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What do you want, really?
It's a simple enough question, isn't it? What do you want when it comes to your work in public life? I feel rather stupid asking this question because its answer often seems so damn obvious. All that's required is a basic, straightforward response. And yet, truth be told, I find so many of us struggle with what we want, and even more with whether we are really getting to where we want to be. Something is in our way, but what?
Most people I know seeking to bring about change in public life are working mighty hard, for relatively modest pay, and over long hours. Let's face it: there are easier ways to make a living. But you and I and many others do not consider this work simply to be a "career." It is a calling; we have an urge within us to do good, to right wrongs, to repair breaches, to give voice to the weakest among us.
But today I am not writing about the reasons that get us out of bed every morning, but rather what stands in the way of our fulfillment. In talking with people, I often find that at the heart of this matter is some combination of three different barriers that I describe below, and which I ask you to consider for yourself.
Option #1: I find that many of us are running so fast simply to get through our daily task list, that we may not be pointed in the right direction to create change. We focus too much on the success of our own organization, the implementation of a rigid strategic plan, or meeting metrics someone else has set to evaluate our effectiveness. It's all more than enough to lose sight of why you got into this work in the first place. It's not that our hearts aren't in the right place; instead, it is that we are not properly oriented to the very communities we seek to improve. We don't truly understand and work with people's concerns; we do not deeply know how to create the conditions for change; we are not in synch with the kind of change people seek.
Of course, each of us believes that we are oriented outward toward our communities. But the reality is that many of us operate apart from the very communities we wish to improve and strengthen. While we may talk about "community" from time to time, we are focused like a laser on our own programs and goals. This isn't easy to admit, but for many of us, it is true.
Option #2: I find that many of us turn to a collection of processes and approaches we have been told will offer us insights and answers to the most vexing challenges. Indeed, this second option is rooted in the adoption of strategic planning, branding, best practices, competitive analyses, evidence-based decision-making, customer service, and other techniques that promise us a good outcome. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of these or other similar approaches. The problem arises when we become lost in them - naming and renaming strategies, moving organizational boxes around, cranking through more and more data, and yet never seeing the essence of the public challenges we face and their effects on people's lives; or seeing communities as living, organic systems to be engaged not controlled; or facing up to the fact that the real dilemma may be the absence of public will, not the adoption of more jargon.
I know these techniques can be useful; I use them myself. But I also hear people tell me that instead of their group or organization having real conversations, or engaging deeply (and even honestly) in their work, they go through more exercises. My concern is that we can get lost, even hide behind, these methods, and lose our sense of mission and what matters most.
Option #3: I find that many of us are blocked by conditions beyond us: negative and divisive politics, economic changes, the physical development of communities, other people's lack of will and discipline. It is true that these and other maladies exist in our communities and organizations. And they can be powerful forces. Go to many communities and you will see how these forces have disrupted people's lives and undermined their futures.
I do not debate the validity of these points. But what I do ask is this: must we remain victims of these maladies; must we accept them as they are; must we lie down before them and give in? If the answer is no, then what are we doing?
There may be other barriers and other factors but take a good hard look at what sits beneath each of them. What makes it difficult to move beyond them? Perhaps at the core is that we that we can become stymied by fear - the fear to engage with those who may be different from ourselves; the fear of being critiqued by others; the fear of coming up short or being proven wrong; the fear of being unsuccessful and losing hope or faith; the fear of rejection.
In my experience, people typically do not mention "fear" right off the bat; it often takes a bit of a conversation for such feelings to be uncovered, or at least articulated. But fear is insidious. It has a way of grabbing hold of us and distorting our best dreams, of slowing us down, of knocking us off course.
So, what about it: what do you want, really?
Download a free copy of Rich's latest essay: Make Hope Real
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Not All Hope Is Created Equal
My fear all along has been that "hope" would become a casualty of this campaign - that its very meaning and currency would be diminished through overuse and sloganeering. Now, on the day of the Indiana and North Carolina Democratic Primaries, I wanted to return to this topic to make an urgent case for a particular meaning of hope in politics and public life. For not all hope is created equal.
