OWLcourage

My brother Bob, three years my senior, has been (and continues to be) a source of some of my most important life lessons, emerging from simple conversations.  He does not remember these conversations, which pleases me, since my recollection becomes the prevailing story of these exchanges.  He consented to my request to share the stories of these conversations here in this blog, and I am grateful to him for that. I acknowledge at the outset that memory is imperfect and hence I am probably describing less the conversation and more the emergent life lessons.

Here is an example. As a preschooler (I was creating patterns early), I once told Bob that I thought I had made a mistake and come to the wrong planet.  He solemnly stared at me for a while and then said “You may be right about that”.  Now you can see why he may not recall this, and of course, that exchange haunts me to this day. Those may not have been his exact words, but in my memory, those are his exact words. There are more questions here than answers.

Bob loves words, has published poetry, books, songs, homilies, and more. At some point during my years in grade school, probably prodded by a teacher, I decided I needed to expand my vocabulary. So, I started systematically looking up the meaning of words I didn’t know that I encountered in books I was reading.  The bigger the word, the more enthused I became. I would then try to use the word in a conversation.

I tried out one of my new “big” words on Bob. He stared at me for a while (staring was part of the pattern), and then asked me why I was using that word.  I enthusiastically explained my vocabulary expansion program, thinking he would be impressed that I was creating my own “big” vocabulary.  I don’t remember the word or if I used it appropriately, but I remember his response.

He explained to me that a “big” vocabulary was not about “big” words but involved knowing the meaning of so many words that you could make choices.  If you knew what you are trying to communicate and you knew to whom you are sending your message, then a “big” vocabulary was so extensive that you could pick exactly the best possible words to effectively explain your message to this specific recipient.  

Now as is obvious, that is not what he said but what I understood as his message. We were kids. Still, I got this life lesson. Words were not indicators of intellectual superiority but vehicles of communication, and if you hoped to communicate well, you selected the words that others could understand well enough to get your message. This lesson shaped my life in the land of words.

Years later, writing manuscripts for publication, policies for a doctoral program, letters to a campus donor, podium presentations…the lesson persisted.  My colleagues were bemused at my editing and re-editing of one or another word, insisting on changes they thought unnecessary and obsessive. I didn’t.  I was trying to get my message across with optimal chances for success. These were choices.

As is perhaps self-evident, Bob’s lesson serves as context for the decisions I make about words as I write my blog posts. If you get my messages, then I have succeeded.

“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”

Albert Schweitzer 

The global pandemic-induced deconstructions (and some new constructions) continue to emerge, fascinate and inform me. One has caught my attention, and that of several colleagues and friends. In telling stories, at some point the speaker refers to an “old white man” or more frequently, an “old white guy” (OWG). Contextually, it is clear that this reference does not focus on all elderly Caucasian males, but to a specific subset. There is an implication that this subset is known and recognizable. Saying “OWG” is a short cut to highlight something far more complex. This blog post is a bit long because the complexity warrants care.

Since OWGs are my demographic peers, and a familiar reference, I have spent some time trying to describe the nature of their new subset currently frequently referenced.  With gratitude to the Oxford Dictionary, I have concluded that this subset manifests a syndrome.  While most syndromes are medical phenomena, Oxford highlights the behavioral one: “a characteristic combination of opinions, emotions or behaviors”.  I think OWGs are a group of people who share a syndrome, one not common to the larger community of elderly Caucasian males.  Indeed, this latter group has members who make OWG syndrome references, and it is clear they do not believe the syndrome is a self-description.

Leaving aside the age variable (old), though I will return to it, the other two descriptors refer to ethnicity and gender.  Being white and male has been a status ensuring privilege, advantage and entitlement for centuries, though most white males did not consciously acknowledge this and the advantages were mixed in scope and distribution.  The European colonization of much of the planet made this status assumption a global one. 

In general, it was always better to be white and male than to be otherwise. Implicit in this social structuring was the assumption of superiority, a conviction that white males should “rule” just about everything because they were best equipped to do so. That has changed, sometimes rapidly and insistently, sometimes even violently.  For some white males, this loss is intolerable, and they work assiduously to reclaim their lost entitlements, to ensure dominance in all things, to insist we recreate the old-world order. OWGs do this. That is their syndrome.

