Hello America, Welcome to Recovery

A difficult conversation

There’s a big conversation happening in our culture right now. If you’re reading this in 2020, I’m stating the obvious. If the planet happens to survive beyond this year and you’re living sometime in the (hopefully less apocalyptic) future, I’m talking about the racism conversation. Spurred on by a string of unjust killings of black people, riots and protests have broken out across the globe, forcing the topic to the forefront of society. Again.

Let me restate something. This isn’t a big conversation; it’s a massive conversation. A volatile conversation. And right or wrong, many of us have been silent. I’ve been silent. I’ve been content to hope upright actions in my own personal dealings are sufficient to bring about change. I’m learning it’s not enough. We have to speak up.

In figuring out how to enter this conversation, I’ve come to terms with something: I’m going to say the wrong thing at some point. Or the right thing in the wrong way. Or at the wrong time. Or to the wrong person. The perfectionist in me cringes as I write those words. But this conversation is too important to wait for perfect. It’s here now. And it needs every one of us.

Are you for me or against me?

Trying to enter the fray without alienating any given group of people is almost impossible. Scratch that. It is impossible. May the odds be ever in my favor. 

Spoiler alert: They aren’t in my favor.

It’s impossible because all too often we determine our level of trust in a person based on our level of agreement with them. Admittedly, we have to fight our biology to change this behavior. Our brains scan our surroundings several times a second, looking for danger. If something is different from us or from what we expect, a warning signal is triggered. In relationships, this presents a problem because different does not equal dangerous.

To further complicate matters, the marketing-saturated environment we live in has conditioned us to make subconscious, snap decisions about any variety of topics. In the world of capitalism and commerce, marketing is a powerful tool. It creates healthy competition, which ultimately benefits consumers. Don’t misunderstand me; I don’t have a problem with marketing. Quite the opposite, in fact, as I founded a marketing and operations firm to help companies do exactly that. The negative side effect is how it carries over to engaging with other people. Not every interaction with people who look, think, or act differently than us is about competition.

Our safety-seeking brains have a tendency to put people in a box as quickly as possible. Left or right? Blue or red? Black Lives Matter or pro-police? For me or against me? Pick a side, then we’ll see if we can have a meaningful dialogue.

What if the answer to restoring civil discourse lies in refusing to put people in predictable boxes where we can safely assume everything about them? After all, we know what happens when we assume… Or do we?

Author and theologian C.S. Lewis had this to say about choosing between extremes:

“He [the devil] always sends errors into the world in pairs–pairs of opposites. And he always encourages us to spend a lot of time thinking which is the worse. . . . He relies on your extra dislike of one to draw you gradually into the opposite one. But do not let us be fooled. We have to keep our eyes on the goal and go straight through between both errors. We have no other concern than that with either of them.”

C.S. Lewis

Self-awareness requires us to understand the difference between knowing a person and knowing about a person. Allow me to demonstrate. 

I’m white. I’m married and have two sons. I live in Texas. I’m an entrepreneur. I’m a pastor (ergo the C.S. Lewis quote).

Starting to draw some conclusions? Let me continue.

I live in Austin (widely known as a blue dot in a red state). I believe black lives matter. I believe that statement doesn’t imply other lives matter less.

Ok, now you know where this is going, right? Not so fast.

I don’t agree with several key pieces of the Black Lives Matter platform. I’m thankful for law enforcement and have personally benefited from their intervention. I’ve also had my own unjust experiences with police officers.

Do you feel the roller coaster of agreement and tension as you read those? Do you see how even the order I present them influences your opinion of me and the validity of what I have to say? What box does all that put me in? Where do we go from here?

Forward.

Abstraction is the enemy

Several years ago, I led a sales team in an inbound call center. One of the biggest frustrations for the team was improper transfers from other departments. Their reactions were visceral.

Customer care is completely incompetent.
Who do they even hire over there?
Don’t they know we pay the bills around here, INCLUDING their salaries?

We coordinated departmental cross-training led by sales agents in an attempt to solve the problem. Customer care agents spent hours sitting with sales agents, listening to live calls, asking questions, and learning the ropes.

