I recently wrote a piece for Mighty Well about Independence Day. In it, I wondered how to celebrate “independence” when it seems that this very American value is leading to 50,000 new cases of COVID-19 every day. Why are we falling behind the rest of the world’s ability to control the virus? Largely because we value our own opinions, actions, interests more than the collective well-being. We don’t like feeling beholden to someone else, especially when that someone looks or feels or believes differently than we do.
Something else has been bothering me though. Even if we do believe in doing our piece to help the collective, what do we do when we see others who aren’t? My family has always been loud and socially awkward, bluntly sharing our thoughts before we’ve even finished evaluating if they’re worth sharing with the group. So in theory, it doesn’t feel out of nature to point out to someone if I think their social distancing practices aren’t up to snuff.
As an aside, I have really been working on communicating my opinions with compassion and understanding, and straying away from judgement -- I wrote a piece about this for anyone interested.
With COVID, however, I find myself feeling very uncomfortable. You see, I am now the one at risk. I am the one who needs other people to change all their behaviors for my benefit. If they get sick, they will likely be fine. So it’s not a priority. I know how exhausting it is to properly quarantine. Ordering groceries sucks. Feeling trapped sucks. Distancing from friends sucks. Wearing masks… well, it’s actually not that bad, but certainly annoying.
While speaking up for others or expressing my unfiltered opinions may be easy for me, asking people to negatively impact their day-to-day life for me is incredibly difficult. Yes, I know it’s not just for me, and I typically guise my ask as a request to keep others safe, but there’s a nagging voice in my mind that feels guilty and scared. It’s emotionally exhausting, as a person disproportionately impacted by something, to also have to be the spokesperson advocating for others to change their ways. Which, incidentally, is why white people need to step up and amplify BIPOC’s voices, cis-het / straight people need to stand up for LGBTQIA+ folks, etc!
There’s something else that I’ve noticed, though, that honestly feels a bit sinister. There are many people who value being “polite” more than speaking up. I do not mean to say that these are bad people. In fact the majority of people I love and respect have fallen into this pattern, especially during COVID. They (or, let’s be honest, WE) get invited to a non-socially-distanced party or see people shopping without masks and, despite feeling uncomfortable and knowing the risks, don’t say anything. It would be awkward. It would be impolite to confront someone or make them feel bad. It’s not my place. We all draw our lines in different places -- who am I to tell them my boundaries are better? Etc.
Again, this is a very nuanced issue fraught with a lot of conflicting emotion and truth, and I have more thoughts here.
BUT, what worries me are the origin and result of this pattern. This inclination towards “politeness” over the protection of vulnerable people has its roots in white supremacy. No, I am not saying polite people are inherently racist (although, to be frank, we all are to some degree, having been socialized in a racist society), or are white nationalists who are intentionally oppressing people of color. What I am saying is that people who are intentionally oppressing others and creating systems of oppression (watch 13th here if you’re not sure systemic racism exists in the US) are COUNTING ON our politeness as a tool to keep those systems in place. Please, if you don’t know what I mean, check out white fragility. We are all taught that disrupting someone else’s sense of comfort by pointing out something they’ve done is a huge offense, bigger than allowing them to continue (intentionally or not) putting others in danger. We hesitate to tell someone we don’t think they’re safe to drive. We squirm at the thought of pointing out our friends’ use of offensive language (I once watched in disbelief as an entire group of close friends cringed, yet said nothing, at the repeated use of the word “retard” until I finally stepped up and said something).
And it has played its role in ableism, sexism, homophobia, classism, and other systems of oppression. It’s uncomfortable when someone comes out or is publicly affectionate with their same-sex partner; they should just keep it to themselves -- read “psychologically damage themselves through silence” -- rather than subject others to controversy. Sick people shouldn’t express how they feel -- even if it makes it feel less bad -- because it’ll make people in the room sad or uncomfortable. Victims of sexual harassment shouldn’t speak up because it would make their harasser feel terrible and maybe put a dent in their career.
The outcome of this fear of advocacy and discomfort is always worst for the person with the least privilege. (Uncomfortable with the word privilege? That’s ok! Check out this piece on intersectionality -- it helped me understand it much better!) When everyone’s tendency is towards silence or the status quo, anyone with enough privilege to be ok will move on and soon forget about it. The person who has experienced a relevant trauma or whose safety is put into jeopardy by the experience, will not move on without consequence.
We are at a moment in which the consequences are particularly dire. Shirking travel restrictions and social distancing will increase the spread of COVID. Staying silent is putting the discomfort of someone with enough privilege to not care above the safety of those most at risk. When racism publicly costs people their lives, staying silent is putting white fragility and comfort over Black lives. When our president spews misinformation and white-national code-words, silence emboldens hate groups and corrupt leaders.
I hope that we will use this moment to analyze how we handle discomfort. I hope we will use it as an opportunity to practice giving and receiving feedback with grace. It’s going to feel icky, but it could keep a whole lot of people from getting hurt.
Anyone who wants to learn more or have a thought partner to bounce ideas with, I would love to chat (spoon-permitting)! As a teacher in alternative programs, I am constantly giving and receiving difficult feedback, and have gotten pretty comfortable with it -- let me know if you want tips or practice in a safe environment :-)