Truing process or art of escape?

I am completely thrilled to have my friend and former colleague Jessica Bart-Williams with us today. A woman of staunch conviction, she is not afraid to travel in those uncomfortable spaces I admittedly try to avoid. Today I’m mustering the grit to join her. Won’t you too?

I live fiercely inside a romantic notion that all people matter. As an adult, I always lived in cities. I am a fervent supporter of integration, having grown up in a segregated town that structurally reinforced prolonged segregation to ensure its illusion of safety. Once I got out, I knew I was never going back. I believe strongly that we need to see ourselves in each other. When we don’t see ourselves in others, whomever “other” may be, we, little by little, forget they are one of us. They become objectified; somehow just a little less human.

And then someone got shot outside my back door a month after we were robbed. Within a year, we moved to a lovely manicured town that looks something like the street from My Fair Lady. I don’t know if it was my “not necessarily related” complete breakdown requiring 4 ½ months in and out of the hospital; the thought of my kids suffering or dying due to violent circumstances I couldn’t prevent; or moving to a neighborhood that at least had plenty of people that looked like us in it that justified my running to the ‘burbs; but I ran fast. The stress of violent crime coming so close to my home again combined with the economic pressure of paying for my hospitalization while my husband continued to miss work while the house went further and further under water was all too much. We lost the house, and he found a place to rent – just for a little while – in a nicer neighborhood so I could relax.

Relaxing worked. Within a year, I was reliably continuing my thoughts and able care for my children again. By year two, I was using Facebook to relearn how to write and started homeschooling. Year three, I continued homeschooling, found my voice, regained some lost memories and crafted a vision for my professional future. But I never did get to know my neighbors that well. Things work differently here.

My life now is more about getting the cans back in the house on time and making sure to replace the lights. I do yoga, write, take care of the kids, and sign Facebook petitions. We’re good people, and so are our friends. The local school’s PTA makes a few thousand bucks a year, and the kids are fine. Everyone is safe. But ever so faintly, when I’m on my living room floor chanting in my yoga pants really thinking about my tea on the endtable, I hear the answer to Betty Friedan’s famous question:

“No, this isn’t all there is; and you know better. Get your ass on the line.”

I believe that traditional forms of reflection are essential. We need to concentrate on ourselves and safely practice. We need to ground ourselves, establish our boundaries, create our visions; and those processes are generally completed much faster wherever we feel safe. But reflection, as our suburban housewife culture has come to define it, is changing from a truing process into the art of escape for me. I have convinced myself that I still remember what I’m committed to deep in my heart; that I’ll get my project outlined right after lunch, or maybe dinner, or that 8pm show. I’ve convinced myself I’m not the kind of person that will forget others; if only I weren’t so exhausted. But underneath, I know the truth – I like that the world’s problems seem far away and less urgent.

I see now that my entire life is designed to ensure my comfort. I do yoga – if I feel like it. I cook what I want to eat. I care for my children, but what we do is determined inside a world where my willingness to participate matters, and my participation often depends on my comfort. And I say that I’m not alone. This world – the entire globe and everything on it – is a reflection of what we are committed to. When we debate about budget allocations, energy plans or foreign policy, many times people are negotiating for optimal comfort. And there’s an entire swath of folks who won’t even discuss politics simply because getting in those conversations take too much effort. Sure, we say we’re being polite or we don’t want to disturb others – mostly because we are avoiding discomfort.

Let’s say, if only as a mental exercise, that it’s true that politics is a complete waste of time. We don’t want to be uncomfortable, so we are waiting for someone else to feed hungry people, cure sick people, help lost people. We call them “the homeless,” or “the mentally ill” because it gives us the space we need to ensure that it’s their world that’s unpredictable, not ours. We cannot fix suffering from a distance. At least, we haven’t so far.

And the cost? I’m twenty pounds overweight, I look ten years older than I have to, and those are the absolute first things on my mind. I’m not thinking first about the 7,000 children worldwide dying every day of starvation, or the 20% of children in the U.S. going to bed hungry every night. I think about how every President goes gray so fast, but I can’t tell you about their foreign policies or how they impacted other nations during their service. Scandal and The Voice dominate evening T.V. time, and no one is talking about Syria anymore.

Can I hit the gym, get a facelift AND discuss Syria? Absolutely. Could we have a strategic and impactful political discussion that made a difference. You bet we could. But, we have got to be willing to be a little uncomfortable. Not forever – just until we get the hang of it.

Why? Because reflection wasn’t designed solely so we can catch ourselves in the mirror. We can actually be the mirror for others such that they catch themselves.

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Jessica Bart-Williams, political activist
Inventor at Edge of the 4th Estate (E4)

E4 is creating a flexible database that creates real access to democracy by inviting constituents to participate inside social and historical contexts as related to current events. E4 also provides digestible modules and opportunities to engage with elected officials and each other.