A few days in, something happened. They started laughing at shared experiences. They started swapping stories of absurd calls. They started having epiphanies of ways they’d misunderstood the other. They started working together to solve problems for people in desperate need of solutions. Read that last sentence again.

There’s a term for losing sight of people as people: abstraction. It happens when people go from having names to being numbers. From having faces to being labels. It’s easier to take anger out on a faceless entity than a friend. Now that is dangerous.

Simon Sinek talks about abstraction in his book on trust-based leadership, Leaders Eat Last. He doesn’t pull any punches, either. The first chapter on abstraction cites the Holocaust and ensuing behavioral studies as examples for how people can commit unbelievable acts against fellow humans. He concludes the chapter with this:

When we divorce ourselves from humanity through numerical abstraction, we are . . . capable of inhuman behavior. . . . [T]he physical separation between us and those on the receiving end of our decisions can have a dramatic impact on lives—the lives of people who cannot be seen or heard. The more abstract people become, the more capable we are of doing them harm.

Simon Sinek

That’s heavy. I feel it in my chest. I see it everywhere. From every point on every spectrum. Politics. Religion. Race. Class. You name it, we’ve forsaken unity in diversity for blame and hatred. 

We’ve divorced ourselves from humanity in favor of a mistress promising safety in similarity.

It’s not business, it’s personal

There are as many opinions about how to change this as there are people on the planet. Here’s what I hold true: It must start with individuals. With names and faces. 

We can’t solve the root of these issues with policies, candidates, or programs. Don’t misunderstand me. We need reform. Systems of accountability need improvement. Actions against crime and injustice on all sides needs to be swift and sure. These things only treat symptoms, though. We need to go deeper.

You can’t legislate hatred out of someone’s heart. And the heart is exactly where this problem has to be solved. When do things change? When one man can look at another, and despite all their differences, realize their lives hold equal value. Period. No conditions or qualifications. No “but”s.

Empathy is a prerequisite for a paradigm shift of this magnitude. The realization that not everyone is in the same place. Every person in every people group, minority or not, has a different set of experiences and beliefs. For example, some people feel the very real weight of oppression and trauma. Others in the same people group don’t subscribe to that perspective. How do we reconcile this? Remember: faces, not labels.

We can’t slough off the responsibility to someone else because, “I’m not a racist, that’s someone else’s problem.” Or to a politician. Or a cause. Or the next generation. We can’t write a check to a charity and claim we did our part. The responsibility is mine. It’s yours. You, the person reading this right now. It’s your responsibility.

As a country, as humanity, we all need to step up to the plate.

The first step to recovery

All the talk about how to solve this problem is meaningless if we don’t first address that there is, in fact, a problem. So let’s address it.

For a moment, let’s set aside the headlines, commentary, and sound bites that are inundating our social media feeds. Let’s press pause on our opinions about police brutality, systemic racism, and George Floyd’s questionable character. Those are all valid topics and need to be addressed. The dissonance stems from the fact we’re using those things as answers to an entirely different question. 

Imagine asking a toddler a yes-or-no question, to which they emphatically answer, “Giraffe!” It leaves you wondering if they understood the question. They couldn’t have. If they understood, they clearly wouldn’t respond this way. Right?

This is what we’re doing as a society. We’re making accusations and citing statistics in an attempt to discredit opposing views. Hear me, America. One truth does not invalidate another. You can believe black lives matter and support law enforcement.

Ironically, our toddler example breaks down when it comes to giving others the benefit of the doubt. Such a miscommunication is acceptable, even endearing, spoken by a child. But coming from someone who votes differently? Not a chance. There’s no grace left in the social atmosphere to prompt clarifying questions or to allow for breaking down long-standing assumptions.

So let’s get on the same page. Here’s the question that needs a straight answer.

Does racism exist in our culture today?

That’s it. No additional qualifiers. No hidden agendas or indictments. No legislation riders. No need to be defensive; the question isn’t if you are racist. Simply… is it out there? Somewhere. In some fashion. Some bias against a human being because their skin is a different color. Because if it does, then we have work to do. And guess what? You don’t have to be part of the problem to be part of the solution.