Tonight the pundits and spin-meisters will talk about hope as if it is on trial. Some will say that if Hillary Clinton wins it is proof that talking about hope is a reflection of a naive view of politics. If Barack Obama wins, there will be those who will declare that the audacity of hope remains a brilliant strategy. But no matter what results emerge from tonight, I believe we must see hope differently if we wish to make it real. We must distinguish between authentic and false hope. Here are some basic tenets to guide us:
Hope is an orientation, not a platform - let's be clear: hope is not a platform; there are no "policies" that the "hope camp" can claim. Instead, hope is about offering people a new perspective on moving forward, helping them to discover opportunities that are not obvious, or which are latent within us. A distinguishing feature of hope is whether one seeks to build things up, or tear them down; and whether one's efforts are an attempt to address reality, or serve merely as window dressing or half-hearted ploys to placate and persuade.
Hope is neither about "being nice" nor "going negative"- to make hope real, we must pursue a different option, one that calls for a tough-minded, dogged approach in which we are ready to openly juxtapose our own views with those of others. There must be a willingness to step forward and strongly argue points of substance, to disagree, even to be critical, but with respect and without name calling. It means not backing down from a fight, but rather placing a stake in the ground to assert one's position. Favoring hope demands that we speak out with clarity and conviction.
Hope is not naive - some belittle those who promote hope by saying that it is soft or squishy, and that there is little room in politics and public life for such silliness. But they're wrong. Hope is an essential human emotion people need if they are to believe that change is possible; hope enables people to step forward and risk failure; hope allows people to come face-to-face with others, especially those who may seem different from themselves. Through hope, people are able to believe that tomorrow can be different from today, even when the odds seem stacked against them. What is naive is the belief that politics and public life can flourish without hope.
Hope must reside in your house, not simply The White House - as I travel to communities across the nation, it is clear to me that many of the issues and challenges people talk about can only be solved in their local communities. Thus, while messages of hope can and should come from the White House, hope must reside first and foremost in each of our own homes. For hope to be real, it must live within and among us, and in our neighborhoods and communities.
Hope must be grown, not only promised - yes, there is something remarkable about the "promise" of hope - the sense of possibility that can arise from a well-crafted speech or sermon. Those who say otherwise are merely playing games or have not encountered hope themselves. But, over time, hope emerges and is sustained because it rests on something real; it is a manifestation of that which is promised. Thus, to make hope real requires moving beyond exhortations, conversations, speeches, to the creation of pockets of change that demonstrate to people what is possible.
When "hope" comes under fire many people feel compelled to either defend it at all costs or simply to say that it's a nifty campaign slogan and not much more. I fear both stands; each neglects the sense of purpose and intentionality required to bring about authentic hope. Each fails to account for the choices we must make in daily life. Each misses a fundamental truth about hope:
The pursuit of authentic hope is a function of what we say and do over time.
The role of hope in this presidential campaign is certainly important, but we must each keep these ideas front and center in the work we do. For only then can hope be real.
Download a free copy of Rich's latest essay - Make Hope Real and begin your pursuit of authentic hope today.
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The $100,000 Flop
I’ve had this dream for years now: A major funder gives me big money to design an initiative that intentionally fails in full public view. I find myself sharing this dream with people when I visit their communities and talk with them about creating change and authentic hope. While in Binghamton, N.Y last week, I found myself talking about the dream again. For most my “dream” would be a nightmare; me, I want to make it happen.
What I call the “$100,000 Flop” is based on an actual experience I had years ago working in a community that was down and out. Jobs were scarce, trust was fleeting, and there was lots of finger-pointing and placing of blame. Many people in the community felt so beaten up they were afraid to step forward and take any action. Like many of us, they were afraid they might fail.
