I’m currently reading Sex God by Rob Bell. Google him - it’s worth it.
The proverbial light just clicked on for me while I was in the tub reading. I do this often - I find a book I want to read, not one I have to read, and I fill the tub with hot, hot water and scented bubbles. I float my rubber ducky in snorkeling gear in the bubbles and I sit and read. It’s particularly fun if the book is brand new, like Sex God is, and the pages are still stuck together from the manufacturing process. Every turn of the page is a subtle pull that reminds you that you are reading a brand new book. It’s like putting elmer’s glue on the palm of your hand and peeling it off or like popping every last air pocket in a roll of bubble wrap - it’s addicting.
Back to the proverbial light.
I have always been very uncomfortable with the groups that claim to be for civil rights and for human rights. I agree that the causes are more than worthy, but I have never been able to adequately explain what I mean by “reverse racism.” I have this amazing gift for compassion and empathy towards others. I have never had a problem crying with someone who is hurting or laughing with someone who is joyful or excited. My mom always says “treat every person you meet as if they are God.” So… when I hear things like “the white man is pushing us down” I am not only very sad but very uncomfortable.
I feel like I can’t live in my own skin.
Because these groups know nothing about me. I am dehumanized to the point that they were dehumanized. Yes, Africans were sold into slavery like cattle and that is very, very bad. No one should disagree with that. They were not treated with love, respect, honor. They were less than human. Told they didn’t have a soul. No one grieved with them at the loss of a loved one or laughed and hugged with them when a baby was born. Less than human - incapable of real human thought and emotion.
And now, I am part of the ethnic group that did it so I am automatically “priviliged,” “an oppressor,” I am just an emotionless whip wielder. But I’m not - I’m human. I’ve cried at the loss of a loved one and I’ve laughed and hugged at the birth of a child. I’ve overcome hard things, I’ve faced serious challenges, I’ve survived. I’ve also said stupid things and done stupid things and hurt other humans with souls. I deal with that.
But these groups - they’ve done and said stupid things. They deal with that. We’re human. We move forwards, not backwards. We make mistakes and learn and walk on. We try, we fail, we hurt, we grieve. We try, we succeed, we experience joy, we grin like crazy. We share experiences and help each other walk on.
And this path of thought got me to thinking about how most mass murderers are white males. (This is just a theory, so please don’t flame me while telling me how wrong I am. Just give me civil reasons why - I am human, after all.)
I wonder if this has something to do with the ideas of racism and “humanity classification.” I am female. He is not. I am white (mostly.) He is not. The haves have become the have nots in today’s society.
If a young black man - say 13 or 14 - steals from a convenience store, there are many groups of older, successful black men to say to him “been there, done that, got the sealed juvie record to prove it. Here is how I’ve overcome it, friend, and together we can get through this.” I know this is not the only case - many young black men never get to meet the older black man.
Say a young white man - say 13 or 14 - steals from the same convenience store. This young man has exactly the same economic status. He lives in the same part of town. He is identical to the young black man in every way except for race. Sitting here writing this, I can think of maybe one single organization that matches young white males with an older man of ANY race. There are no special interest groups for young white males. Are you kidding? That would be shot down as so incredibly racist that the org wouldn’t even have a logo designed by the time they were compared to the KKK. I guess you could point out that the American congress is an organization for white folks…
The media is pointing out how young, white men are causing most of the problems in schools these days. How they are depressed and detached and acting out in all sorts of destructive ways. They try and join the social group where they think they can be understood and get called names like “wigger” and “crunk cracker” by both racial groups.
And we are so addicted to this race issue. We want to find every divide so we have a reason for this hate and anger and disconnection inside us. I didn’t get that promotion because I’m female and he’s uncomfortable with the fact I have nice boobs. I got fired because someone of the same skin color as her needed a job.
This hate and anger, it’s not really against people - it’s against our feelings of not being loved and not being accepted. It’s about being pushed outside of the circle of who is considered human and worthy. It’s about laying alone in the dark, wondering if there are monsters who are human lurking outside, wondering if you will be destroyed simply because you exist. It’s about fear and the lack of connection.
It’s not about race at all - we just need a scapegoat.
