Different sides of the aisle - it's a bigger issue than it used to be

Not all of my friends are the same. We like different music, different foods, different clothes, different hobbies, different parenting styles and different ideas about vacation and camping.

T can’t imagine a closet without a solid selection of classic white blouses; she made me buy one once and it sat in my closet for years – with the tags still on it. She is always pulled together, can wear high heels all day and I can pick out a dress for her a hot minute. I am…..not like that but she can pick stuff out for me and she is the best gift giver ever – she always knows what I like. We are wildly different.

Some of my friends (okay, many of my friends) are big readers and we recommend books all the time; others have no interest. Some friends swear The Secret History by Donna Tartt is one of the best books ever, though reading it was painful for me. I can watch The Food Network like porn while D likely pays extra for ninety bazillion ESPN options. We are wildly different and that’s all good.

We are different religions. I stood up for L at her full Catholic mass wedding (in a dress with a giant bow on my ass and a crinoline) and she helped honor mini-me when she became a Bat Mitzvah. I have celebrated Easter with friends who then join me at the table for Passover.

Historically, I have had friends on both sides of the aisle. In fact, T and I had many a conversation about our different perspectives (perspectives are far more aligned these days.) We listened, we learned. With many friends – we wanted similar things but the method of getting there varied. Today, the political differences are so difficult.

I have many friends that just want the election to be over so they are no longer inundated with ads, signs, commercials, and calls  - it’s been overwhelming and exhausting. I get that. They just want people to go back to being friends and neighbors with different political views. It’s a lovely sentiment and one given from an extreme place of privilege. In today’s climate, people feel unsafe. They feel threatened. Their rights are threatened. They are afraid for their children. They are afraid to be in their house of worship, hold hands with their spouse or loved one or send their children out without them.

I recently mentioned to a friend that I don’t often wear my Star of David (Jewish star) necklace these days. I live in a very conservative area where tempers are short, the bullies travel in packs, the public shaming on social media is swift and unrelenting and the hateful rhetoric has been given a national (and international) platform that is supported by the administration. What a privilege for me to be able to take off that necklace and hide the identity that so many people hate – just so I feel a wee bit safer. My black and brown friends don’t have that privilege. My friends in the LGBTQIA+ community don’t have that privilege. My Muslim friends don’t have that privilege.

So, before you wax poetic about today’s politics just being a difference opinion, remember that just because something isn’t a problem for you – doesn’t mean it isn’t a problem. Just because you’re not afraid for your life, doesn’t mean your friends and neighbors aren’t. Just because you are free to practice your religion or love without fear, doesn’t mean everyone can. Just because your interactions with law enforcement have ended peacefully, don’t assume the same behavior from someone with black or brown skin will have the same experience. The day after the election may be back to business for you – but it also represents something very different for so many other people.

As a Jew, I am astonished this kind of divisive rhetoric is coming from a government – the American government. It reeks of our past and I’m horrified at hearing the same dismissal of the administration’s behavior and divisive rhetoric. And before you tell me that I’m misunderstanding – you don’t get to decide what’s offensive or hurtful to minority groups. That is also a privilege. But as a Jew, when I’m around friends or at a gathering with people who vote very differently than I do, I often wonder, “Will you hide me or my daughter?”, “Will you defend me in the face of the unspeakable evil that spews forth from the administration or its supporters?” I am afraid. I know that fear will morph into something else if I need to defend myself – or one of my friends – or a total stranger. I will not stand idly by. Will you?

I don’t expect my friends to all have the same political opinion and I have no issue with that. But we are talking about things bigger than politics right now. We are talking about things more important than the stock market. This is an issue of human rights, of human decency, of a moral (NOT RELIGIOUS) compass that is so off kilter that people are dying, people are separated from their families, children are orphaned, and Americans are living in fear. This is about the calls for and in support of white supremacy and violence. This is an issue about a level of hypocrisy and privilege being extended to the administration the likes of which have not been seen and would NEVER be extended to a person of color (Imagine the outrage if Obama said even one of the inflammatory things the current administration has said.) This is about an administration that has no interest in representing all Americans – but only those that support those same inhumane views.

I love my country. I love being an American and I believe this country has truly amazing things to offer its citizens and those hoping and trying to be citizens. I resent the division and hate being spewed forth and I resent that one party has tried to co-opt patriotism for their own use and tell me that because I disagree, I am not a good American and should just leave. The beauty of this country is the separation of Church and State, freedom of religion and the idea - if not the practice - that all men (and women) are created equal.

So, while I am sure I will always have friends that sit on both sides of the aisle, I can’t pretend things haven’t changed. I have lost friends because of this administration. I have seen friends struggle with familial relationships and I’ve seen people leave jobs because of it. Yes, I have had conversations – civil conversations to try and understand. But, at the end of the day, the racism, xenophobia, sexism, anti-Semitism, white supremacy, complete disregard for science, data, facts and rules – simply don’t matter enough to those individuals.

It’s not about a difference in policy perspective – it’s about a difference in humanity.

My white privilege

I rarely post anything political. Frankly, I don’t think that a social media post will change anyone’s mind and far too many people confuse fact with opinion or are simply posting with the intention to inflame, provoke and spread inaccurate information (that sadly, they may find funny.) However, equality, justice, racism and anti-racism are not political. This is about human rights and basic human decency. This is about using my voice to elevate someone else’s. This is about acknowledging and working through my discomfort to help and support someone else.