At the time a major foundation was funding various change efforts in the community, including the Institute’s work. But progress was slow. No matter how much the foundation funded, fear persisted. People didn’t want to come out from their homes and leaders wouldn’t work with one another. Simply giving out grants didn’t seem to be the answer; money cannot easily erase something as insidious as fear. So I went to the foundation and asked for funding for an initiative that would intentionally fail in full public view. That’s right, I wanted to fail.
After failing, my plan was to call a meeting in the center of town for people to talk about what had happened, and why the initiative had failed. I simply wanted people to see that we could talk openly, in public, about our failures, and that nothing would happen to us. We’d all come through the experience intact, no matter how hard or excruciating the conversation was. I wanted people to see that we could dissect the initiative and together could produce insights that would help all of us; that the conversation need not end in more finger-pointing and acrimony. I wanted to create an opportunity for people to see themselves in my failure; and really believe they would be okay.
Fear of failure is rampant in our lives. I see this fear rear its ugly head in so many communities, where it can have a crippling effect on people’s work and psyche. Sometimes we don’t even realize the fear is within us, only to find ourselves stymied or stuck. The upshot is that we hide from taking risk, and the status quo wins out. So, just for moment, think about your fears and those of the people around you.
· Where do you see a fear a failure?
· Why do you think it exists?
· What’s holding people back?
Many of us choose not to step forward because we fear coming up short in our work or personal lives. We are afraid that others will judge us as less than competent, or less than able, or less than willing. There is often the sense that we must wait for someone else to give us permission to take action. Sound familiar?
But consider what happens when these dynamics are at play. Since none of us want to appear to be inactive or disinterested, we generate lists of activities in order to look busy, or we push hard at the edges of a challenge so as to seem engaged. We get entangled in various narratives that tell us that change is not possible, which we allow to close off opportunities to produce change and hope.
After all these years, I still haven’t given up on my dream. In fact, my own hope now is that people in communities far and wide will try out my dream for themselves. My hope is that you will identify an initiative where you or others have failed, and will gather people around to talk openly about it. Stare straight at the failure so that you do not fear its power over you; wrestle with its implications so that you know there are choices to be made.
When I go to communities, people often want me to talk about success stories. I always try to tell a few. But as important as success stories are, our ability to recognize and overcome our fear of failure is just as critical. My dream these days is that in our efforts to move ahead, we will actually take on what is holding us back.
Click here to download a free copy of Rich's lastest essay: Make Hope Real
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The Pope and the Pennsylvania Primary
The Pope’s recent visit to the U.S. offers us a glimpse into what our society so desperately needs at this moment, and which is so glaringly absent from the current Pennsylvania primary campaign. If only the presidential candidates would address the so-called “regular people” of Pennsylvania with the same forthrightness that Pope Benedict chose to handle the Catholic Church’s child abuse scandal during his recent visit.
From the outset of his visit, the Pope answered the call to address the explosive issue of child abuse which came at the hands of Catholic priests. Now, I know many people believe the Pope’s visit was a triumph of public relations and spin over truth. They argue that the Pope sought to masterfully manipulate public opinion to blot out a stain on the Catholic Church. They rightfully point out that he was merely here for a handful of days, and that many skilled public figures could manage the maladies he had to confront. Time will tell.
But I see a leader who never ducked this issue; rather, he chose to speak out. He started this process before he touched down on U.S. soil, with a press conference aboard his plane after take-off from Rome. His actions came as the Pennsylvania Primary heated up, and turned increasingly nasty and sadly irrelevant. Here’s how Pope Benedict approached his challenge:
• The Pope spoke out on a taboo issue we all know exists.
• He talked about the issue directly from his heart to our hearts. He spoke in human (and deeply personal) terms about shame and regret, rejecting the safety of putting forth convoluted proposals intended to make us think he was “taking action.”
• His words were relatively few. He didn’t drone on with long speeches, seemingly written by someone with little or no relationship to the topic. In this case, fewer words translated into deeper meaning, because we were able to actually see and hear the Pope.
