We Are All Walking on Eggshells
The evening that ended friendships
Let me set the stage with a quote
“In wine, there’s truth.”
― Pliny, the Elder
Once Upon a Time…
A group of twelve diverse and well-read humans gathered. They did this bi-monthly for years. Some among them couples, some not. They were “old” friends, this is true. They came together to drink spirits and laugh. They conclave to debate and argue. They were like any other close-knit tribe that elevated the social conversation beyond the mundane, but there was one difference.
They had house rules.
Early on, when the gatherings had been recognized as more than a dinner party, they decided to set some “rules of engagement.” One in the group remarked they reminded him of a social club that Benjamin Franklin founded in 1727, “The Junto.” Everyone loved the historical tie and decided to adopt it as their own.
The rules were designed to protect the friendships they cherished. They knew that anger, bruised egos, hurt feelings, and frustrations were all possibilities in diverging discussions. Some safety valve was needed if they wanted to remain friends. What better apparatus than to deploy some humor at just the right moment?
More on that later.
I wonder, would this kind of evening attract or repel you?
After adopting the rules, many of their gatherings had come and passed. Countless laughs had occurred, and more than a few “agreements to disagree” had culminated the evening. They had successfully navigated many verboten subjects; inevitably, they would stumble on the one subject that would prove too much. The critical mass of the subject took hold, and the twelve turned on each other. By the end of the evening, the granite had cracked, and no epoxy could fully repair the damage.
What was the subject that could do so much damage?
A topic that only a handful of us are willing to touch.
The programming of racism in America on all of us.
This has to be in the top five of the most contentious subjects for Americans, if not the world. This group dared to reach for the sun and got burned.
Let us continue with a premise
Contemporary humans are not at fault for the choices of past generations, but still, it is our responsibility to right the wrongs of our ancestors. Humanity must find a better way forward before the “perceived” or programmed differences we feel trigger a point of no return. I wonder if it is already too late. It is why these kinds of well-intentioned debates and “conclaves of minds” must continue to gather.
An arguable truth, and one I believe, is that a guiding purpose of the world’s “elite” caste and class is to perpetuate fake narratives and obfuscate historical records. They do this, of course, to maintain their apex position in human society. Their narratives have been carefully orchestrated to keep the “working” caste repressed, poor, ignorant, distracted, exhausted, or worse, confused.
But yet, some hardworking people among the “bottom castes” have clawed out some small successes.
Brilliantly, the elite caste provides just enough privilege to a few in the bottom caste. This enables the grand illusion that if everyone follows the “plan,” they can be like the “elites.” They use this genius tactic to systemically keep us hating, envying, and coveting each other. More importantly, the narrative the elites propagate is designed to keep us culturally separate. Early unions in America were destroyed because they successfully brought different cultures together to fight injustice, which is the only thing the elites fear, an organized mob.
With all this false narrative deployed, even those among us with the best intentions continue to find it challenging to maneuver the political and social “landmines” placed on the way to equality. This group of friends did better than most. They must be given credit for the attempt because some growth did occur even in failure.
I was one of the founding participants, and what I learned from that final gathering of our very own Junto Club remains fixed in my character.
We are all stepping on eggshells in the game of acceptance, relevance, and social proofing. The game we play as humans is one with severe consequences.
Stories and words can destroy, heal, or propel us— it is how we wield those words that matter.
What we decide together as true, self-evident, or undeniable brings all sorts of ramifications, so we tread carefully in the human ego's fragile and illogical psychological setting.
This is our fate as storytellers.
To heal, and in the act of healing, all that matters is truth.
-P.M Ramos
“Be impeccable in your word,” — Toltec Agreement.
Let us take a step back
This conclave of friends had been funneled down from decades of personal experiences, friendship dynamics, trials, and tribulations. Some souls in the first gatherings didn’t have the temperament or desire for such an evening. They were looking for a dinner party to forget life, not debate it. Many of them stopped showing up. They had started with forty or so and ended up with twelve dedicated members— the last twelve liked to call themselves “truth seekers.”
The twist
They remained the same twelve participants until the very last gathering. This was fine with them; the consistency of these twelve provided safe conversations through many murky subjects. The only “victim,” if there was a victim, was “objectiveness.” Having the same twelve established a dose of confirmation bias, an expected result when limiting new “thoughts” into any conversation. This was fine; the trust this group enjoyed allowed the bias to remain.
Fine for all but one in the group.
One person in the group felt the original intention had lost its purpose, “safe” wasn’t the goal; growth was. They were in a rut; a challenge and a new perspective were required. He knew they would digress into another mundane dinner party if some action was not taken.
