sleeping in my own bed. The shelter is where I needed to be at that moment–it did indeed shelter me from the storm–and the shared community was a gift. For that, I’m thankful.