"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves." --Rainer Maria Rilke Photo (Photo ©julenisse/Fotolia)

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Examining My White Privileged Heart in the Aftermath of Charlottesville


Indignant? Horrified? Dismayed? 

I can’t find the exact right word, or combination of words, to adequately describe my feelings about what happened in Charlottesville and in the days since. I can’t fathom the depths of bigotry that motivate the hateful rhetoric and symbolism of the white nationalist movement.

How do we even begin to heal the vast chasm that divides these extremists from the rest of us?

The fact that there is an “us” and a “them” is abhorrent, but I will clearly stand with my sisters and brothers and declare myself on the side of People of Color, Jews, the LGBTQ community, and anyone else targeted by the vile (anagram of evil) fringe that bangs its drums to the rhythm of fanatical narrow mindedness.

Is it a paradox to be intolerant of white supremacists while calling for them to be tolerant of others? Are we allowed to hate them and the people who refuse to harshly condemn them? Can we claim that we are on the righteous side of the abyss and are therefore justified in our indignation? Jesus would tell us to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us. I am not sufficiently spiritually evolved to be so charitable, all the while needing to believe in my core that love will somehow be the answer.

I also know that I have to frequently examine my own heart as it relates to stereotypes. I am guilty of having put people in boxes. Certainly this week, I have lumped the white supremacists—them—together. There is something oddly comforting in insisting I have nothing in common with that torch-carrying mob. (Thanks for ruining Tiki torches for me, by the way.)

I was raised in a predominantly white, conservative Midwest suburb by progressive, liberal parents who taught me that all people were equal and worthy regardless of race, color, creed, gender, etc. I’d convinced myself that I was color blind, and was horrified by racist comments, attitudes and stereotypes. Of course, with only a couple of black students in my high school graduating class of 450, my experience in putting my convictions into practice was limited.

As an adult, I learned an important lesson on the risks of pigeonholing individuals based on physical characteristics. I call it “The Time I Put My Privileged White Foot in My Mouth.”

I had just met an executive of my husband’s company. Over pre-dinner cocktails, we chatted about education. He’d attended a Jesuit university; my father had two degrees from another Jesuit institution, and my son was enrolled at Loyola in Chicago at the time. At some point, I sized up this affable, 6-foot, 5-inch African-American man and began to ask him The Question:

“Did you play ----?”  

Before I even got the word basketball out of my mouth, he responded, “No. I played the trumpet.”

He was gracious. I was mortified. Thankfully, my daughter played the trumpet, so I hid my shame by nattering on about jazz. It taught me an important lesson about making assumptions, even well meaning ones. I asked myself if I’d have asked the same question of a tall white man—or woman for that matter. I thought I would have. I hoped I would have, but the truth is, I wasn’t sure. At the very least, it was rude of me to assume anything based solely on his height and the color of his skin. Worse, I may have seriously offended him by making such a thoughtless judgment.

I’ve never forgotten the humiliation I felt at having typecast that gentleman, reducing him to a cliché. It was an important lesson in discerning how an offhand or glib comment—one that may seem harmless on the surface—could be perceived as bigoted and thoughtless, perhaps even hurtful, on the receiving end. 

At my high school reunion recently, I found myself in the midst of a discussion about our school’s mascot, the Scout, which used to be illustrated as a blue and gold, longhaired, feathered brave in a loincloth. The logo has since been amended to eliminate the brave, and has been replaced by a spear over our school’s monogram. (A step in the right direction.)

“I don’t understand why they changed it,” a classmate said to me. “We didn’t mean anything offensive by it.”

“Yeah, but what if it was offensive to Native Americans?” I asked.

The exchange was another chance for me to think about what it’s like for the shoe to be on the other foot. And the truth is, I will never really know. I don’t know what it is like to be Native American, African American, Mexican, gay, Muslim or Jewish. But I can seek out opportunities to understand, to have the hard conversations, to stand in solidarity instead of on the sidelines.

I need those opportunities so I don’t get complacent about how marginalization, well-meaning assumption, and cultural appropriation take place in our world every single day.

When it comes to race, it doesn’t matter how good or pure our intentions are if the end result is hurtful or repugnant to an entire group of people.

On the other hand, if my beliefs are objectionable to grand wizards and Nazi flag-carrying, Confederate sympathizers, I guess I’ll just have to live with that.


Saturday, June 24, 2017

Intimacy and Conflict Share the Stage at Hollywood Fringe Festival

Jason Rosario and Nikki Muller
Definition of Man: A Duet in One Act embraces many of the messy and seemingly disparate fabrics essential to our beings. Creators and stars Nikki Muller and Jason Rosario, under the direction of JJ Mayes, have tackled a very tall order of issues—love, sex, relationships, families of origin, class, race, misogyny, feminism and mortality. Through words, mostly spoken and sometimes sung, a multitude of languages, and a physicality of shear gymnastic proportion, they have stitched together a beautiful love story which, in less intuitive and talented hands, could have been frenzied and even slapstick, but instead is thoughtful, logical and elegant.

The play, in one act, takes us through an arc comprising the two characters’ early lives and love affair. It seems they are now the last pair on earth, which has caused considerable consternation because, besides being isolated and filthy, what now?

Definition of Man is palpably intimate, from its baring of souls, fears and bold truths, to its stunning choreography, which often places the two in push-pull, stay-go, love-hate, tug-of-wars. This is all-in storytelling with the actors using every fiber of themselves to invite us into their predicament. Despite the obvious post-apocalyptic setting, this is in many ways a classic tale, a dialogue that could have been set in ancient Greece, Jane Austen’s Regency England, the Vietnam era, or even today. But the dystopian backdrop helps sew urgency and poignancy through this tale, while we reflect on age-old conflicts between lovers and within ourselves.


Definition of Man is featured at the Sacred Fools Black Box as part of the Hollywood Fringe Festival. It has been extended for another weekend. Tickets at www.definitionofman.com