(113) I Disagree.

Classical Sass
Extra Newsfeed
6 min readAug 28, 2016

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There’s a Bill Nye quote that gets passed around by white peeps all the time. It’s obviously fact, Bill Nye said it (I think) to correct certain racist rawkings, and it is shared with ‘good intentions’ (p.s.: fuck good intentions. No, seriously. Fuck them. Impact or get the actual bare minimum fuck out. Get. Out. You’re not five. There is no A for effort. Do better) by white people who want to make sure that everyone else knows they don’t see race because #smart. What it does, despite all that, is parade over the lived experience of minorities in order to tout some glorified version of transcendence that sounds obvious and easy but isn’t because of what the parade tramples in order to shriek its pious message. I.e., yes ok race isn’t a thing; if this were a science test and not about culture and sociology and real, pervasive, examples of how race is, in fact, a thing because OOPS social constructs have impact OOPS, then yes. Ok. If that quote was effective or worth anything at all at this stage in our social evolution, it wouldn’t even be needed. Because we’d be living it. It’s like telling someone who is on fire; “No no, water doesn’t fix all fires.” Why. Shut up. Go get a bucket of water. Get something smarter that will put the fire out, you epic genius you. Stop gaslighting (see whut I did thar) for three seconds and help put the fucking fire out.

The quote is also, to equally frustrating degrees, used to tell other white people some version of ‘no no these other races are just as good (or as bad) as you are; they are the same!” and in so doing, highlights a core need humans have to agree with each other. We have to be the same, because only that will stem the flood of aggression and suspicion and fear. We have to be fundamentally one, at our core, unified, or nothing will prosper, and humanity shall fail! This need is obvious in politics, but I’ve also noticed the tendency creeping into friendships and casual exchanges everywhere; we tend to gravitate towards people who have common ground with us. We find it easier to embrace those who are like us, be it humor, religion, or profession. If someone doesn’t find your joke funny, it’s easy in theory to shrug it off and say, ‘well, to each his own!’ but how often do we do that if it’s seen as condemnation; if we feel exposed because other people have seen the remark? How readily do we refrain from taking it as an attack on our person, particularly if we respect and value the person saying it? It often doesn’t even matter how well we know the person; the repercussions of being vulnerable and shamed is such a source of fear that we surround ourselves with people who are least likely to do just that. We seek out the sameness in others and recoil when we don’t find it. It’s as though the unearthed difference isn’t a juxtaposition of two people at all; it’s immediately felt in a hierarchical sense, and the power is up for grabs. Taking it personally is something we tend to do, both on a small scale as well as in larger contexts like groupthink and social media reactions. If we can’t refrain from taking it personally, how would we ever get to a place of sameness, which would inevitably involve reaching across the difference with an open hand, and affirming, “Ok! I hear you!”

While I love my common ground with my peeps, I find myself becoming more and more concerned about the overlook that happens regarding differences. I’ve always said, regarding my friends, “I fall for the similarities, but I stay for the differences.” And I work hard to make that true. But, there are some differences that really bum me out. I won’t get close to someone who bullies in any way, shape, or form. I might not hate them and be aggressive about it, but I won’t trust them. I likewise do not trust flakey people who repeatedly say they’ll do something and then don’t, unabashedly and without remorse or empathy. If I look at the pile of contention that will prevent intimacy in a friendship, it all too readily seems like an ice coated slope of glassy dismissals that I’m supposed to climb in stilettos and zero self esteem.

It has helped me to remember that it isn’t my inability to appreciate ‘otherness’ that is the problem: differences in people are beautiful. Our skin colors, our cultures, our mannerisms, the way we talk, the way we move, the way we show we care, the way we laugh, what makes us laugh, how we learn, how we build our families and social functions; our differences give us texture and nuance and make us worthwhile. If aliens visited us, I am quite sure it would be because of how we vary. There is a stark and uncompromising line between our differences as people and our differences in how we treat people. I suppose we could get into a side mush about cultural and religious differences that involve misogyny and homophobia and so forth; yes. Of course. I’m not here for any of that. But I have to stress the difference between nixing the treatment of certain people versus nixing the religion, or someone’s culture, in its entirety. Just like the constitution or the bible or the torah or whatever; there are good ideas and bad, and we are a work in progress. Nothing is so permanent that it justifies the use of abject cruelty as a main (let alone necessary!) tenet. Moreover, in every painful exchange I’ve had, the ache is always about how I am being treated (or how someone else is being treated), and not about some over simplified fundamental difference in who we are as people.

So when a friend (or anyone, really) comes at me with something that hurts my feelings or that I just fundamentally disagree with, I have to put myself in time out. It’s an automatic adulting thing, now. Shhhh, Kitch, you go sit over there and wait it out. Sometimes for a few minutes; more often several hours. I have occasionally blurted it out straight up and let the chips fall. But lately, I like to let the remark sit in my heart, or at least near it, for a bit; it’s not my remark, and sometimes a new idea or perspective needs a minute to get the lay of the land. I don’t want my reply to be based on a personal attack that didn’t have to be personal. Even if their phrasing is harsh or attack-based, I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to yell back or push away or even snark before I’ve had time to decide if the difference at hand is worth my relatively permanent distance.

It’s not a great method, honestly. I don’t recommend it. I’m constantly telling myself to review my boundaries and check my deal breakers regarding how to treat people (and vice versa). It’s a lot of self-maintenance and it’s exhausting. I have to decide if I want to stay calm or if I want to burn it all down. I’m very articulate when I’m angry. It’s unpleasant. I’ve been told numerous times that it is terrifying. (Terror. Like more than scary. What the hell. I should come with a safety warning.) I own my anger; it’s there for a reason and I’m not apologizing for it. But when there are so many differences out there that I genuinely love and would be lost without, I want to make sure that I’m not unnecessarily filtering out moments of much needed personal growth just because of tone, phrasing*, or a tangential disagreement that isn’t a fulcrum to the relationship in question.

I want to be someone who gets hurt gently because the alternative leaves rifts in my heart and I have enough of those. My hurt is still unholy, raw, and unyielding. I still cleave to similarities because part of me resents the price I pay for traipsing about without regard for my safety. But one day, I hope to let go with less fire and more exhale. I am working towards a me that uses the furious articulation borne of my anger to clarify a boundary that I have acknowledged and need, rather than let it ride me into deserts of platitudes and shallow similarities.

*side note: tone and phrasing are crucial. They are skills that should be monitored, maintained, and improved upon at every juncture. My comment re being able to see past tone/phrasing that is hurtful or outright awful is meant to be taken in the context of the overlook being my choice, an acknowledgement of my privilege in that exchange, not as a de-emphasis on the overall necessity of tone and phrasing skills. The end.

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