It’s not about gender at all - we just need a prop.
It’s because somehow we think “you don’t love me because…” and then we have to come up with something. If I can’t lay the blame on you for not loving me, then the blame must lay on me. We think “is it possible that I’m not worthy?”
And sometimes, people decide that it’s true. That not only am I not worthy, but you made me realize that. And I hurt and I grieve and I want you to hurt and grieve and somehow, some way, I can connect with that. All I know is pain and hurt and grief. Someone, please understand me and tell me you’ve been there.
And sometimes people find people who know the feeling and can connect and grieve and hurt and heal with them. They move on to help others who may be hurting and grieving and trying to connect.
And sometimes no one finds them in time. They are crying out for help and sinking further and further into the madness that has become the cycle of hurt, pain, grief, no connection or understanding, hurt, pain, grief… Until this is all they know. The people tell them that they shouldn’t be like this. Something is wrong with their humanity. They’ve had everything but a silver spoon offered to them and they must just be pure evil or need to be locked up for life and force fed drugs to make them better.
South Korea is the “model minority group” in America. That’s a lofty goal to reach.
White males have held the power in America since colonization. That’s a lofty goal to reach, and besides, Americans say that it’s an evil goal.
But there are so many people who are just like them underneath the labels - who hurt and grieve and want to connect but our labels keep us from finding each other.
So the internet gets huge. Where I can connect and no one can see my label. I am not male or female. I am not black, white, or asian. I am words on a screen and finally someone says they understand me - but I am still not human to them. We’re back in grade school, at the age where children don’t realize that people exist outside their own minds and imagination.
Hey, you exist, words on a screen guy - come join me in this chat room. Come play Unreal Tournament online with me. Listen to me. I cannot speak in real life because they laugh at me, but here I am whatever I want to be.
And without ever realizing it we are all counselors on the internet. We have a common need to connect, and sometimes, people don’t tell the truth. We are not there to see their facial expressions and the shaking of their hands. We cannot pull them into a hug. We can say something humorously and all of a sudden - the reader doesn’t see it as humorous but rather as the serious, plain truth.
And the internet isn’t bad. And video games aren’t bad. And guns aren’t bad. And race isn’t bad.
All those things have an enormous potential for good.
And people aren’t bad.
All those people have an enourmous potential for good.
My God.
He meant for us to be people and to do good. But we got disconnected.
James Langteaux in God.com talks about plugging into a power supply. So many times we are running off of a dying car battery instead of hooking directly into the power center that God is. We are trying, but we are failing and fading because we don’t get enough.
Until we just don’t work any longer… and sometimes we are thrown away. Where exactly does garbage go? (To steal another of Mr. Bell’s euphemisms.)
You can see where I’m going with this.
“If I hurt, we are all going to hurt together. Forever. I can’t fix it and now I’m past the point of every salvation I know about.”
And then where does garbage go? Where does the beloved toy that’s suddenly broken go? It goes in the trash and it hurts to bad to love it anymore so we find something else to love.
Even though it hurts me, and I never knew Mr. Cho as a person, I recognize him as a human. I cannot hate him. He is not the enemy. He is as much of a victim of his actions as anyone.
Because when it comes down to it - there is no answer to “you don’t love me because…” There is no person to blame. It is not you, it is not me, it is not our circumstances, it is not our color or creed or purpose.
Because I cannot believe that “you don’t love me” is a true statement. You may not know you love me, but if I were the random victim on the news tomorrow - you would love me. You would never connect me to this blog entry. You would say “that poor, beautiful woman in the prime of her life is now gone and I will grieve. We have lost so much potential. We have lost something valuable.” You would have never known me otherwise and that’s not your fault.
Because I don’t know you either. I don’t know that I love you even though I do. I can only imagine what your life is like right now and my imaginings are probably not half as bad as it really is. We are beautiful humans living in this poor, screwed up world and instead of pulling heaven to us, we are simply wallowing in the hell that it is.
I don’t know you. I don’t know your labels. I can’t see where you fit in stereotypically. I don’t know if you’re a thug or a skater or a goth. I don’t know if you were picked on in school. I only know that you are real and you are one of many who are real that I will never, ever get a chance to know.
But I do love you.