Choosing Peace While Fighting for Change
In social justice work, we spend a lot of time advocating for change. Too often, advocacy is seen solely as fighting. We fight for recognition, we fight for retribution, we fight for justice. Fighting has become so synonymous with social justice that we often fail to utilize other avenues — avenues that do not exhaust us mentally, spiritually, or physically. Avenues that include: reframing the problem, expanding our networks, and showing compassion. We need to start sharing more examples of how leadership in social justice work can bring about successful change in a way that aligns with one’s stated values. We need to spend more time thinking about how we’re showing up for ourselves (self-care), for others (community), and for our causes (integrity).
In 1989, I went to El Salvador, a country embroiled in a civil war. Like most of Central America, El Salvador was involved in the global political tug-of-war between the Soviet Union and the United States. I had gotten involved with Central American solidarity support from being exposed to it on my college campus. Some of the best organizing involving protest, arts, political education, and policy work was being done by economically impoverished people to end U.S. backed wars in the region.
Having grown up in the Bronx, I had experienced how economic disinvestment permeated through neighborhoods and families. I had a natural affiliation with the struggle in El Salvador. I was eight years old when NYC was declared bankrupt, and President Ford told the city to drop dead, followed by a false promise by President Carter to revitalize the Bronx, and then by Reaganomics; I didn’t need a PhD in economics to see that was a plan that would not reach me. My middle school went on half-days, and I spent 9th grade without an English teacher, and I was in the gifted class. By the time I was in 10th grade, I saw how far behind I had gotten and had to work harder than any year before that just to catch up.
So when I learned of this small country in Latin America that was receiving the third largest military aid package (after Israel and Egypt), I was moved to action. To me, budgets were moral statements, and I wanted to change a world that allocated more to bombing and destroying a country rather than building up students and neighborhoods. I had already been involved with social justice activism, cutting my canvassing teeth on anti-nuke work in high school, and joining in anti-apartheid work on my college campus. I love activism, and though it is not usually framed this way, I think it can be one of the best ways to improve learning. I was encouraged to read beyond any class curriculum I had, and I brought different sources of information into college courses. The additional practice of debate and discussion improved my critical thinking skills and built my stamina for long-night intellectual rigor.
So, I was very excited when I had the chance to see how everything I read about revolution, fighting for justice, and creating a better world was being put into practice. Going into a war-torn country, I was not expecting the normalcy which existed alongside the chaos. Kids still played soccer and you heard mundane, pedantic conversations (si, él llamará — yes he will call), people shopping, and waiting on line at the post office. Yet, soldiers were roaming the streets and bombs were going off.
I went to El Salvador to learn and to be able to witness what was going on first hand in order to be a better advocate back home. I was impressed by the level of organization of caring people who were trying to end a war that was killing and disappearing thousands, stunting economic growth, and breeding a culture of violence. Activists used sophisticated communication systems, had advanced political education that incorporated low literacy levels of members, and recruited people with highly trained skills.
However, while I was staying in a mountain encampment about 3 hours outside of San Salvador, I had a chance to spend time hanging out with children. As we played and talked, I started to realize that their involvement with the civil war was very active. These were children who not only knew what was going on, they were actively fighting in the war. I continued to play with them and in many ways they could play just like children, though I knew that even that ability would not be long lived if they continued fighting. I then started talking to the adults in charge, trying to 1) confirm I understood what I thought I understood (my Spanish was good at the time, but it is always best to double-check), and 2) find out what rationale people would have for involving children in war. Turns out there isn’t a good rationale. At most, I got the excuse that the government was conscripting children — which they were — and in order to win, everyone must play a part.
I knew my part would have to change as a result of learning this. I did not know if this was a wider-spread practice beyond the one place I visited but I did know that I was confronted with new information that I had to make a decision about. I ended up stopping my work there because I knew — and still know — that if we need children to fight our battles, we’re not ready to battle. And whatever justice we’re seeking to find, how we get there matters. Giving children guns will not bring the world peace. I could not articulate this clearly at twenty-two. Though I admired the ideology and intellect driving their revolution, my vision could not be divorced from how I achieved my vision. The journey is the fun part. Even with its difficulties and setbacks and murkiness at times. Knowing that my actions are building rather than tearing down is what keeps me committed to justice. Justice happens for me everyday. It is not something I am waiting for.