Early in my life, OWG syndrome seemed widespread, seemingly including all white males. It almost always evoked rage, resentment, condemnation, or despair from those who were systematically disadvantaged so that white males could protect their advantage. Many who were not white males determined it was to their advantage to support the OWG world view and get the gains possible without the white male status. Sometimes white males would make concessions if one “cooperated” with them or mimicked their behaviors and beliefs, embraced their syndrome.

In the emerging references to OWGs now, something has clearly shifted, perhaps another tipping point in the erosion of white patriarchy.  OWGs are not to be admired or emulated. Indeed, OWGs are not an enemy but a rather sad, seemingly even pitiful subgroup, suffering from a syndrome that embraces desires not only unresolvable but doomed.  Increasingly, Caucasian males of all ages, but particularly the young, actively disavow identification with the OWGs and their syndrome. And, yet, there is often a tone of patience, sometimes even compassion in these references, and that further evokes my curiosity.

Which brings me back to the first variable, age.  The OWG, who is by definition old, is nearing the end of his life journey.  For many observers, grappling with the often tedious, and sometimes deadly manifestations of the OWG syndrome, they simply see the obvious aging and realize that OWGs days are numbered: they will die…relatively soon.  This seems a bit harsh in tone, however it often seems those observing the OWGs seem more aware of this fact than the OWGs themselves.  Trying to reclaim privilege and entitlements as you are ending your life seems odd to many. To what end?

I see the delineation of the OWG syndrome as a positive development, releasing large numbers of white males from condemnation by “association” simply due to demographic characteristics that shape their personal identities.  I grew up with four brothers, four of the finest people I have known and cherished throughout my life. The remaining three who are living are clearly elderly Caucasian males, and equally clearly, they do not manifest OWG syndrome.  I have male friends where I can make the same statement with certitude. I have never liked that they were assumed to be the enemy of equity, fairness, and justice for all.

Conversely, I am also happy for the OWGs, that their syndrome is recognized for what it is and increasingly treated as a syndrome rather than a valid political and social initiative that evokes hatred and scorn.  They are indeed “old” and their hoped-for outcome has been deconstructed as they face their imminent death. There is perhaps societal nostalgia, but not regression. I am convinced that regression isn’t even possible.

The OWL part of this blog was a sardonic nod to my status as an Old White Lady. Indeed, my hope is to deconstruct the assumptions about these three terms, all of which carry a burden of societal mores and beliefs that often do harm. I feel I would be remiss if I don’t acknowledge that many efforts of the OWGs do harm, sometimes profound harm. 

When we evolve past a fixed societal structure to a mere syndrome embraced (or suffered) by a subset of the prior structure, there is reason to hope. So, as I quietly study the OWG who initiated a criminal war attack on the Ukrainian people, I also watch the world respond, in a myriad of ways. There is a global rejection of that war and the OWG’s agenda, and so I embrace that hope.  It is further my hope that we notice that many white guys, of all ages, stand with me in that rejection of war and the OWG’s agenda. They too embrace hope.  Beyond hope, I also feel gratitude.  Elderly Caucasian males have more to lose than I do.

And for all of us, death lurks in the wings, waiting to take center stage, the final act in the drama of every story told.

“The act of striving is in itself the only way to keep faith with life.”

Madeleine K. Albright

I have spent about half of my life in climates with four clearly identifiable “seasons”, which for me includes my least favorite, the time of snow-covered frozen tundra (with a nod to the Green Bay Packers). However, I have never in the past created the time and experience of observing the seasonal changes in nature in a patterned way.  My near daily walks through a forested area in a nearby park have corrected this life experience deficit. Some images become haunting. Forested winter looks like a war zone to me.  The intensity of summer’s fullness of green looks a bit cocky, as if there is no realization that autumn is lurking and the end is near. Beech trees wear their fragile light gold leaves all winter, seeming to engage in some stubborn act of defiance. I enjoy these images, catalysts to reflection.

One is particularly haunting, which I describe to myself as “green starts at the bottom and moves up”.  As winter begins to lose its stranglehold on the forest, little sparks of dark green moss show up along the edges of the walkway, soon to be challenged by grasses that swallow up the moss, which moves to alternative sites, quietly, persistently.  Then the low short bushes and tall weeds go green, slowly followed by the “short” trees, gradually moving upward to the old tall trees going green. I have reflected a good deal on “green starts at the bottom and moves up” because it seems a metaphor for much of human existence.