Rules of engagement
The primary rule of the Junto was: Anything “said” would remain in the “ether” of the evenings. No perspective or argument would be fixed permanently on anyone’s character. Say what you feel, and even take an opposite view for the sake of Junto; if you believe your position, all the better.
At the end of the evening, they had developed rituals to release all the weight of what was said in confidence and trust. It worked, and everyone followed along; it felt comfortable, and they became complacent in that comfort.
Enter Lucia, the catalyst of implosion
Lucia had accepted an invitation given by one in the brood. It was the first time someone outside the tribe had accepted an invite. To be fair, past email invitations had only gone out to the residual of the original forty. It was understandable that no one in that cohort would accept. It had become somewhat of a joke with the twelve.
“Are we really that insufferable?”
“Yes!”
At least one in the tribe would yelp, and more laughing could be heard.
The culprit of Lucias’ invitation had sent an email to the eleven left in the Junto Club earlier in the week.
“I hope everyone is ok with this; I extended an invitation to a co-worker, Lucia. She is brilliant, and I feel she could fit in well. She also said she would enjoy connecting with this group of “truth seekers.”
Everyone in the thread quickly responded with some version of
“Of course, she is welcome!”
The bait had been swallowed.
The graceful one
Adding a new “member” was risky; that was the contention of two in the tribe. A side conversation about the risk had begun between them until Lucia rang the doorbell.
As she entered the living room, her presence was undeniable, the kind of confidence and glow that filled the whole room. The type of person you are immediately drawn to and not sure why. She walked around the group, saying hello and thanking them for the invite.
The two had stopped chatting, and Damian leaned over to Pablo and whispered, “I smell something is afoot,” Pablo smiled and agreed, “yes, something is not completely kosher here.”
It was true; Lucia did not seem like the type who would join this sort of “club”; she seemed too hip for this den of nerds. Nevertheless, she was there, and everyone settled in.
The rules were never discussed with her; it had slipped everybody’s mind, or more likely, they were just “taken” by her presence. No one wanted to scare away their first guest, especially this graceful creature.
Introductions and caution
The evening went as planned, and the spirits flowed. All was well; small quizzes were exchanged between the “prospect” and the “gang,” assessments made, and slowly caution lifted. With each bonhomie repartee that Lucia quipped, she narrowed the suspicion. The “gang” was delightful with her but remained inquisitive. They had not begun debating the topic of the evening; they hadn’t even presented it yet.
Lucia projected confident body language as she exchanged repartee and added sarcasm at the right moments - Touche’- was heard in the early part of the evening. Her stature and wit put everyone at ease and ready to remove their guards. It was apparent she had come prepared for the group.
The next phase of the evening
Each of the twelve had solidified a place of respect over time with challenging offerings to the Junto. Each was prepared with research and due diligence, keeping current on many subjects. Though they didn’t know precisely what the night's topic would be, this group kept informed in life. This was critical for Junto Club to work.
Each was up to the task and enjoyed the homework.
An “outsider” coming into this “den of nerdy wolfs” would not have seen what was at play until it was too late, but Lucia had been warned and prepped by her invitee. In most social settings, subjects like politics, religion, abortion, and racism were verboten; in this Junto Club, nothing was a faux Pas.
For a clearer picture, the visceral had no place in the later part of the evening when the honest conversations started. Feelings were not given weight, only intellect. This was the “second rule,” and they maintained it.
Proof, citations, and the scientific method were the only welcome benchmarks during the evolution of the evening. Arguments using Mysticism, Spiritualism, and Faith were quickly dismissed. They would record any breaches that lead away from these strict boundaries with their phone cameras. Watching the derailments and recoveries was hilarious, and they usually saved them till the end of the gathering.
Video recording was a great way to stop others without arguing; one person would raise their phone, then the next person joined in, not saying a word until finally, the one speaking would burst out in laughter.
“Ok, Ok, I get it. I lost it.”
“ But let me explain….”
The smartphones would go back up again, and more laughter would ensue. This could last for ten minutes until the one speaking finally gave up. The mob would win, but then all would raise their glasses and toast the Junto.
Before everyone left the conclave, they would erase all the footage; it would be the last ritual done and of most importance to keep everyone comfortable and open.
Teller of Truths
Early on, it had become evident that some neutral fact-checking would need to be adopted. If not, the topic could end in a disappointing and frustrating impasse over some trite date. That would lead to a wasted evening. Allie, the youngest of the guild, had a suggestion as one such impasse occurred.
