Empathy over apathy

Always

Two essays in one week? Who even am I? But, unprecedented times and all that. Just don’t get used to it. ;-)

On Wednesday I posted a short excerpt from The Diary of Anne Frank on my public social media feeds (Instagram and Facebook) along with direct quotes from friends who are on the ground in Minneapolis. I haven’t been quiet about the way I see current events and the path this country is taking, but I also try to keep my outward-facing, author-linked accounts a rather sweet and happy place. We talk about books and travel, things that make me smile and flowers. I have a lovely community that I deeply care for, and it has, on the whole, been a very positive space—a little oasis on a platform that can be fraught and filled with conflict.

The quote I posted to Instagram and Facebook

I knew when I posted very directly about what’s happening in Minnesota that I would get pushback. Lots of people unfollowed me. Some called me “radical leftist scum” and said they would never read another one of my books. That’s okay, I’m not mad at you. My online communities are not only for everyone, you may engage (or disengage) as you see fit. Whether you’re a commenter or a lurker, whether you come and go or are just here to rage read, it’s all good. My only rule is that we remain civil and kind to one another or I will block you. But I digress.

Among the people who needed to leave a parting shot, two themes quickly emerged:

1. “That’s not true.” I was frankly shocked by the number of readers who flat-out do not believe that what is happening in Minneapolis and St. Paul (and beyond) is actually happening. They are so insulated by an internet made in their own image that they are not seeing the reporting that’s coming out of Minnesota. Or, they “don’t trust the media” or “stay out of politics” or believe that the video and images are doctored or AI. Whew. That’s some Olympic-level willful ignorance, my friends.

2. “It’s naive and disrespectful to quote Anne Frank in regard to the situation in Minnesota. They are not the same thing.” Ironically, as I was typing this article, a notification popped up on my computer from HuffPost with the caption: What’s life like in Minneapolis right now? One resident had only one chilling word to describe it: Germany. People may find the comparisons with Nazi Germany uncomfortable, but the truth is, there are many, many similarities. Every single word of the quote above is applicable to the situation in Minnesota. And metaphor (story!) is how humans make sense of the world around them. This is like this allows us to engage what we’re seeing in real time, to get our fingers dirty with the untangling of narratives that are already being spun and twisted for political gain. No one is saying the correlation is perfect, they’re just saying “I’m reminded of…” Because I read the history books and watched the movies and studied Anne Frank in high school, and what’s happening is eerily reminiscent of her lived experience. You know, heavily armed men going door-to-door and violently ripping people out of their homes and vehicles… demanding to see their papers… rounding up a specific, marginalized people group that has been systemically villainized and “othered”… spiriting them away God knows where to conditions that remain concerningly shrouded from oversight… catching observers, people who are here legally, Native Americans, and US citizens in the dragnet… You know, like that.

Edelweiss, for obvious reasons

Yikes, it’s been a year, amiright?

Anyway, I want to do two things today because it feels really important that we keep banging this drum right now. First, I want to offer some ideas about why it’s so hard to break through to those who refuse to accept the evidence of their own eyes and ears. And second, I want to give you some suggestions for ways to keep engaging people. It’s very hard to ignore what’s happening right now, and there’s movement in even the staunchest strongholds. I pray it all comes tumbling down.

Why so many choose to not-see

We’ve all heard it said that “ignorance is bliss” and in so many ways it’s true. Not-knowing means that we can continue to live our lives unaffected by the things that are happening around us—we don’t have to feel uncomfortable or have our closely-held beliefs challenged or (God forbid) change. Melissa Dalton-Bradford (an author and scholar of WWII Germany) says it like this: “We cling to comforting lies because the alternative is simply unbearable.” Admitting that we were wrong—or that we were duped into believing something that isn’t true—is not just painful, it calls into question our identity and belief-system, and ushers in a potentially debilitating sense of shame. Compound that with the fact that many are not gracious (on either side!) when we change our minds, and the benefits of transformation are paltry indeed. Why on earth would anyone leave the comfort of the community where they feel safe and accepted for uncharted territory where they are shamed and mocked for making choices that they now regret? And stepping out of that safe space might just be complete social suicide because if they find their new body politic to be cold or condemning and want to go back, they may discover that the way is barred to them. (The term RINO is a prime example of this.)

In short, ignorance is bliss because there is SO MUCH TO LOSE. My sense of identity, my family, my broader community, my understanding of the world and who I am and how I fit all explode when I step outside of the expected norms of my chosen group. It’s not a switch anyone can casually flip and it’s definitely not an easy decision. Plus, it comes hand-in-hand with shame, one of (if not the) most debilitating and destructive emotions that shape how we perceive both ourselves and the rest of the world (for a deeper analysis of this, I very highly recommend The Soul of Shame by Curt Thompson). And we wonder why people dig trenches and settle in.

