compassion and oppression

I have been in DC since Feb 7, reintegrating by dropping by my old office, attending Hill briefings, seeing friends, getting involved with community organizing, and facilitating board retreats. I've also fixed a leaky toilet, gone to the dentist, and continued my travel adventures by going to San Francisco for 6 days with my partner. My days have been full, and my doubts about whether or not I still belong here even when I'm not officially employed have faded. As I'm fond of telling people these days, even though I'm "organizationally unaffiliated" (read: unemployed) I am certainly still involved with a LOT of organizations. I'm working and not getting paid. I have a purpose for being here, and I feel much more relaxed here now than I did before I left.


I am trying to bring the sense of presence and joy I felt in Taiwan to my life here in DC. Part of how I stay grounded and fully embodied here is by attending People of Color Sangha at the Insight Meditation Community of Washington.  "Sangha" is a Buddhist term that in the West commonly refers to a Buddhist community. I think of it as a meditation group. Every month the POC sangha meets for 2.5 hours and incorporates sitting meditation, a brief lecture called a "dharma", and group discussion. Today was my third time participating in sangha, and I am immensely grateful that I went. The meditations that I do at sangha are deep, and I feel fully present for those precious 30 minutes. I emerge from them feeling connected and grounded and cleansed, or as the Buddhists would say, "awake". The discussions are also interesting and thought-provoking, and the one today was particularly powerful. 


It was based on Larry Yang's Precepts for Directing the Mind Towards Diversity. In short, these precepts call on us to refrain from forcing others to adopt our belief systems, to refrain from denying or invalidating other people's experiences, to not diminish the worth or happiness of any other human being, to not exclude or isolate others, to be aware of privilege, and to not participate in systems of oppression. Among others. A tall order, but it's meant to aspirational. Guidelines, if you will. 


In all seriousness, as I heard these precepts being read out loud, I felt a very strong resistance. Here I was sitting in a room with all people of color, most of whom are black, most of whom are women, and many of whom self-identify as LGBTQ. Among us we represent some of the most marginalized and oppressed identity groups in the U.S. One after another people responded to these precepts with stories of painful, hurtful encounters they've had with racism. Others talked about how important it is to be open-minded, to accept ourselves so we can fully accept others, which I also found myself resisting. I felt my anger and impatience to speak boiling over, and instead of mindfully pausing after another woman's particularly painful story about a racist incident, I hurried to speak:

"Why should we strive so hard to love and understand and be open to those who hurt us? There are so many people who will not refrain from forcing us to adopt their belief systems, or regularly exclude, isolate, and treat people as inferior. Opening ourselves up to them means we're going to get hurt. Maybe it's okay to isolate ourselves with people from similar backgrounds, if that means we're going to be safe. Why should we, who have to carry so much weight, and deal with so much B.S., have to listen and try to understand worldviews that invalidate our humanity and existence? Why do we have to be mindful and open when they will not do the same for us? We, as individuals, can be compassionate and loving all we want, but that doesn't change the systems out there that have and will continue to hurt us."


I was relieved when my angry, defensive, decidedly NON-compassionate outburst was met with affirmation and validation from the rest of the group. It made me feel safe to know that other people felt and understood my frustration, that though many of us work in social justice and believe fundamentally in the inherent worth of all human beings, we have also been hurt by a lot of people. And that makes us angry.


I appreciated in particular the words of a black woman elder who was not afraid to talk about her movement work against white supremacy, and her own anger and exhaustion. But she also talked about what it means to see white folks as not just the "enemy" but as human beings. As the conversation went on, several themes came up. The vulnerability and mindfulness it takes to not immediately react from a place of hurt and defensiveness. How communities of faith like IMCW that are meant to be welcoming and inclusive often exclude and isolate people of color. How hard it can be honest about race with white people who believe so fervently in diversity and that they are being good people. The fiercely compassionate and radical act of claiming and loving ourselves, asserting that we belong. Not asking permission to belong or to be recognized as full human beings.


I left feeling seen and heard and loved, and am grateful for the sense of belonging I felt in the space. But the discussion we had has stayed with me, leaving my heart full and my head spinning and pushing me to do this midnight blogging. Reading the precepts again, one of them sticks out to me:


"Aware of the suffering caused to myself and others by fear and anger during conflict or disagreement, I undertake the training to refrain from reacting defensively, using harmful speech because I feel injured, or using language or cognitive argument to justify my sense of rightness. I commit to communicate and express myself mindfully, speaking truthfully from my heart with patience and compassion. I commit to practice genuine and deep listening to all sides of a dispute, and to remain in contact with my highest intentions of recognizing Buddha nature within all beings."

This quote really strikes me now because of how much fear and anger I felt when I was giving my outburst, and how much I see of it now when I read over my words. Was I reacting defensively? Check. Using harmful speech because I felt injured? Check. Using language or cognitive argument to justify my sense of rightness? Check. In fact, that's kind of my default response to any sort of experience of oppression, whether on the personal level (i.e. racist or sexist comment) or systematic level (i.e. the Tea Party taking over the House). It's not wrong or bad - it's a way of coping and surviving. But where is all that fear and anger coming from?


There's the fear of not being heard. The anger of people invalidating my experiences. The fear of isolation, of not being accepted. Of not being loved. I want to justify my rightness because I want to justify my truth, and my existence. I don't want to be erased or dismissed. I interpret agreeing with and validating my political beliefs and values as validating me. But I am starting to understand that maybe my sense of self doesn't need to be so threatened by conflict or disagreement. No, it's not okay when people or systems try to deny my lived reality, but their denial does not have to result in my own denial and self-minimization. I know my self, and I know my truth. I have dignity and worth as a human being. I have a spirit that cannot be erased. I do not have to convince anyone that I belong, because I am here, and that is enough.