When the Political Gets Real Personal
Years later, working in social justice philanthropy, I had one of those moments most advocates dread, having to advocate for myself. I found out I was being paid less than other colleagues because I was Black. I was so hurt and devastated. And even though I had people insisting I litigate, that I sue to teach a lesson, to get revenge, something about that felt very false to me. Not that I did not see the need for lawsuits or enacting one’s legal rights when wronged, but what I wanted to change — the hurt and anger and disappointment that I felt — was not going to be resolved that way. I was hurt by a person, by a person I admired, by a person I knew had more to them than this one act. I was also angry, and I knew I did not want to stay in that state. Anger is useful for getting out of depression, to move oneself to action, but it is not a state to keep oneself in too long, because it will burn you out. Feeling hurt is about being injured emotionally. It is a call to being healed. Fighting while feeling hurt makes no more sense than fighting while in a cast. Because I was angry and hurt, choosing a path of litigation which is long and combative would not get me to where I needed to be. Having disappointment meant that I needed to repair a relationship. Litigation would not bring me to that point.
Knowing this led me to another path. I sat down with my boss and let her know what I knew. I let her know how awful it made me feel to not be seen fully, to feel reduced, to be denied the meritocracy that hard work and excellent performance should reward. I also demanded a retroactive raise. That was one of the hardest and most satisfying conversations I have ever had. And though I had advocated on behalf of others for a long time, coming to my own defense felt like an almost insurmountable reach. I cried in that meeting (and I rarely ever cry), as did my boss. And, once I had the conversation, once I passed that hurdle, I felt at peace; and that was what I was seeking. I did end up getting the raise, I also rebuilt a relationship that meant something to me, and my boss at the time has now become a close and trusted friend.
Face Hard Choices with Clear Decisions
Have you ever gotten a directive to do something so egregious that you knew in your gut that you’ll never comply? Not those moments where you’re asked to do something ridiculous or tedious or stupid that you will not like but know that you’ll end up doing. I mean those times when someone asks you to do something that goes so against your values that you have no other recourse than to speak your real truth. I love those moments because they move right past fear for me and I can make a decision in an instant. You should wish for these moments because they are truly gifts.
As opposed to the smaller moments when you slowly begin to act in ways that you never wanted to, finding yourself becoming someone you barely recognize, in a situation you did not intentionally create; so much like the proverbial frog in the slowly simmering cauldron, allowing your own demise; the gift of egregious, over-the-top moments is that they increase the heat so quickly that you have to react.
I was working in philanthropy when I was told my boss’s boss wanted to cut a grantee’s renewal grant in half. The consequences to the grantee’s work would have been difficult because most organizations — nonprofit or for profit — cannot adjust swiftly within a two month period to recover a 50% loss in expected revenue. This was a blessed moment because knowing how far I was willing to go, what choice I would make (and you and I always have a choice) brings clarity. It helps to orient you on your journey to justice. A fork in the road — toward vision or complacency.
I did act and advocated and the grantee’s renewal grant was not cut, but that is not the point of this story. The lesson I learned in that moment was about my power and choice. I am creating the path to justice I want to see. I have the power to be complicit or not to be complicit. I am not giving up that power because I work for someone. The true gift that experience gave me was learning that I can enter work every day as an agreement and I could walk away when I was not in agreement. That people can choose to ask me to do things and I choose to agree or disagree. That I can also ask and suggest things that people can choose to agree or disagree. That as I create my path to justice, where I work is the road, not the destination.
At this point, I have over thirty years of lessons in social justice work; many of which I keep relearning as well as new and wonderful lessons. I love the ways I can come together with people within justice movements who share with me a long view of leaving the world better than how we entered; I love opening up the imaginative space to envision what could be different; I love the dissent and questioning; I love the belief in goodness. And I wish for everyone who enters into this work, for everyone who commits to this life, to see themselves becoming better than they were the day before. For this is truly how the world gets better.