My heart is heavy. When overwhelmed with emotions, my tendency is to retreat – be silent. I have to process things and find the right words. I can’t seem to do that. My words seem hollow.

I grew up in an area that wasn’t quite the north and not quite the south. An area that may have been slightly more open minded than the traditional South but still heavily influenced by all things Southern. My very youngest years included Evelyn. She came over almost daily. She cooked and cleaned and took care of us. She made us dinner before my parents ate. She gave me a bath and tied my hair up in rags to create the perfect curls my mother wanted. She taught me to sing “Catch a Falling Star” and “How Much Is that Doggy in the Window.” I remember her playing with me, singing with me and taking care of me. And at night, Evelyn would leave our big house and take a bus to another part of town – to her own family. This was just the way it was. I was very little – I knew no different. This was my white privilege.  

When my daughter was quite young, we were talking about a good friend of our family but she couldn’t remember as we have more than one friend with that name – so I finally described her as Black and my daughter looked at me like I was crazy. What did I mean she was Black? So I dug up a picture of Kim and sat my 4-year old down and we talked about race. How impressed I was with myself that I was raising a colorblind child who saw the human-ness in someone before their race! This is how it should be I thought. I thought wrong. This was my white privilege.

When I was in junior high school, I snuck outside behind the locker rooms during a school dance to smoke some weed. A cop caught me with a pipe in my hand. He shook his head, took the joint and told me to go back to the dance. Even as he saw the bigger stash I had in my pocket. This was my white privilege.

After I graduated high school, some friends and I were driving to the beach. The music was loud, I’m certain the car was full of smoke (cigarette and otherwise) and we had a six pack of beer that we got by flashing a Heineken truck on Route 50. The windows were covered with super-elastic-bubble-plastic bubbles. I got pulled over. Four underage girls with questionable behavior and liquor in the car were let go with a warning. This was our white privilege.  

As a young professional, I had a great job with a shitty boss. A boss who verbally crossed a line more than once. After I was fired, after I hired an attorney and after I was deposed – they believed me. This was my white privilege.

As a single mother by choice, I entered parenthood on my own. A bit defiant and a lot scared, I forged ahead in the path of many a mom before me. More than once, I was given kudos for parenting on my own with many acknowledging how hard it must be and they didn’t know how I did it. More than once, a day care provider, car repair, service folks would give me discounts if I played the single mom card. This was my white privilege.

Just last week, my daughter quit her first job. She had been working for almost a year and had been talking about quitting for more than a month but decided to wait until school started. Then, her boss posted something on social media and we saw it. It was racist and the comments that followed that post showed neither remorse nor understanding for a newer and more empathetic point of view. It was her line in the sand and I let her draw it. She quit a paying job without another. That was her white privilege (and yes, I talked about this with her.)

I am almost 56 years old. I have experienced my fair share of misogyny. When I worked in retail, I had a customer offer me a detailed definition of my name, been called a cunt and received countless comments about my boobs. As a member of the executive team at a nonprofit, I’ve sat in a boardroom and listened to a colleague tell us that male member of his staff was more deserving of a raise than an unmarried woman because he needed to support his growing family (uh, that didn’t work.) As a single mother, I had a boss ask me if I could just leave my child with a neighbor when I was unable to take a last minute business trip. In each of these instances, I was able to push back or get support knowing that I would be okay. This was also my white privilege.

As a mother, I’ve had plenty of talks with my daughter about safety. About keeping herself safe. About making safe decisions. But, never, have I had to tell my child to fear being pulled over by the police or not to wear her hoodie. I have never had to tell to not stand up for herself or not to push back against an injustice. And, this too, is my white privilege.

I don’t share this with pride. I share this as an admission and acknowledgement of the work I have to do. I have benefitted from white privilege my entire life. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t encounter hardship or experience grief. It means that the color of my skin does not add to those hardships. It means I am afforded belief, admission, kudos and access to things that people of color – women of color – may not.

Though I have not nor will I be able to experience the type of fear, trepidation, judgement and injustice that people of color experience – that will not stop me from trying to understand, to learn and to empathize with a society that places greater value on white lives than black or brown lives. I do not get to be colorblind – as that tells people of color that I do not see their distinction, their culture, their unique contributions, value, and the injustices they face because of their skin color. I do not get to be colorblind to the systemic racism that permeates our lives simply because it has not affected me personally.

My late father used to say that my siblings and I were so close that you could cut one of us and all of us would bleed. That is how I feel about racism. People of color have been fighting long enough – they have marched and shouted, protested and pleaded, fought for and fought back. They’ve been cut enough. I will bleed for them now.

If you are interested in learning more about becoming anti-racist, I recommend the following:

White Fragility by Robin Diangelo

Me and white supremacy by Layla Saad

Following @Nifakaniga, @garychambersjr and @caroranwill on Instagram

Following Emmanuel Acho, Ally Project PHX on Facebook

If you’re in the Phoenix area and are interested in encouraging our young people to vote, follow Tomorrow We Vote on both Instagram and Facebook

#BlackLivesMatter