In my circles, all of this is complicated by the fact that we grew up in an environment of high-control religion. Although we were taught from a young age that Jesus is love, we were also taught that God is the ultimate authority figure, a wrathful deity who will one day judge us all and condemn to hell those of us who refuse to repent. I’m not here to argue theology, but I do want to point out how this way of thinking primes devout Christians in particular to accept authoritarian structures. Stephanie Stalvey, an artist and author says it like this:

The premise of punitive atonement echoes the premise (and false promise) of authoritarianism: “If you obey the authority figure, you’ll be safe. Defy the authority figure, and you deserve to suffer.”

Many people who were raised in high-control religion learn to accept this premise in various ways:

*Do not disobey the one who holds power over you, or you will be physically hurt.

*Do not incite a man to mistreat you by upsetting him. Do not incite him to violate your body by “tempting” him.

*Do not disagree with our specific interpretation of our specific religious tradition, or you will be justifiably disposed of by God in hell.

“Defy the authority figure, and you deserve to suffer.” We are watching this play out in real time as people argue that Renee Good “got what was coming to her.” The number of Christians in my feed who exculpate her killer on the grounds of civil disobedience warranting harsh (deadly?) punishment is staggering. There is little, if any, compassion for her as a person—the entire encounter is reduced to a binary: Renee Good was a bad person who deserved retribution and Jonathan Ross is a good person who carried out her sentence.

In this paradigm, stakes aren’t just high, they’re ultimate. And so many of the people who grew up in these traditions were told from a very young age that if you vote democrat you are going to hell. (Literally. That’s why they use the dehumanizing term demon-rat.) Therefore, if democrats are going to hell, republicans must be the party of God and whatever Trump and the MAGA party do or say is above reproach. And therefore, if I want to have eternal life and go to heaven, I’d better fall in line.

And so we ignore what our eyes see and our ears hear. We excuse, deflect, ignore, pretend. Or, we simply look away. It’s so much easer that way.

How we can help

Someone recently asked me in a private message how I keep my heart soft in the midst of this. “I’m so angry,” she wrote. And I responded, “So am I.” Seriously, so very, very angry. I write what I write not because I have achieved the level of Christ-like compassion and peace in the midst of a storm that I espouse, but because I need to remind myself every. single. day. of what I believe and who I aspire to be. I want to absolutely rage… And I desperately want to blame the people who refuse to see the truth. Surely this is all their fault. But where on earth does the blame game get us?

Of course, I recognize that there are some people who want this. Who even revel in it. That level of depravity is unspeakable to me, and I do feel a profound righteous anger towards them (as does God). But I can’t let my focus linger there. I’m probably not going to change the mind of a white supremacist, but perhaps I can break through to the genuinely decent person who wants to do what’s right—even if they are misguided. Together, we have the chance to make a difference.

When I feel myself tipping over the edge into blind fury or crippling paralysis, I remind myself that although some would have me believe otherwise, empathy is the way of Christ. To sit with the suffering in their grief, to hold the hand of someone who is making an impossible decision, to continually allow my heart to be broken for the image bearers of God I see around me every day, is the very definition of loving my neighbor as myself. That’s the whole command: empathy. To love someone outside of myself (whose experience and history I do not share, but whose worth and dignity is unequivocal no matter who they are or what they have done) is to love like Jesus loved. And when I start to forget that, I do everything in my power to haul myself back and remember who I really am: someone who genuinely and wholeheartedly loves my neighbor as myself—even the ones I vehemently disagree with. Don’t be fooled: this is spiritual for me. I could never do it by my own strength.

So, this is for me (and you are welcome to absorb it, too):

Stay steady and kind. Be winsome and invitational. Remember how difficult it is to admit that you were wrong, and instead of heaping shame, offer a place to belong. There’s room at the table for everyone, no matter when or how they show up.

Keep gently sharing the truth. Don’t be silent right now—this is not the time to send private messages and wring your hands, it’s the time to speak up. I know it’s scary and hard, but atrocities are happening on American soil and we cannot look away. You don’t have to write a furious screed; in fact, I hope you don’t. Drawing attention to the stories that break your heart is enough. Remember that there may be people in your circles and in your social media feeds who have NO ONE ELSE who is breaking through the propaganda. And your voice may be the key that unlocks someone else’s.

Speak to your pastor. Invite him out for coffee and have a conversation about what’s happening. Ask him why he’s not talking about it with the entire congregation, or if he is, ask him how your church can get involved and help the hurting.

Find places to donate in Minnesota. I’m helping friends by donating to private funds for diapers, food, and other supplies for families who have been separated from loved ones or who are afraid to leave their homes. If you don’t know anyone personally, I suggest World Relief (they’re supporting the refugee community as they face unjust detainment), We Choose Welcome (also working with refugees), or checking out this comprehensive resource: Ways to Support Minnesota’s Immigrant Communities as ICE Activity Escalates.

I think that’s enough for now. Leave more ideas in the comments if you have them. We’re in this together, my friends. And there is always, always room for more. Please be a soft spot to land for anyone who is leaving behind an old way of thinking. They are hurting, too.

Thanks for reading. xoxo - Nicole

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