• He talked directly to whomever he was with, instead of talking to cameras or some intended audience. This was not about doing yet another event; or about being cajoled into showing up (like a politician who holds a press conference after getting caught in a compromised position); or about winning converts; or about using people as props. The Pope sought to be with others. This seldom happens with leaders in public life.
• He spoke out over the course of his entire visit, even if it was only for a handful of days. His comments were less a smattering of one-off speeches or events, and more of an unfolding of a “public conversation” that took on increasingly deeper meaning as it evolved.
• Lastly, the Pope met with the aggrieved, in private, and with purpose. Yes, he did not meet with a large group of victims. But he did reach out, and by all accounts the event was genuinely about love and healing, not persuasion or photo ops. For me, the meeting turned into an example of what can become – of how other Catholic leaders and victims can come together.
Think, then, of the Pennsylvania primary, where people are being clumsily categorized into clusters of “rural,” “urban” and “suburban” voters, and little more; where there is a fight over how “bitter” people are and various stereotypes; where issues such as “race” and “closed factories” and “poor schools” are raised one day, only to be forgotten the next; where the personal stories of candidates and their mistakes overshadow the stories of Pennsylvanians and their concerns; where candidates talk incessantly about policies, as if having a “position” is the same as speaking directly to someone’s hurt and aspirations.
Just at the time when the Pope vigilantly sought to address the inescapable realities of a very tough issue, the candidates in the Pennsylvania Primary seem to be spinning beyond any reality we recognize.
I know some people will wonder if I have amnesia, that somehow I have forgotten the history of the Catholic Church, and its slow dealings with the child abuse scandal. I see the shortcomings and failures, but I am not blind to the ways in which this Pope has chosen to step forward at this time.
In the Keystone State, votes will be counted tonight and someone will be declared the winner and another the loser. Then the candidates will hop on their chartered jets and leave for some other town, in some other state, looking for some other voters. And yet, it is not another speech or policy position that I seek from these candidates. I wish for them to engage us in real ways about our individual and collective lives.
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What's Missing in Obama and Clinton's Bitterness Battle
In the face of people’s real lives, Senators Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton's escalating war of words about “bitterness” seems to be an utterly silly, even a potentially destructive distraction. As this battle is fought on 24 hour news networks, I can’t help but think about my waitress this past weekend at a Denny’s Restaurant in rural central Pennsylvania.
I walked into Denny’s at 6AM last Saturday morning. I was in town taking my daughter to an accepted student's day at a local liberal arts college, while most the other people in the restaurant were readying for a day fishing or hunting. One of only two waitresses on duty, my waitress scrambled between 10 tables and the kitchen, all the while calling me “honey” each time she stopped by to refill my coffee. As I went to pay my bill, she told me that she had been at the restaurant since 6AM the previous day, and that she was to work until 2PM that afternoon.
As I quickly totaled the number of hours she would working that day, I couldn’t help but think of Senator Obama’s comments about how people in small towns across Pennsylvania and Indiana feel “bitter” these days, seemingly left behind in a world changing around them; nor could I forget Senator Clinton’s rapid response to his comments, arguing that Obama’s words demonstrated that he was “out of touch,” an “elitist,” someone akin to the wind-surfing Senator John F Kerry.
This most recent spat between the two campaigns took place as the candidates participated on Sunday evening at the “Compassion Forum,” held at Messiah College outside Harrisburg, PA – a quick drive from that Denny's. I listened carefully as each spoke of their personal perspectives on faith, and the connection they see between their faith and goals of fighting poverty. Both these individuals said that such a fight is a moral imperative.
But what does such a moral imperative mean when it comes to the Denny’s waitress? I keep thinking about her as I wonder about this recent war of words. I don’t buy that Obama is out of touch, though I do believe that he must translate his message of hope by speaking more directly and plainly to people in need. And while I do believe that Clinton would fight hard for those in need, I wish she would not lower herself by playing with words in ways that taint her own credibility and seek to cripple her opponent.
