Our choices matter. Full stop.
In the last few months there’s been a conversation in the climbing community (and I use that word “community” with a touch of irony because as with any “community,” climbers are wildly diverse in their backgrounds, experiences, beliefs, and values) about whether or not it is ok to climb Devil’s Tower (also known as Bear Lodge) in Wyoming during the month of June. I hope you will read more about why their is voluntary ban on climbing out of respect for Native American ceremonies and how it came about.

What I want to talk about is this blog post: Devils Tower: Why I Can’t Write About the Voluntary Closure.
In this piece, the blogger asks us to pick an object across the room, develop an opinion about it and then approach the object and see “if that opinion holds.” The metaphor is meant to draw out the idea that things are more complicated up close than they appear from far way. The implication is that unless you are there, at Devil’s Tower/Bear Lodge (or, presumably the epicenter of any hot button issue), you can’t really judge. Because, it’s complicated. It’s nuanced. It has many sides.
Furthermore, the author argues, it is our tendency to form opinions and take sides without taking into account all the competing perspectives that causes divisiveness. She says, “It concerns me that it’s become all too easy to, without barely stopping to think, take a stand for issues very distant and impersonal.” And goes on to list such issues: Indigenous issues. Black lives matter. Philando Castile. Keystone Pipeline. Bears Ears. The repeal of the Affordable Care Act. “Look,” she says, where our opinions are getting us (and to be clear, she’s speaking to white liberals): “our nation has never, at least in our lifetime, been so divided.”
Wow.
I have to take a deep breath here. Because, just, wow.
Let’s start with the obvious: People are not objects across the room. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the point of the metaphor. I just think the metaphor is a bad one. That object she walked across the room to take a closer look at, its details and nuances have literally nothing in common with the struggles of people. It doesn’t have emotions. It doesn’t have a family. It doesn’t have a history or an ancestry. It doesn’t experience oppression. It doesn’t experience racism or sexism or homophobia or ableism. And it doesn’t, intentionally or implicitly, act in oppressive, racist, sexist, homophobic or ableist ways. It, is an it.
I know the author knows this. I know she was being intentionally simplistic in order to make a point. But there’s no parallel here to make and comparing people to things in this way has never been, and will never be, a good idea.
Second, the argument that people can’t or shouldn’t form opinions from a distance is troubling. The idea that a white person in California cannot empathize with the family of Philando Castile or, for that matter, with the impact his murder has on Black people across the country, is alarming. The idea that we need to know and understand every perspective before forming an opinion is a suggestion that has been used time and time again to derail important conversations, alliviate guilt, and escape responsibility and accountability for the impact of our actions. But some things are, and should be, full stop issues.
The idea that we need to know and understand every perspective before forming an opinion is a suggestion that has been used time and time again to derail important conversations, alliviate guilt, and escape responsibility and accountability for the impact of our actions.
Black Lives Matter. Full stop. That is true. And no amount of listening to the nuances and varying experiences and different perspectives will ever change that. And, while I don’t think the author truly intended to argue this isn’t the case, I bring it up because it’s important to think about the implications and the impact of our words beyond our own intention.
Black Lives Matter. Full stop.
As an author I admire, Ijeoma Oluo, recently wrote:
As writers we need to respect the power of our words and respect the communities we write about. It is the only ethical and responsible way to engage the immense power and privilege of our platforms. Own your words, own your work, and do better. SOURCE
Now, let’s talk about what this blog post is really saying.
The author is saying that it was easy for her to be an activist, to take sides, to be the good white liberal, until the issue impacted her choices and life personally. Until taking the “progressive side” meant giving up something. That is real and it’s something I can empathize with because it’s something we all struggle with. Or, to be more honest, it’s something we don’t struggle with enough.
When being on the side of a marginalized community means that a white person has to give up something important to them or change their behavior and choices, 9 time out of 10 the nuances of the situation suddenly become unignorable and the question of solidarity is no longer a Full Stop issue.
The particularly problematic nuances the author of this post brought up were the many facts about the social conditions of indigenous people living in the Pine Ridge Reservation near Bear Lodge/Devil’s Tower. Her conclusion: “It makes me question whether all of these people [Indigenous people living on the Reservation] even have time to think about the renaming of Devils Tower or the June voluntary closure when they’re worried about their health and safety.”
But, the thing is, the people of Pine Ridge Reservation are saying that this is something they care about.
A lot of the campers are Native Americans who are here for their annual visit. One group are Lakota youth who live on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota.
Waylon Black Crow Senior is among the chaperones to the kids. He said they didn’t drive to get here. They ran. … He said it’s a sacred site, so it’s painful when climbers ignore the closure. “We see them climbing up there,” said Black Crow. “And all we can do is watch.” SOURCE
Let’s think about one issue impacting the people of Pine Ridge Reservation: teen suicide. According to Wikipedia, suicide among adolescents at Pine Ridge Reservation is four times the national average.
Another population that is heavily impacted by youth and teen suicide is the LGBTQ population, among whom adolescent suicide is estimated to be four times greater than among their straight peers (SOURCE). One of the liberal responses to this troubling statistic has been an emphasis on creating spaces and influencing cultural change so that LGBTQ youth feel supported, celebrated, and safe to be out and proud. I doubt the author of “Why I Can’t Write About the Voluntary Closure” thinks that conservative perspectives counter to this are legitimate concerns in the face of an epidemic of queer youth suicides. However, she has chosen to put forth the argument that there are nuances to be considered in opposition to supporting and creating respectful spaces for indigenous youth to take part in their cultural heritage.
My point is not to say that respecting the voluntary climbing ban alone will have a direct impact on the reduction teen suicide on the reservation. My point is that, respecting the voluntary climbing ban is one part of working toward a culture where Indigenous youth feel supported and celebrated by the greater society because of who they are.
I recently read a piece by Hari Ziyad that was refreshingly honest and cuttingly pointed and, while the author was talking about Black lives and people, his words resonate broadly:
If you are a white person who is so attached to the things that harm Black people that my anger at those things implicates you, then, yes, it does mean I hate you. I hate your fake concern for my well-being that reaches its limits as soon as it asks you to make a change or be uncomfortable. I hate that you think I owe you my time and energy dissecting my emotions to the point that they make you, again, comfortable enough for complacency. I hate that no one has asked you whom you hate yet. I hate the way you continue to go about your day while we die. I hate the way we die. And I am no longer afraid to say it.
What if instead of climbing, folks spent their time in June raising awareness about issues facing indigenous populations in order to impact positive change rather than invoking those issues as a way to excuse their own personal choice to climb? What if instead of insisting that people listen to competing perspectives before coming to judgement, we change a behavior that a marginalized community has explicitly said causes them harm or pain? What if instead of making excuses, we understood that, as white people who stand in solidarity with marginalized communities, we are going to have to make sacrifices and act not just selflessly, but in a way that directly undermines our own privilege?
Our choices and our actions matter. They send a message and have an impact that extends far beyond that fun day of climbing Devil’s Tower in min-June. And when climbing causes other people pain, that’s a Full Stop issue.