“Hey siri what was the date of …”
From that moment on, “The Teller of Truths” (TOT) was formed. It was a neutral role one would take on at each gathering. The TOT was selected before they gathered. This was accomplished one of two ways, via email or, if one in the brood felt like they wanted the role for that night, it was usually granted.
The TOT's role was to check facts as the conversation flowed, acting as observer and referee. It was like being in an early Dungeons and Dragons game, which wasn’t lost on the group.
Many laughs were generated from the corrections being revealed. The timing of a good TOT added to the festivities. A good TOT experience usually requires patience. A factually wrong but impassioned oration must transpire before the opportunity to pounce can occur.
At that moment, the TOT would stand up, clear their throat with jester-like vibrato, and in their best parliamentary dialect, announce,
“The speaker is in-cor-rect in their facts.”
“The oracle Siri clearly states you are utterly misinformed.”
A loud thump was heard as the TOT would dramatically sit back down.
The room would break out in laughter every time—the more asinine the TOT acted in the role, the better for a laugh. It had become part of the fun, with some even throwing wrenches into the “facts” to add levity and keep the TOTs on their toes. These would be confederates, actors of the evening who are fully prepared to draw a laugh at the Teller of Truths' expense.
The Teller of Truths had one more responsibility; they would be the ones to initiate the topic and begin the “real” conversation. They would pick the subject matter for the evening when the moment felt right. The conversation would stay on the topic most of the time, but not always.
Sabotage
Though it was yet to be known, this night would be the last gathering of their Junto club. Oblivious to eleven of them was that the “Teller of Truths” had conjured a plan just for that evening, and Lucia was a part of it.
Samuel had volunteered to be TOT earlier in the month, a few days after the last Junto. Though no one noticed it, he was also the one that had invited Lucia.
The time had finally come; everyone’s glass had been filled and emptied sufficient times. The twelve had accepted Lucia. Samuel stood up, which was the cue.
Then Samuel dropped a hell of a “bomb.”
Why does it feel like we are all walking on eggshells anymore?
Someone I know dearly that will remain nameless called me in tears recently, someone I respect, and asked me this question.
Why does it feel these days like we are all walking on eggshells when dealing with people of color?
The room gasped in unison.
My Friend had been accused of being inappropriate with one of her direct reports. Someone in a senior role as well, someone my friend had accomplished many projects together.
An inquiry had been initiated, and she was furious. The person had claimed my friend and the Company had marginalized her and passed her over for promotions because of the color of her skin.
She was giving her notice. Further, she had her attorney send a letter to human resources to document her intentions to brief the board of her accusations.
My friend was truly heartbroken. She didn’t want to lose this colleague. She also believed she had always been fair and “color neutral, color blind.”
This colleague had spent time with her at business functions and in her home. She interacted with her children, could see how she raised them; Yet this colleague somehow felt she had been unfair to her, worse, a racist.
Then my friend reached down and pulled out a well-used defense mechanism many racist adjacent people use.
“She is just using her race to game the system.”
“I feel like we have to walk on eggshells, and it’s making me resentful”.
That is when I knew we should address this topic
-Samuel
After she finished, Samuel suggested some complicated possibilities. He told her that she possibly had some racial resentments repressed from her upbringing and that the colleague may have picked up on it.
He knew her childhood was spent in the panhandle, Roberts County, Texas. Roberts county is well known for its politics and resentment of all things “not caucasian.” She had told Samuel many times about her teenage years in this “racist county.” Samuel thought, how could she not have some xenophobia rub off on her? Surely it must be hard to shed that programming one hundred percent; some residual must remain.
“My friend calmed down and said she would put some thought into her interactions and ask her colleague directly for clarity.”
Samuel thought that would be best, though he knew the colleague would likely not want to interact for legal reasons. He said maybe once the inquiry was over, she would be generous enough to provide some clarity. He didn’t see any harm in asking.
Then with one huge breadth, Samuel said-
“So I put it to you, Junto.”
“What does racial resentfulness look like, and are we walking on eggshells as we interact?
“Further, does it feel like resentment or growth as we navigate the evolution of this societal iteration?”
Samuel sat down.
A loud silence
A loud silence was heard for what felt like hours. The eleven in the room, all from different racial corners of the world, had been “stunned” and pondered if they wanted to tackle such a charged and personal subject. Without a doubt, if they did, it would require every ounce of the open minds they so proudly wore as a “badge.”
“Now we see if our group has the chutzpah to face what the country has not!”
“An unfiltered conversation of race in America.”
Pablo wondered if their Junto could survive it. He took a deep breath, stood up, and offered his position. What he said made no real difference, but it was a start. Most of what was said for the first ninety minutes was “checked” and weighed carefully by each. They tried hard to hold back the emotion, but it was futile.