The very war over the nature of the word “bitter” makes empty the notion of a moral imperative to fight poverty and lift up all people. It is a digression from the real issues. No, let me put a finer point on that: it is a transgression of a public trust not to play with people’s realities. Indeed, while we may hold different meanings for “bitterness,” we do share a common knowledge that people are in search of an alternative way forward – of a politics and public life that reflect our better instincts. If there are disagreements about the candidates’ ideas, so be it. But that is not really the debate right now, is it?
Perhaps the irony of this debate should not go unnoticed here: two candidates who profess to offer a new direction for the nation are caught up in a duel of words over the meaning of bitterness, when what we all know with certainty is that people are truly bitter (and angry) about the inability of their political leaders to address their genuine concerns.
Here’s my prescription for our current malady. I would ask both candidates to take five minutes to reflect on their words of faith during the recent Compassion Forum. Then I'd ask them to share two sentences about what their notion of faith calls them to say to my waitress from Denny’s. What would they say to her about her life and future as she finishes one of her 32 hour shifts. What words would reflect a sense of meaning in her life, and what word would offer her a sense of possibility about what tomorrow could bring.
These are the words I wish to hear.
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Standing with Those on the Edge
As a Washington Capitals season ticket holder I've come to cherish the moment at each game when fans are asked to salute guest soldiers, many of whom are being treated at nearby Walter Reed Army Hospital. To a person, everyone rises to their feet and gives our guests an extended standing ovation. It's an amazing feeling to be among 15,000 people expressing such love and respect. But when the applause gives way to life's daily drudgeries, I wonder what happens to those brave soldiers, especially those in need of mental health support? Are we asked to stand up then?
This weekend, The New York Times ran two articles on the mental health of our troops serving in Iraq. One, "Army Is Worried by Rising Stress of Return Tours," detailed how each tour of duty significantly raises the odds that a soldier will return home with "anxiety, depression or acute stress." The second piece, "After War, Love Can Be a Battlefield," told of 19 couples who attended a weekend retreat called "Strong Bonds," to learn how to deal with the enormous stress placed on marriages and families when soldiers return home.
What is our bond to our troops when the applause dies down, when men and women in uniform find themselves sitting alone in their dark living room or around an empty kitchen table, when the demons of trauma will not relent, when there seems to be no one they can talk with? After we ship someone overseas for a tour of duty, what does it mean for us to have "strong bonds" with them when they come home?
Mental health is still a taboo subject in our society, though our ability to talk about it openly has improved dramatically in my lifetime. I remember as a kid, watching my mom help to create "Hammond House," a halfway home for mental health patients who had been "de-institutionalized" by New York State during the 1970s. Hammond House was located just a handful of blocks from my own home. What my mom and others did was pretty remarkable.
I also remember seeing the slim white envelopes among the mail on our dining room table, with the austere black lettering in the upper left-hand corner: "Saratoga County Mental Health Committee." Among his many commitments, my dad served on this committee at a time when mental health issues were often considered shameful to talk about in public.
I still recall vividly the college psychiatrist at Skidmore College, Dr. Mastrianni, approaching me after a speech I'd given, to ask if I would consider working at the county's Mental Health Crisis Center. I quickly said yes, and it was an experience that would help direct my life. My role was to help patients during the many hours when no doctor was to be seen. I remember going home after 12-hour shifts and sitting on the floor in my room hoping to decompress and sort out what I had seen and experienced. I was only 19 or 20 years old. I remember once having to help tie down to her bed a struggling patient; she was someone I had walked to elementary school with, someone I had known for years.
What I came to know from my time at the crisis center was how close to the edge so many people live; how someone can seem to be doing relatively okay one day, and then the next they are pushed too far, beyond what they can handle at the moment. Together with other experiences, my time at the Crisis Center left an indelible mark upon my heart: we must be our brother's keeper.
