The Race for Empathy

Hey – we are almost heading into the back half of 2020, otherwise known as Jumanji – Level 6. It’s been a year already…and by that, I mean, we have had enough experiences this year to fill several years worth of journals, scrapbooks and Facebook pages. We are still dealing with the aftermath, or is it the ‘currentmath’, of Covid-19 and then were hit with a senseless death at the hands of four policeman sparking protests and riots across the country. One positive that has come from 2020? We apparently experience everything as a world population since the protests in the US sparked protests in other countries as well. We are becoming more intertwined in our pain, fear and troubling situations.

The death of George Floyd had an effect on everyone. This is the first time that I didn’t hear any type of rebuttal from anyone that started with “if he had only…” (not committed a crime…not run from the police…not made a move to his waist…etc). I have not heard one person state that they felt that this was his fault. That has been sadly positive as it has sparked discussions in people that may have not felt the need to get involved in the past.

What has, unfortunately, taken the focus from the protests is the riots and looting in many cities. La Mesa is down the street from us. I happened upon the protest on the first day. I turned up a street and there it was! I was blocked from going forward so just sat and watched for about five minutes and then was able to get into the next lane to turn around. The protest was peaceful at that point. After dark, it was another story. I lean towards the idea that the riots are more about opportunists than protesters. I don’t believe the residents of these cities are tearing up their neighborhoods. But that’s not what I’m writing about today.

I’m writing about empathy and how sometimes we have a lack of it. We have sympathy in spades…even about racism. We say, “I’m sorry that this happened” and then go about our lives, a little sadder but not really changed.

Empathy, however, requires us to pull up uncomfortable emotions and it makes us make connections that are painful. I love Brené Brown’s Short on Empathy because it makes me try to feel what someone else may be feeling, even though I haven’t experienced the same thing.

So here is how I can find my empathy with the racial divide. One of my sons had a learning disability as a child. Now, before anyone wants to say I’m making some crazy connection between race and learning disabilities, just stop! That…is not where I’m going.

My son had a learning disability and was having a very difficult time in school. He was being moved ahead every year but was struggling to pass his classes. I was struggling as a young single mother in school full time, trying to get him the support that he needed. I requested for him to be tested and was met with the following comments:

“He is a product of divorce. He needs both parents.”

“You don’t spend enough time with him.”

“If you were a better parent, he would do better in school.”

I am not exaggerating – instead of even discussing that my son could have a learning disability, I was told that I was at fault. I left the meeting crying and feeling doubtful of my worth. I wondered if they were right, since at that point, I was on state aid, overwhelmed with nursing school and my time was pulled in a variety of directions.

Two years later, I graduated from nursing school and was working with autistic kids. I went back to the school ready for a battle since his school performance was getting worse, in spite of my quest to be a “better parent”. At that point, a teacher had made fun of my son at school, by asking him a question and then addressing the class with “well, this will take about fifteen minutes.” I was furious and ready for a fight. The administrator had been replaced and I was welcomed as a concerned parent and my son was tested. He has a processing delay. The same Child Psychologist that had decided that I had sub-par parenting skills told me the results. I wasn’t grateful at that moment. I was indescribably angry for the loss of two years of time.

I won’t focus on my sons feelings during this, but only mine. I felt misunderstood, powerless and ridiculed by people in authority. I felt angry, and sad and a whole bunch of emotions when he was diagnosed. I then had to help him to understand that school would be harder for him, but that we would grab the resources available to help. We were blessed to have many great teachers and an excellent Resource Specialist in High School. But each year, when he started school, I would feel out the teachers to see how he would be treated. It only took one really bad teacher to make me suspicious of the rest. I say that because I believe that most teachers got into teaching because they want to make a difference. I believe most police officers are the same. But in every field, the ones that shouldn’t be there do horrible damage and unless there is a system in place to actively flush them out, the damage goes unchecked and overlooked.

Now, I can identify that feeling, but this situation is not the same. My feelings about his teacher were very angry, but my son was in no physical harm. The emotional damage was horrible and that was enough.

There is a universal language among mothers, of every culture. I think we feel each other in some way – that concern for our kids, our grandkids, and most of the time, our friends kids. We feel concern for them. We worry about them. We get angry when they are unjustly treated. So that is where I make my connection.

Now let me think about how I would feel if I worried anytime that my son was behind the wheel of a car. What if he gets pulled over? What will happen? What if the feeling that I had about the administrator, the psychologist and the teacher were my reality every day? How would I feel if I saw situation after situation being presented that lead me to believe that my son was targeted by his skin color?

I would be angry.

And I would have to act.

I can’t know what it is to be black and experience what that means. But I can empathize with how powerlessness and discrimination feels like on a minute scale. It is a drop in the ocean compared to how many black Americans are feeling right now.

And now that I know that, I can’t go back to thinking that it’s not my problem.

And none of us should.

Because some of us can’t breathe.