We’ve all heard it. The first step to recovery? Admitting you have a problem. We have a problem, America. And it’s going to require every collective ounce of intellectual honesty we have to admit it.

Let me be clear. I’m not talking about assuming some kind of forced guilt for being white. Or taking on the blame for things you didn’t do. That doesn’t help anything or anyone.

We have to come face-to-face with the reality that racial discrimination and injustice are real and present issues in our society. We have to accept whether these incidents are isolated or pervasive, they are affecting real people. People who have names and whose lives matter.

An addict’s journey to healing often begins with a wake-up call. A traumatic event to shake them loose from the grips of their vice, even if only for a brief moment. Something to show them the price is higher than they ever wanted to pay. A catalyst to step out of pride, through fear, and onto a path to wholeness. 

The phone is ringing. Our wake up call is here.

Make a friend

To continue the analogy, a successful recovery journey almost always involves a sponsor. A trusted friend to answer questions, encourage you, and help you course-correct along the way. If we’re going to solve this at a heart level, we can’t do it alone. We need someone to speak into our hearts and lives. Someone to point out our blind spots who doesn’t have ulterior or manipulative motives.

In Beginner’s Pluck, Liz Bohannon recounts how impactful making a friend was on her journey to building lifelong purpose. Arguably, none of her accomplishments would have happened if she hadn’t started there. She states the importance of it ever so eloquently:

Think about what it will feel like to have your worldview broadened by the experience of a friend. Think about how you’ll feel knowing that you’re taking an active step toward co-creating even just a tiny corner of the universe that is warm and safe and dignified for a human who deserves no less.

Liz Bohannon

“A human who deserves no less.” Yes. That is what we’re after.

I’ve talked with several people over the last few weeks who have had raw, honest, and healing conversations across racial lines. These words come up over and over, “We’ve been saying the same words, but speaking completely different languages.”

I used to think having different worldviews meant simply having different opinions on big topics. I could not have been more wrong. A recent trip to Israel opened my eyes to a whole new paradigm. People with different worldviews quite literally live in a different world. A different reality. Not a wrong reality, a different one. Remember: different does not equal dangerous.

On the night I proposed to my wife, Tabitha, we serendipitously met a couple: Javaun and Angie. At first, it was anything but serendipitous. It was a late, August night at Palmer Park in Colorado Springs. As we walked by a pavilion near the playground, a young, muscular, black man quickly stood up from one of the tables. He approached us in the darkness, leaving another figure seated at the table.

“Hey! Hey! Can I ask you a question?” His tone was obviously agitated.

I instinctively stepped in front of my (hopefully) soon-to-be fiance. While my fight or flight instincts would have kicked in no matter what, I would be lying if I told you they weren’t heightened by the fact he was black.

“What’s up?” I asked tersely.

“My girlfriend and I are having an argument. Can you help us settle something?”

Not what I was expecting. Still unconvinced, I paused my skeptic thoughts long enough to dare an empathetic glance into his eyes. Desperation. Frustration. Pain. In need of a lifeline to save a relationship. He gestured towards the picnic table, hoping for an ally.

Tabitha and I sat at that table for over an hour. We listened. We helped them see where the other was coming from. We gave them a few novice tips (all we had at the time) about the importance of trust in conflict. When the disagreement settled, the conversation shifted to more normal discussion for brand new acquaintances. We exchanged phone numbers before leaving. And over the coming months, we became friends.

Javaun grew up in Queens. He had a difficult childhood, but he was proud. He told stories of almost dying in a gang initiation. Other stories of friends who weren’t so lucky. He was more than a survivor, though; he was a fighter. With big dreams that nobody was going to steal or diminish. Angie was Hispanic, sweet and petite with a fire just under the surface that showed up when it needed to. Her mother was in Mexico, her father a first-generation immigrant with whom she and Javaun lived.