A visiting rabbi at my temple recently asked some of us when we had felt God's presence, or at least some semblance of genuine spirituality. I've felt it many times, but one is when we Caps fans stand-up together in a show of support of our troops. In my row alone, I suspect there are widely divergent views on the war; but in that single moment, when we all stand, there is something incredibly beautiful that occurs, something that seems larger than any of us. We are together.
I keep thinking of the people I met at the Crisis Center, people who desperately wanted to get back up on their feet; I think as well about the people my parents sought to support in my home town, and how they were willing to stand up for them. Now, when our troops return from a war many people do not want, what will we do? I wish we could find a way to stand up for our troops – not merely by giving out medals, or through recognition at sporting events, or with periodic retreats about how to save one's marriage. We need to stand with individuals who need our ongoing support so that they can get back up on their feet. -
Warning: Beware of Political Giddiness
Like many people, I'm excited to see how people are stepping forward to engage in this year's presidential race. Indeed, as I travel the country there's a growing contagion of giddiness spreading throughout the land. But, lurking beneath the surface of our national "feel-good" is a warning we must heed, or else run the risk of promoting false hope.
The challenge before us is to not misread people's shared anger and renewed energy for common ground about how they wish to move ahead. The general urge for change is not at all the same as an endorsement or readiness for particular change. The presidential candidates must know this, and so too must the rest of us who see ourselves as catalysts for change.
What we are witnessing in this election cycle is people saying "Enough Is Enough!" over the state of the union and our overly partisan and rancorous politics. They believe that, as a society, we have failed to make real progress on the pressing issues before us, and that matters have only gotten worse in recent years. Things have come to a head.
But, whenever an impasse is at work, the desire for change should not be equated with agreement on what to do. This is true when any of us hit a personal impasse and feel stuck without the clarity about how to proceed. It was true when I first started working in Flint, Michigan in 1997, when I heard people say, "This can't go on!" and yet there was a clear absence of agreement on what should be done. It is true within organizations that hit an impasse, and for the nation, too. Let's be clear: At impasse, people want relief – and fast; and they want to believe that change is on the way.
And yet, at impasse most communities (and in this case, the nation) lack the civic foundation for widespread change to take place. The right conditions, capacity, collective will, and common ground to produce such change are missing. Go to any community and you can hear people talk about this lack of civic foundation – about the community's fragmented efforts, negative norms for public discourse, lack of trust in its leaders, and dearth of catalytic organizations that truly work for the common good, not just for their own good.
The danger before us now is to assume that the energy emerging from this presidential cycle will automatically convert into enthusiasm and sustainable support for real change. That would be a dire mistake. Sadly, that may be the direction in which we're headed now, a direction rooted in growing giddiness, which will lead to false hope. My intent in raising this concern is not to dampen people's current enthusiasm, or to be a naysayer. Quite the opposite, my own work is rooted in the sense of possibility that is created when people tap their own potential, join together, and act on their shared aspirations.
But, I also know that change requires us to root what we say and do in reality - that is, we must root our programs and promises in the very conditions we face, and infuse in our actions and words clarity about what must be changed. We must be clear about understanding the capacities required to produce such change. It is from this interplay between a clear sense of what we seek and where we presently are that we can engender authentic hope.
If we truly want change, we must carefully harness the enthusiasm and energy emerging from the current impasse and marry it to clear-headed realism informed by our most cherish ideals. Only then we can deliver on authentic hope.
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Why Race Still Matters
It has been nearly a week since Barack Obama gave his speech about race in America, and I can already feel the nation's focus on race starting to slip away. Many have interpreted the speech through the lens of campaign tactics: "Was Obama successful in getting Reverend Jeremiah Wright and his incendiary comments off the front page?" And yet, in our hopes to embrace a post-racial politics, we may miss the very discussion on race that remains essential to our society and politics.
