Be A Neighbor
Ryan Mauter reflects on the difficult issues of racial inequality, hate, and personal responsibility to answer the question: What can one person do in the face of so many problems?
It was the voice of my 12th grade English teacher, Mr. Crowley, that I heard driving home from work a few days ago. “Writers write,” he would say, “and writers write to be read.” My younger and more idealistic self looked into the crystal ball of my future, at that time, and saw what the life of a writer could look like: romantic, important, prolific.
Today, as I add my voice to the blistering porcupine of a conversation that has ballooned around race and equity since white nationalists arrived in Charlottesville on August 12th, I realize that the scintilla-sized amount of my own written words published to this world sits at such a tiny word count for one reason: fear.
The act of commenting on the topic of race or equity (and it’s not lost on me that I am a white male, with all the privilege that confers), has become—for me—just short of insurmountably taboo. It’s as if there’s a preventative force that’s grown within me, that often holds me back from walking the path my younger self looked at with a sense of calling. And that’s because the exponentially available, searchable, and amplifiable amount of information now networked across the globe seems ready, at moment’s notice, to diminish anyone or what they have to say.
It’s an inner voice saying “not you.” Because, as Mr. Crowley also explained to us, “writers write what they know.” Who am I, privileged as I am, to comment on racism? Who’s out there ready to tell me I’ve got something all wrong? What’s another digital communique going to do?
To add to all this, those of us who live in Richmond face a local set of protests regarding the place of confederate monuments in our city—protests that most residents have treated cautiously, but that ultimately came without the violence manifested in Charlottesville. These protests remind all of us of unresolved questions and tensions around how we confront our history, our future, and the role race must play in that journey. Often I ask: where to begin?
I’ve grappled with all these questions, and plenty of others, and here’s a readily available observation guiding me now: there are millions of people across the planet, many of them here in the U.S., that would welcome and dream of a day when the only thing between themselves and taking any action would be a little bit of fear. Instead, it is not only fear that holds them back (though that may be part of it) but poverty or war or systemic racism or injustice in its many forms.
So I have no excuses for my fear. Please, Ryan, get over it and get on with it.
As I drove home that day and Mr. Crowley’s voice popped into my head, I found myself curtailing what I thought would be deeper reflection and further research into what I wanted to say about all this—about the unacceptability of hate and the white supremacists in Charlottesville. Instead, I began to think more about something my friend and coworker Mila Thomas said to me.
I had walked her into talking about race and politics and their place at work. Somewhere along the line I mentioned that I’d called both George Mason’s School for Conflict Analysis and Resolution and Harvard Law School’s Program On Negotiation to ask what tools or resources they have for helping people to talk about these issues—the difficult issues that walk with us everyday, but that so many of us don’t know what (exactly) to do with. Politics and race at work? Yikes. Initially, I thought I’d package that up to share with you here in this article.
But I don’t need any of that to move from reflection to action, which is what Mila so gracefully reminded me.
Because somewhere in our conversation, Mila, visibly a little frustrated, paused for a moment and said, “you know, I don’t think we need any more research or tools for this thing. Just be a neighbor.”
She explained to me that “be a neighbor” is something she has derived from her faith. It looks like white-couple friends of hers moving into the Jackson Ward neighborhood of Richmond and taking in a next door neighbor’s black son. To have him live alongside their family, including three children of their own. It’s this couple choosing to live in a predominantly black neighborhood that continues to struggle in overcoming a long history of discrimination. They could live elsewhere, but they couldn’t be the neighbors they want to be if they did.
It looks like talking to people that are different than you with respect at the grocery store register, working on empathy for anyone you have a hard time relating to, and supporting organizations that matter to you with your time and or your money. It looks like concerning yourself first with the wellbeing of people on the planet today before you concern yourself about what exactly you will get back from that.
For Mila, it’s changing her perspective about a family that’s moving into the unit above her—a single mom with three kids in a two bedroom apartment—from one of grievance, because chances are there will be some additional noise around her home, into a perspective in which she can invite them down for dinner and even spend time with the kids.
“Be a neighbor.” It’s hit home for me.
It has helped me to jump my one miniscule and taboo hurdle. A blog post is the least of what I can and will do. It’s also helped ground me and remind me that the issue isn’t that I’m not already being a neighbor in some fashion, but that I am dissatisfied with what’s happening and need to do more. Taking that to heart is important—there’s a host of things I’ve done, and you’ve likely done, to help create a better world, but it’s too easy to focus on the fact that they simply aren’t enough.
It’s hard—really hard—and incremental work. It’s inefficient and messy and another thing on the to do list that’s already packed full. About a month ago, the issue of racism had headline attention because of the event in Charlottesville—but what have I done? What have you done? Is all of this yesterday’s news?
What do you do?
You be a neighbor.
How do you be a neighbor?
You go and be a neighbor.
I arrive home, park the car, and instead of retreating with a head full of tired thoughts from the work day, talk to my (literal) neighbor about her bat problem. I talk to another neighbor about the stress he’s feeling with a newborn and a house project. We leave those conversations with a little more of the sense that we’re all in it together.
And it’s about what I don’t do, too.
What I work to not do is let judgement of myself and whether or not my actions—past and present—are as good or as meaningful as what others are doing get in my way. Because, again, if only getting over a little self-judgement was the one thing facing the mom of that little boy instead of the full plate of challenges that surround her right now. If only the parents on the long list of young people arrested or violently assaulted could have the luxury of committing effort to issues with their “free” time. It’s their full time, on the daily—and not by choice.
My choice? I can do the next thing that’s in front of me. I can type out these words.
I am a neighbor by now providing regular financial support to the Equal Justice Initiative that advances another strategy which mobilizes the tools of narrative, legal action, and advocacy. EJI talks honestly about our history and shines a light on the false stories that need correction, on a day-to-day basis, in court rooms and living rooms. I recognize that the complexity of issues involved is massive and the solutions elusive, but I can still take action, no matter how small it may seem.
I am a neighbor by confronting the fact that I’ve not had much luck aligning my schedule to volunteer more with an organization in town that I care about called Blue Sky Fund, so I open up a new door by connecting with the Peter Paul Development Center.
I am a neighbor by writing this so that maybe, if you personally relate to anything I’ve had to say, it will help you take your next step, whatever that may be, in your effort to create a world where peace and equality and love are the connective tissue at home and across the globe.
And I am a neighbor by starting this conversation with more and more people around me every day. I don’t wait for the perfect question or moment; I jump right in.
I’d like to avoid a patronizing tone, so I won’t lay out instructions for what you should do, because I don’t know. For me, it means ceasing to look for a guide on the internet or just commiserating with like-minded people that “the world is just so crazy—what do we do?” It means doing the next thing, whatever it is, instead of getting caught up in the what-if’s. My what-ifs are the tiniest of paper tigers when compared to the road that the friends and families of the 4,000 African Americans lynched between 1877 to 1950 have walked, and will walk, alongside the friends and families now of Heather Heyer too.
I am encouraged that as I continue to speak with others openly about the problems of our world, and continue to educate myself on issues like racial inequality in the U.S., the number of good people that believe in equality far overwhelms those that don’t. I see that there’s more momentum that can be made. I remind myself that while I feel encouraged, there are still scores and scores of people experiencing something awful right here and now, today, and that’s why I have to keep all of this top of mind, top of heart.
Forgive yourself for not doing enough and do, right now, what’s next. I guess I am giving direction after all, at the risk of sounding patronizing. Big changes start with little changes. Take the first step. Do the next thing. What does the next thing look like for you?
Be a neighbor.
> Your Guide // Ryan, Facilitator for Frontier Academy > Contact // [email protected]