For about half of my professional life, I worked with a variety of health care organizations, usually grappling with the severe damages of unresolved chronic conflict, often a dimension of unacknowledged inequity and power imbalances.  These experiences were instructive.  I became fascinated by the disconnect between what the “leaders” thought was going on in their organization, and what the “employees” thought was going on. What became obvious was that for me the “employees” were actually the more reliable informants, the “leaders” often merely describing their wishful thinking.  As the “outsider”, I was impressed with how insistent the leaders were that their perception of reality was the “truth” and how difficult it was for them to imagine that their “vision” was just that, merely a vision and not a reality. The occupants of the C Suite, in spite of their convictions, would encounter passive-aggressive inaction and sabotage, evoking discomforting confusion.

And I learned to trust the fact that “green starts at the bottom and moves up”.   If these organizations wanted to grow and prosper, it was the “employees” at the absolute lowest levels of the organization who were the most relevant initial resources.  If leaders dismissed their input or perspective, the results were predictable…no green.  Now you could always locate splashes of “green” about the organization, which sometimes looked like beech trees sprinkled, much as in the forest, in unpredictable locations.  I learned that the “moss” would sometimes be nestled in the larger swaths of grass, supporting the possibility of a bush or two bursting forth, some with blossoms and flowers.  In time, if you stayed with the “green starts at the bottom and moves up”, you could observe the unfolding of real organizational change.

Now this was usually a difficult realization for the big old trees in the C Suite, and though there were exceptions (exceptional leaders), the illusion of control and the need to feel successful were always lurking as deterrents.  The essential understanding of the connectedness of all dimensions of the organization (forest) and their complex relationships was often totally missing among the leadership groups, or reduced to simplistic linear mental modeling. Fiscal fears, presented as financial concerns, were often like some disturbing chemical killing everything green in sight. I was often moved by the grasses and bushes compassionately helping the big old trees, their “leaders” grapple with the realization that they really didn’t get to meet their goals by fiat. I had the advantage of working with organizations where most who worked there were people of good will and generosity of spirit.

As I write this, I imagine all sorts of people throughout the nation getting up this morning and selecting something “green” to wear, since it is St. Patrick’s Day.  I think of all the corporations in this country who are dealing with the realization that a shift is happening, that the Great Resignation might be a message. I wonder how many will recognize that “green starts at the bottom and moves up”.   I wonder if our leaders in all venues of our social systems might be helped by a walk in the forest this spring, noticing that “green starts at the bottom and moves up”.  

“We must shift our allegiances from fear to curiosity, from attachment to letting go, from control to trust, and from entitlement to humility.”

Angeles Arrien 

As the nervous exploration of our country’s flirtation with authoritarianism bubbles up in a variety of media, the embedded value assumptions bubble up too. So, I was struck by an observation of some leaders of the “Christian right”, who noted that though their embrace of the abusive aspects of authoritarianism was indeed incompatible with “Christian values”, they “at least saved all those babies”.  The simplistic analysis of the single-issue anti-abortion “movement” apologists: we may have to sacrifice democracy to save “all those babies”.

Which led me to reflect upon what I consider the weirdest part of the anti-abortion “movement”: the assumption that all pregnant women became pregnant as a solo act, an amazing collective “immaculate conception”! All these women, alone in the room where it happened! Biologically, we know there was some sort of male sperm donor involved, however the debate focuses exclusively on women, and their “responsibility” to carry their babies to term. Implicitly we are also saying that they are the responsible party in the pregnancy, that other participants need not be held accountable.   And they are obligated to have their babies. Putting aside all the ways these women are rarely assisted in their lives as they work to care for their babies “after term”, and then care for the children and adults their babies become, I want to know about the men who fathered these babies.  What is their responsibility?

We have paternity identification tools at hand, and we certainly know that these babies (and their mothers) need support. If these men elected to take actions that introduced the possibility of paternity, then they too are responsible for the outcome. Where are the protests, political action committees, legislative initiatives…the actions to engage these men in their responsibilities?  Does the anti-abortion “movement” even realize that there were actually men involved in the situation confronting the women seeking abortions?  Why aren’t the men identified, judged, shunned, punished, held to account?  Why is there no “Men Who Impregnate with Impudence” oppositional movement?