Let me start by saying that I do not believe a so-called "national conversation" on race is the way to go, if that means a repeat of former President Clinton's effort on this matter. Remember the national commission he appointed, which soon became embroiled in endless issues about its focus? That initiative had all the negative trappings of a high-falutin' blue-ribbon panel: formal hearings with far more posturing than conversation. After a much ballyhooed launch, the commission landed with a thud.
Nor am I ready to believe that any "new and improved" national conversation will be enough to really move the nation forward. My fear is that any such effort will be too far removed from the realities of people's daily lives. Instead I worry it will become entangled with program staff, organizational charts, endless strategy sessions, with little real engagement taking place between and among citizens. Indeed, such efforts can miss the larger point: our engagement must start where we live, in our communities, with people we can see and hear and feel, where we can hold each other accountable for what we say and do. Otherwise, the discussion can become an abstract endeavor, with success gauged by the number of participating cities, the number of people in attendance at public forums or who participate in online discussions, the number of press clippings garnered, instead of something rooted in people's real experiences and emotions. Relevance and meaning can too easily become the victim of good intentions.
Just last week I was reminded again of the true nature of the engagement we need on race in America, when I led our Public Innovators Lab in Baltimore, where more than 40 public innovators from community groups, national foundations, public broadcasting stations (radio and TV), school systems and city government were present. In one of the small groups, the discussion turned to race. (Indeed, wherever I go, I find that the conversation often turns to race; it is a topic that begs to be discussed among people throughout our society.)
I have found that there are a number of keys to moving the "race discussion" forward. In suggesting them, I do not pretend to hold "the answer" to this dilemma, but I do believe progress is possible, and here are just a handful of insights that I believe warrant our attention:
1. We must know that the topic of race itself brings to the fore different questions for different groups in society. For instance, most whites I have encountered want to talk about "race relations," where the basic thrust is, "Can't we all get along better?"; while many blacks want to focus on "racism," seeking to address fundamental, underlying questions of past transgressions and prejudice in society. These are two different conversations, which we will need to air out and ultimately bridge if any progress is to be made. But let's be clear: the latter conversation is much more difficult to hold, and will require both courage and humility on everyone's part to step forward and listen, and to engage with others on matters that will test our resolve and ability to stay at the table.
2. After some discussion, many whites often say something like, "Can't we move on now?" Indeed, in yesterday's Washington Post, a man, sympathetic to Obama's speech, was quoted in a follow-up article to the speech saying, "We need to get over it." Meanwhile, many blacks want to work through issues from present and past, not simply mention them, talk for a bit, and then move on. Time is of the essence here: in our desire to embrace a post-racial politics, we must not seek to move on too quickly, and risk undermining the very goals of engagement we purport to hold dear. Indeed, we must not seek to smooth over real differences, or even merely come to "respect" them, but to understand and live with them, even embrace them.
3. Not everyone is ready for this conversation. A national conversation that seeks to engage everyone, everywhere is a fantasy that will only leave us disappointed and defeated. We must find people who are ready to engage and who know that it will be difficult at times, but who nonetheless are prepared to step forward. I believe that it is important to find both whites and blacks who want to engage together, and who are willing to stay at the table and not retreat in fear when their conversations hit rough spots, which they inevitably will.
4. It is important to actually do something together (the size and scope of the action does not matter as much as the action itself), because conversation alone cannot create the bonds of trust and relationships that we need. Deeper connections will emerge only by rubbing shoulders and finding solutions together to common challenges, demonstrating to ourselves and others that progress is possible.
5. We must be open to engaging in a space riddled by ambiguity, which this conversation surely is. Real differences exist; but so too do common aspirations and hopes. We must be willing to engage in discovering both, which will require genuine give and take, even a fair number of false starts in our attempts to move ahead. In situations like these, we must guard against settling for naive pronouncements about "Can't we all just get along," and understand the very ideals upon which this nation was founded, such as "All men are created equal" and "Freedom for all," and find ways to make them real today.
