Why it Matters

     The forum of Facebook is frustrating me today and I thought I might come here to this space to collect my thoughts and feelings.  This blog is in its own way my space, when you come here you come to my turf, my writing home and so it feels a little more safe than the arena of Facebook where writing any decent post or reply is almost impossible in the space provided.

     Yes, I’m going to write about Ferguson.

     Before you run off, at least consider my words.  Even if you disagree with my sentiments and opinions, maybe we can all come together and agree with the conclusion: we all need to do a better job of listening to each other.

     I made a post yesterday about not feeling like justice was done in Ferguson and the lack of peace there.  Where there is no justice, there is no peace, written as such: “No justice = no peace”.  And I would like to address people’s reaction to what I wrote and my own reaction to the situation in our country.

     Let’s just start with a few givens: I have never been a black and I do not know the experience of the black community.  But as a white woman here is what I do know: I have experiences that are similar enough to sympathize. 

     As a Catholic I experience the marginalization of other Christians who demonize Catholics.  I experience the mess of having to call myself a “Catholic Christian” as if they are entirely separate ideas.  I experience non-Catholic family members regularly saying hurtful things about my chosen church.  I experience people, especially other Christians, using every error, large or small, by any member of my church family as confirmation that “All Catholics are…”

     The experiences that provide the most insight, I think are the ones surrounding my gender.  I can choose who knows I am Catholic.  I can choose to leave my kiddos at home and not experience the abuse of every single person with which we come into contact commenting on my family and family size.  But I don’t leave my gender at home, lol.

     To me, the situation in Ferguson is like my recent trip to the emergence room.

     Josh and I were talking about the trip to the ER again last night as we prepare to drive down to the Mayo Clinic in Florida.  I, a white, female, married with children, Catholic Christian, with a large family, poor or of the very bottom of the middle class, with a chronic and possibly terminal illness, had a day where I did not feel well. Some of those identifiers I have chosen, some have been given to me.  Why include all of the self-identifiers?  Because they make a difference in the dynamics of social power and social power influences our experiences of the world.

     I had a day where I didn’t feel well; other people have days where they don’t feel well, I am not alone in this, and on the day I didn’t feel well I started to feel very, very badly.  So badly that I was afraid for my life.  After waiting for Josh to get a ride home from work, we dropped off 4 out of 5 kids at a family’s house and went to the ER.  I was taken back to a room reserved for people having heart issues.  And then it begins.

      I don’t know the experience of the black community, but I do know what it’s like to feel very vulnerable and to suddenly find myself surrounded by a room full of men.  I know what it’s like to feel like I am going to die and have the person in a position of power over me go very quickly from treating my symptoms to treating my gender.

      Let’s pretend it was my husband who went into the waiting room with my symptoms.  We are the same age exactly, race, socio-economic status, etc.  A white dad walks into the ER and tells the admitting people that he is dizzy and has had chest pains.  He is taken immediately to a room to be examined.  So far we have had the exact same experience.  But then his experience would be radically different.  When he gets to the back room he would be surrounded by other guys, other white guys, and when he says that he feels like he is going to pass out, has intermittent chest pain, stiffness of the neck, tingling in his hands and difficulty breathing he would be believed.  He would not have the doctor start to grill him, “You said your neck is stiff, you really have a lump in your throat.  You have a lump in your throat don’t you?” all while he feels completely awful until he just agrees because it is easier.  He would not have the doctor diagnose his chest pain, dizziness and other symptoms as hysteria.  Even if the doctors didn’t know why he was feeling that way they would tell him so and treat him with respect.

     If my husband was treated disrespectfully in the ER by the doctor it would be an isolated event.  If my husband was treated in a patronizing manner it would not be part of an overarching pattern.

When I go the oncologist’ office I know that I will be treated by a man.  I know that I will disrobe and a man that is not my husband will feel my remaining breast for lumps.  My only choice is in which male doctor I will see.  When I go to the cardiologist’ office it will be the same, except I will disrobe so that a tech can place electrodes on my chest.  If Josh has an emotional reaction at the doctor’s office to his wife’s health he is seen as being a compassionate husband, commended, and comforted.  If I have an emotional reaction to having had cancer or being diagnosed with heart failure I am patronized, seen as being fatalistic or depressed or anxious and nothing that comes out of my mouth regarding my symptoms or experience will be taken seriously.  In fact, even if I am not emotional but any of my symptoms could be attributed to anxiety or depression then they will be so.

     And this hurts, is frustrating and pisses me off.

     Do I think the ER doc should be censured? No.  Fired? No.  Am I grateful for the services of doctors in my life? You betcha!  But I do think that doctor needs a few places in his life where he in a position of vulnerability and some thorough training on the experiences of women in his care.  I am guessing he left our interaction with another confirmation of his stereotype that women overreact.  Did I fire both the cardiologist and oncologist that treated me the same way?  Yep!  I know other women do have great experiences with doctors that they love and trust.  I do not think that all male doctors are bad people or bad doctors.  But, I can say that these are not isolated incidences.  I can say that I will be treated this way more than a few times the rest of my life.  I can say I feel afraid of going to Mayo and meeting yet another male doctor(s) and being treated poorly.  I can say it takes me a long time to trust doctors even though they are the very people who are supposed to keep me safe.

     And that’s sad.

     And the situation in Ferguson hurts me.  Not because the police were wrong, and Mike Brown was right, but because it happened at all.  Because the black community experienced another place where they feel powerless.  Because hurt people get angry.  Because instead of compassion for Mike Brown who clearly messed up, and compassion for the officer who was just trying to do his job and, right or wrong, killed a man, and compassion for the parents, and compassion for the black community who feel wronged, people are continuing to hurt each other.

     What would the world be like if we would listen to each others hurts instead of reacting defensively?  What if I put down my, “But I didn’t mean to!” and asked my husband questions when he tells me I’m wrong?  What if I closed my mouth when talking to my black neighbor after asking her experience?  What if the person who reported my husband for repeatedly leaving the office early asked him why, instead of assuming he is a lazy jerk trying to cheat his company?  What if, when he fell asleep at his desk that once, instead of starting an official investigation, someone asked my husband how he was doing?  What if we did the hard work of listening?  Not because the other is right and we are wrong, but because they are a person? 

     And don’t tell me that the looting going on justifies your stereotype.  Even if I was a total idiot I should still have been taken seriously when I went to the ER.  And, seriously? I have some members of my family that, shall we just say, react poorly in certain situations?  So how ‘bout we listen and wait to pass judgment?  How ‘bout we remember our errors before we recite our list of others?

     I am a white, female, married with children, Catholic Christian, of lower socio-economic status with a large family and health issues.  I am also occasionally quick tempered and have double standards and have been known to say completely stupid things that I later regret.  I can be quick to take offense and slow to forgive.  And I want to be loved and treated kindly even if I am being a brat (thank you, Josh!).  I want people to listen when I am hurting.  I want people to be outraged on my behalf if I am mistreated, even if my perception of the situation is wrong.  I want to be loved.

     So I am mad with the black community, and mourn with them.  I feel sorry for the officer who found himself in a horrible situation, who will now be known for the rest of his life by an hour’s worth of decisions on a single day.  I feel awful that a young man lost his life for the same.  And I commit myself, again, to ask if there might be a power dynamic involved and to listen rather than speak if I am the one with power even if I don’t feel powerful.  Because Ferguson reminds me of my trip to the ER, and I don’t want anyone to feel like that.