I ponder the high school student who finds herself pregnant.  Easily, the anti-abortion “movement” insists that she carry this baby to term. They suggest adoption as if this will not further change this young woman’s life irrevocably, though we have the data to support this reality.  Imagine if we altered our focus, and the real issue was the baby’s father.  What if his life was altered, so that immediately he was required to publicly support the girl during her pregnancy, and for the life of the child?  Would he and/or his parent’s step up?  Would the anti-abortion “movement” pressure and shame him?  Would they point out that he erred, perhaps was even immoral?  Would they tell him how easy adoption would be? Would they hound him down persistently until he took responsibility for his actions?

I have been following the crazy Texas law that essentially supports neighbors reporting on anyone seeking an abortion.  I imagine the Texas Rangers hunting down all the dads of all these pregnant women to require engagement with and financial support of the women they impregnated and their children.  I imagine Governor Abbott vigorously condemning the men trying to avoid their responsibilities for these babies that Texas wants to be “carried to term”.  I want the dads as pressured and shamed as the moms…and I see nothing in the anti-abortion “movement” that even hints at awareness of their blatant blind spot that obsesses over the “mother” and often does not even acknowledge the “father”.  Now there emerges the Idaho legislative mimic of Texas, where the fathers apparently do have a role: they can sue an abortion provider for damages after a woman has an abortion if they impregnated the woman.

I have a hunch that persons embracing the world view that flirts with authoritarianism are also willing to focus only on the woman’s role and accountabilities when a man and a woman create a fertilized human egg, a zygote, that becomes implanted in a woman’s uterus as a human embryo. I wonder if they know that at least 40-60% of these embryos do not survive to result in a term pregnancy.  Would they organize funerals and make sure the dads attended? 

I find the patterns of patriarchy endlessly ignorant and fatiguing.

“Rather than looking at the unanswered questions, we now need to be looking at the unquestioned answers of our time.”

Lynne Twist

To even start this post makes me anxious, and yet, it is our current shared reality. I want to be respectful of the profound adversity experienced by the Ukrainian people, and to sit here, in comfort in Johnstown, Ohio leaves me feeling unequal to the challenge. Yet, I want to speak out, join the voices of support for the Ukrainian people and place myself clearly in opposition to those inflicting this adversity, capriciously and needlessly.

Like many across the planet, each day, repeatedly, I turn a watchful eye to the news about the invasion of Ukraine by Vladimir Putin. Like many, I had felt a deep awareness of the disruptions and deconstructions of the past two years, lurking as potential long before that. I did not know what would emerge.  For me, the invasion of Ukraine was not surprising; the responses from around the planet were. These had not, I believe, been fully imagined or anticipated by anyone. There had seemed to be either an attack on, or sheer neglect of, the high price of democracy and freedom in many places on the planet.  Many passionate and noisy people were clear that they preferred an autocrat. Then suddenly, a tremor of resistance and refusal, made manifest at great cost in Ukraine, found voice and took action. 

War is not a problem-solving device, and we are once more validating this as a species.  There is suffering, destruction, and terror that is both unnecessary and cruel. There is a quiet throb of sadness and frustration that now shapes my days. For the first time in my life, however, I also feel connected to a web of compassion that spans the planet; I am not alone in my opposition to this war. While many may ignore it, some even support it, what stands out for me is this global web I find, made visible and active. This war isn’t just happening over there somewhere to someone; it is everyone’s war…and for many of us, no war is welcome and every war harms everyone. There is an “us” embedded in the word “Ukraine”.

I have pondered that the fear and fantasies about “nuclear options” may be a factor in our web of compassion. Perhaps for some. The more dominant theme, however, is simple revulsion at injustice and ruthlessness. There have always been anti-war protestors. This seems different, as nations step forward, take action, imagine innovative ways of helping. News changes by the minute, and I do not know what developments will emerge, how much more chaos and destruction will be imposed.  It seems clear to me, however, that we can never go back to where we were and we cannot erase this global event and its repercussions.

Most humans in this web of compassion are seeking ways to contribute, to help.  UNICEF, one of my favorite problem-solving resources, is meeting at the border mothers and children who are suddenly Ukrainian refugees.  So that is where I sent my first donation.  I post this information as the appropriately fuzzy photo for today to invite you to join this effort, or whatever other effort you can find that fits your values and beliefs. The “us” embedded in the Ukrainian experience warrants whatever action we might find our way to bring forward.

“Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work; a future. To be courageous is not necessarily to go anywhere or do anything except to make conscious those things we already feel deeply and then to live through the unending vulnerabilities of those consequences.”

David Whyte