6. We must reconcile ourselves to the fact that our engagement on race will require us not simply to be uncomfortable, but that real pain exists. We cannot simply gloss over such pain, or appropriate it by trying to "identify" with one another or to "hold" one another's pain; instead, we must seek to genuinely hear one another and to understand to the best of our abilities the pain that does exist. Let us know that this will not be easy.
Now, I know that some people will write back to me because I have framed my thoughts in black/white terms, and that I have not taken into account gender or various ethnicities here. Please know that I recognize this shortcoming and that I welcome such comments.
Still, my point here is not to offer a solution for all ills in society, but rather to make this central point: we need a discussion on race in America, and let us not fall prey to ginning up some national conversation machine that becomes nothing more than empty talk. Rather, let us focus our efforts on a genuine, deep engagement where we live, where we can see and hear and feel one another, where it is possible to stay at the table together over time, and where we can make a real difference.
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The Meaning of Reverend Wright
(Written for publication on Monday, March 17)The Reverend Dr. Jeremiah Wright, Barack Obama's pastor, has caused quite a stir, as various news outlets have aired excerpts from some of his sermons. Now the question is, What should we make of it? This is a dangerous topic, because no matter what one says or writes, there is a very real chance that it'll be twisted and turned to fit another person's narrative. So, I weigh in with these thoughts, knowing full well that I run that risk.
Let me say from the outset that I do not endorse - indeed, I flatly reject - much of what I have heard Reverend Wright say that is now being reported in the news, comments like these carried by MSNBC.com:
"We bombed Hiroshima, we bombed Nagasaki, and we nuked far more than the thousands in New York, and we never batted an eye. We have supported state terrorism against the Palestinians and black South Africans, and now we are indignant because the stuff we have done overseas is brought right back in our own front yards."
"No, no, no not God Bless America - God damn America!"
But in everyone's rush to condemn the Reverend, I wonder if we have missed some key insights.
First, the tendency among political leaders, bloggers, news reporters, and others to corner Senator Obama and get him to shout "Uncle!" seems blatantly ridiculous, serving no other purpose than to fan the flames of political division and score points. I often watch with utter disgust and disbelief as they manipulate news in ways that only coarsen and cripple public life.
Instead, there is the question I wish Senator Obama would answer: What is it that you found to be inspiring, insightful, or engaging about Reverend Wright and Trinity Church in the first place? The Senator could have joined any church, but he joined this one - why? I suspect his answer to that question will yield something about Reverend Wright, but even more about the Senator's own beliefs and values. My guess is that there is something powerful in the history and teachings of that church that speak to the Senator's sense of faith and service, something beyond the handful of comments by Reverend Wright now being highlighted.
Next, what does it mean to have people in society, such as Reverend Wright, who aggressively challenge the status quo, who send out messages which some say are phony and which others call prophetic, who dare to cross the line of politeness and rupture norms of give-and-take, and whose comments merely reflect a portion of what they preach? Such comments can be mean-spirited and can produce ill-effects; we should not turn a blind eye to those. But neither should we automatically condemn someone's entire career because of selected remarks pulled out of context; indeed, we must not be driven by our fear of their remarks.
The alternative is to step forward and renounce them in ways that reflect the kind of public life and politics we seek to create. Let us take in the fullness of their argument and respond in kind - with clarity, forthrightness, and strength of conviction, even love. I do not suggest that anyone should back down, but neither do I advocate a slash and burn response that poisons the very public square we wish to invigorate.
Finally, I think the Reverend Wright situation raises the question, What does it mean to stand by a leader - in this case Senator Obama - who has worked for years to reengage people and build bridges, and who himself can hardly be accused of promoting incendiary comments that pit people against one another?
It seems to me that we must learn how to judge a public person, with all their misdeeds and maladies, with the expectation that they cannot comport themselves with absolute holiness over time, and nor should we be ready to grant them unfailing redemption at each turn. Doing so would forfeit our own claim to think and act for ourselves. Indeed, it is the depths of our very engagement -- our own willingness to step forward -- that may be the biggest issue we face this year.