They were walking on eggshells, and no rules came to rescue them. The room was heavy with anxiety and a bit of fear.
It got incredibly heated at one point, and Allie, Simone, and Trevor started to “tear up” out of anger, frustration, and confusion. The emotional boundary was pierced, and for the first time, the rules they played by had been dismissed. In the role of TOT, Samuel stood up and reminded everyone this was not a personal conversation but an exercise to dig deeper than emotions.
They continued, and two more hours passed with every kind of statement about race relations you would imagine being offered. That made sense; it was chaotic. The subject felt dangerous because it was. Cliches and easy default statements were not enough. The deeper they went, the more they pulled at the “scab.”
So few in America, nay the world, had the will or desire to “pull at that scab,” at least in “mixed” company. It has always been a suppressed conversation in America. Only the truly brave, like Mr. James Baldwin, dared to take it on, to face the rage.
The debate was coming to an end, and the room felt heavy and ominous. Samuel stood up once more. “So as we end this Junto, I ask, how can America move past Racial Resentment, and is that the point to move past it?” The room was spent, and no one was talking, a first for Junto.
There is room enough for an awful lot of people to be right and still not agree
-Kurt Vonnegut
Lucia stood up
Until this moment, no one had realized that she had been perfectly quiet, sipping her wine and listening intently.
Silence once more occupied the room.
“As a woman of color, let me help verbalize it in a way that may help some in this room. Many of you have privilege, so short of this conversation; you remain unengaged in the solution. Let me help you move forward in your evolution because as I listen, it is clear you want to.”
“Yes, people need to walk on eggshells, especially those without color themselves. It is the least they can do, the absolute least.”
“ I would go even further. People who are not gay or female should take care of the words they choose to say.”
Empathy is required.”
“Much damage has been done by all of us, including the Black religious community, regarding gay people.”
She stood up, took a long breath, sipped again, and placed her crystal glass on the hardwood floor. She accomplished this like a ballerina performing a pirouette.
“Let me continue with a simple truth.”
“Trust is lost quickly and almost impossible to regain,”
“I am sure everyone can agree, right?”
The Junto agreed unequivocally.
“Let me put to you a question.”
“Why would any human stolen, persecuted, prosecuted, tortured, and humiliated so horrifically in America have trust in “her” citizens?”
“Consider that even to this day, a person with color must always be vigilant on how they act and are perceived by those around them. Jeopardy is one “Karen or Ken” call to the police away.”
“What person of color or marginalized group that has any agency, self-worth, or self-dignity not be suspect of others as they navigate the hate that is in so many around them?” These people who have been targeted are suffering from battle shock and most likely a form of PTSD?”
“Would that be so hard to believe?”
Some, at this point, were in tears. Some were confused, and no one spoke.
“So yes, all of us not in one of the categories I mentioned should consider that walking on eggshells is the least we can do.”
“ It is our penance for four hundred years of turning away and letting the more deviant, violent, and political cohorts commit a never-ending list of atrocities against people of color and women.”
“I understand the frustration, especially for those in the caucasian tribe who grew up aware and woke, but some of you here in this group are blinded by privilege and do not see the problem of your perspective.
“No matter how much empathy and sense of injustice you feel or how much your instincts say the page has turned on racism, until we have an honest conversation about CRT, Women, and Marginalization in America, we will never heal.”
Until then…
“Consider that walking on eggshells is your act of reparation; by making amends or other assistance to those who have been wronged.”
“Keep your gold, but your evolution and empathy are needed.”
Epilogue
The Junto ended that night in silence. The twelve never came together as Junto again; some of us met for those mundane dinner parties but never the same conclave of twelve. I am unsure why; some were angry at Samuel for planting Lucia that night. Some were ashamed of their words and thoughts. Ultimately, the consensus was that breaking from our Junto was appropriate.
That was almost seven years ago.
Yesterday (in writing time), I got an email inviting me to a Junto in April. Twenty-five of us OGs have accepted, including Lucia, but this time, it is for action, not debate.
We plan to meet in Maryland & D.C. to speak with organizers of the many Rank Choice Vote Lobby (RCV) groups. Our goal is to help get the word out and raise funds. Our democracy is on the ropes. America needs more Benjamin Franklins, Harriet Tubmans, and Harvey Milks.
A great book to learn about RCV is a click away, written by a Democrat and Republican determined to fix our political system, “The Politics Industry” if you are interested in action (I am not an affiliate).
Would you like to come to Maryland for a night of Junto and join in the action? Comment, and we will send an invite.
“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
-James Baldwin