I was driving Javaun home late one night after playing the longest game of Monopoly in history. A police car on the side of the road caught my eye as I crested a hill, clearly a speed trap. I looked down at the speedometer. 12mph over.

Flashing red and blue lights filled my rearview mirror as I pulled to the side of the road. I glanced over at Javaun. He was tense. That’s an understatement. He was shaken. Literally.

“This is my fault. It’s because I’m in the car. You wouldn’t be getting pulled over if there wasn’t a black man in the car. You know what? I’m gonna say something. You shouldn’t get in trouble because of me. I’m gonna say something.”

It took everything I had to convince him to let me handle it. “This had nothing to do with you. I was speeding. Be cool.” He finally conceded right as the cop approached my window.

Everything about the interaction was normal. Don’t ask how many times you have to be pulled over to know what “normal” looks like. Let’s just say I have some expertise on the subject.

Javaun didn’t make a sound through the entire exchange. He barely moved, staring straight ahead though the windshield. I’m convinced he didn’t even blink. I presented my license and insurance and was rewarded with a fine for my indiscretions. As the officer was leaving, Javaun couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“Hey. Officer. I need to say something.”

I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer.

“I’m from New York. Cops there are bad. I mean real bad. But you… You’re different. You’re cool. You treated us with respect. You made me realize… Maybe not all cops are bad after all. I never knew that. Thank you. Have a safe night.”

Just like that, Javaun’s paradigm shifted. And so did mine. Even though I knew his stories, seeing Javaun’s physical reaction to the presence of law enforcement told a story that words never could. I would never understand the level of trauma he knew. But that wouldn’t stop me from trying.

It cost me fifteen minutes and a couple hundred bucks for Javaun and I to have our worlds changed. A small price to pay for a lesson that would inject empathy into my worldview. Some people are paying with their lives for others to learn this same lesson. We can’t let that price be paid in vain.

Here’s the thing: You can’t make a difference until you make a friend.

So what am I supposed to do? Just go ask some person to be my friend simply because they have a different skin color? That seems so fake.

Yes. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. No matter what your skin color is. And it’s going to be awkward. You’re going to say the wrong thing. You might get laughed at. But people’s lives depend on you making a friend. Lives that matter.

Maybe your friend group is already diverse with people of different skin colors or drastically different worldviews. Great. Deepen those friendships. Expand them. We’re not making friends so we can check a box and claim we understand. We’re making friends to change the world.

Float on

Racism. Systemic injustice. Murder. Privilege. Oppression.

These are hard words to hear. They’re everywhere in our culture right now. Hear me, friend. We can’t turn a blind eye because those words hurt or because we disagree. We have to lean in. Through the differences of opinion, race, politics, and class. Out of our comfort zone. Into the shoes of the people we share this world with.

I’m not a bandwagoner. I don’t jump on the most recent trends or hashtags. I believe wisdom is slow. If we want this time to be more than another flash in the pan, we need wisdom now more than ever. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know the best policies to implement or programs to fund. Most of us don’t. The truth is, most of us don’t need to. The commitment most of us need to make is much simpler.

A commitment to humility. A commitment to listen for the sake of understanding, not for the sake of responding. A commitment to fight my own unknown biases as they come to light. A commitment to help friends, neighbors, and strangers when they experience injustice. That’s what I’m committing to. I hope you’ll join me.

This is a big conversation. No doubt about it. The good news? The solution starts with small conversations. Difficult conversations? Yes, I’m sure of it. But small ones.

During the COVID-19 quarantine, we’ve introduced our boys to Rock Band, the retro video game that lets you live out your rockstar dreams in uncoordinated glory (shout out to the developer who added no-fail mode). One of our favorite songs to “perform” is Float On by Modest Mouse. Two lines near the end of the song are quite apropos for the season of difficult conversations ahead.

Don’t worry, even if things get heavy
We’ll all float on alright

Things will get heavy. They have to. They already are. If we commit to being humble, admitting there’s a problem, and making a friend, we can shoulder the weight of it together. And we’ll all float on alright.

Hello, America. Welcome to recovery.

Correction: A previous version of this post stated Javaun grew up in The Bronx.