I deleted Facebook, and BoMA is on hold while I work on NeighborBell. So I’m gonna go ahead and use this blog as my personal sounding board. I don’t know if anyone will read it, but I’m about to explode, and writing helps. It especially helps if someone might be listening.
Maybe I’m used to being heard because I grew up a white, Mormon, male. Not too long ago, the men in my family were gathered around my dad to give him a blessing. This was a bit of an awkward circumstance because I’m no longer Mormon, so I can’t participate in the priesthood ordinance of placing my hands on someone’s head and pronouncing a blessing. At least that’s what the Mormon church says, so that’s the protocol most of my family follows.
The blessing began without me. They might have thought I was staying upstairs to opt out of the entire experience, but that wasn’t the case. I was just a little slow getting downstairs, I guess. So I silently crept down the stairs as the blessing was being administered. After the “amen,” my dad opened his eyes and saw me, and he cried. I think there was probably some sadness, maybe a little happiness as well that I hadn’t opted out of the whole experience. Plus he was facing cancer, so I’m sure plenty of the tears had nothing to do with me. But I wanted to be there with my dad, and I wanted him to know I was there with him. But I wasn’t really a full participant.
It was one of many surreal experiences I’ve had as I’ve emerged from a very orthodoxically religious, politically conservative upbringing. It’s impossible to put a fine point on the glaring inequity I witnessed at that moment – one I had been completely blind to for my entire life. An inequity I had long been prepared to address with words, but had never truly felt in my heart.
I was left out because I no longer believed. That’s fine. No surprise there. But what struck me was my company. I was on the outside of the ordinance, observing, alongside my sisters and my mother. Like me, they were not invited to participate. Unlike me, they were always left out, every time, for their entire lives. Because that’s how it works in God’s wisdom.
This is not what I sat down to write about. My mind has been filled with images of, and commentary about, Alex Pretti. I’ve been through a lot in the past year, including an occasionally unhealthy obsession with bridging minds. I planned art classes to bridge minds of parents and children. I wanted to host paint-and-chat interviews with people of different opinions and walks of life. I planned an entire business based on helping artists get paid to create the art they want to create – because art bridges minds. About 14 months later, here’s what I’ve learned: capitalism doesn’t reward the bridging of minds, and neither does our biology.
I’m almost finished reading High Conflict, and my main takeaway is this: a bridge between minds begins with one of those minds listening. And then listening some more. And then listening. And being very quiet and patient. And listening.
I just took the wind out of my own sails. I have this urge to write, to express, to be heard, and my message is to do the exact opposite: be quiet, be patient, listen.
I began by describing a scene from my family’s religious practices. What would each person left out of that blessing say if I just listened to them? It makes me uncomfortable to think (and expect) that several of them are just fine with the arrangement, and it works well for them. They’re happy. Even though it seems wrong to me – my opinion is not really relevant to their spiritual identity. What I would likely hear if I would listen, is something like, “Men and women have different responsibilities in the church and in the family. It doesn’t always have to be cookie-cutter identical, but a general guideline has served us very well, and we are truly happy.” Which means expressing my opinion – that leaving women out of authoritative leadership positions in the church is sexist and wrong – does more work to burn bridges than to build them, no matter how right I believe I am.
So how do we do the same with Alex Pretti? To put it bluntly, how do we address people who believe the federal agents acted appropriately? Unfortunately, painfully, frustratingly, I think the answer is: by listening. Not on social media. I completely deleted my Facebook account because I’d been having a back-and-forth with a friend who supports Trump, and it was the last straw. Facebook is a net negative for my mental health, and I can’t take it anymore, especially from my friends. Daniel, if you’re reading this, I’m talking about you. I have happy memories of you. You have shared some of the most helpful and profound insights I’ve received from any friend – do you remember when you said to me, “The only bad thing about getting a bunch of really good people together is when they realize they have a good thing going, and they start looking around and thinking, man we really are a bit better than those other people, aren’t we?” You were referring to members of our shared faith, and your tribal self-awareness was so refreshing. It was as if you said, “Man, we do suck sometimes. We gotta watch out for that.” I can’t remember the exact words, but I continue to respect the introspective, objective way you think. I also admire your talents – when I first heard your music, my jaw was on the floor. How many times had we chatted and I never knew you were a musician and singer!!?
I haven’t been on Facebook since Alex Pretti was shot. Daniel, I wonder what you’re saying about it. I wonder if you’re taking a nuanced view. I’m not, and I don’t think that’s a strength. I think it’s weak to fall into black-and-white thinking, and that’s where our conversations could be meaningful and helpful – but not on Facebook.
So what’s your take, Daniel? And if you generally support the Trump administration, please insert your name instead. What’s your take? Our government has become tyrannical. Our rights are not protected. Yesterday, I watched a video of a young girl being chased by ICE, and she makes it home just in time, where her dad confronts the agents, tells them to stay off of his property, and closes the gate at the end of his driveway. Here it is on Instagram. That video makes me cry. Does that family even feel safe at home now? I wouldn’t!
I drop off my girls at school most mornings, and I wish this wasn’t true, but I often think about school shootings as I drive away from them, knowing it’s extremely unlikely to occur at their school, convincing myself they’re safe, and yet…
Now my neighbors worry not just about a random gunman. They worry about the fact that their daughter’s skin is brown like theirs. She speaks Spanish, like them. Like the man in the video said, “you have this feeling that it’s not gonna be the last time.” They fear a federal agent may abduct their daughter and ask questions later. No due process. No rights.
I recently wrote down some thoughts about Marjorie Taylor Greene and Charlie Kirk, and I might post them here now that I’ve decided to make this blog my sounding board, but my question now is: if Marjorie Taylor Greene can listen to Epstein’s victims and have a change of heart, who is next? Who on the right will stop talking, and listen? Is it you? Can you do that? And I mean 1-on-1, not on social media. Find a friend you disagree with, and hear them out. Let them keep talking. Just listen. Literally bite your tongue. Hold your tongue between your teeth. Keep your lips closed. Your Trump supporter friend has his reasons, and it might be helpful for HIM to hear himself express them out loud, and then let them hang in the air. Just listen. Your ears are the bridge to someone else’s mind.