Precious Predilections

Tag: #bryanstevenson

  • New Hope

    New Hope

    Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy you justice. This position is not one for arguing – today’s contention is how to ignite hope in a community that has seen it’s dream of equality shot down decade after decade. Not false hope. Not pipe dreams. So far, this is the type of hope that generations of Black Americans have been given; false premises of being seen, heard, and valued. Unfortunately this view also permeates classrooms. Dreams devoid of hope vanish into thin air leaving it more difficult to breathe for all of us. Gasping for a hope that seems to evade.

    I was unprepared for the reckoning my heart would face when I watched the movie Just Mercy. I read the book a few years ago and was wrecked by Bryan Stevenson’s compelling proposition to be proximate to the poor if you want to see change (in yourself and larger systems). I made moves. Became proximate. But let me tell you, when this book was brought to life on the screen, I could only see two things; black men in my family and the black boys in my classroom. I was unable to shake the reality of how so many of their dreams vanish into thin air early. Historically, the criminal justice system presumes guilt before trial and the classroom deems incompetent before demonstrating capability. As I wept in that theater over and over again at real lives who were deemed to have zero meaning, I asked myself about the power of hope to fuel justice.

    Hopelessness is the end of justice. – Bryan Stevenson

    This movie reminded me of the power of knowing you have someone in your corner fighting for you. The power of knowing that someone believes your life has value. The power of knowing that you aren’t the only one who hasn’t given up hope. The power of knowing what it feels like to receive mercy. The power of proximity to drive empathy-fueled action.

    I have chosen the classroom as a place to restore hope. It is the most difficult thing I have done. It is complex and nuanced. No parent or child is the worst thing they have ever done. Each child I behold not only bears the image of God but also the hopes of their parents; their people. I get that. I know what it is to have the dreams of your family resting on your shoulders. When my students are older, I hope they know how much I fought for them. I hope they know how much I loved them. I hope they know how much I valued them.

    There are lots of lessons to learn throughout the course of a school year, but I hope to infuse students and the families I serve with new hope. A new hope which restores truth to a generation of black and brown children who have been told that they are incapable. All children are capable of learning. All children are worthy of love. This blog is more of a note-to-self. May I always stand in these truths in the classroom.

    “I got my truth back…you gave that to me. Ain’t nobody gone take that from us.” – Walter McMillian [Just Mercy]

  • Bubble Trouble

    Bubble Trouble

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    The beginning of the new year is generally bubbly; literally and figuratively.  Bubbles can be deceptively dangerous, distorting our perspective, limiting our impact, and diminishing our hope.  Yes, cute, friendly bubbles.  Bubbles look stunning from the outside.  Their iridescent color captures the eye.  Their ability to beautifully reflect exactly what is in front of them is impressive.  This is the allure of the bubbly perspective; it mirrors back to others your view in its best light.   The view from the inside of a bubble creates a fishbowl effect, most closely resembling that of tunnel vision.  And this is where the trouble lies, most of us live our adult lives inside of a bubble.  And what we see is not the full picture.

    Bubbles are troublesome because we don’t often realize that we’re encased by them.  Facebook recently projected that I would marry a White man.  Facebook projections are often outlandish, but whatevs. No prob with me because I’m open to marrying a man who’s outside of my ethnicity.  When I shared this “projection” with a friend, she stated, “Why would you want to go through all of that trouble?”  Her statement was a reference to some of the natural conflict and misunderstandings that she and I have in our friendship because we differ in ethnicity.  I jovially replied, well, if that’s the case, I probably shouldn’t have any friends outside of my ethnicity at all, right?  We both laughed and realized how much our friendship has enriched each others lives and knew the “trouble” had been worth it.  I’m glad that we can speak honestly to one another, but that perspective was down right bubbly.

    As one who grew up in poverty, I used to presume that safety was only found in the burbs, but a faulty presumption it was.  The first and only time my home was broken into was when I was a resident in the suburbs.  As a former resident of the suburbs, I found that it became increasingly easy to live in my bubble of lattes and chic eateries.  That’s what the neighbors were doing.  No one really left the bubble unless they had to.  For me, living like this certainly narrowed my view on social justice issues and lessened my conviction to respond politically or otherwise.   I don’t have an aversion to the burbs, but I had to find new ways to remain proximate to issues I care about.  To those things that keep me up at night else I knew the bubble of passivity (cloaked in apathy) would lure me to sleep.

    I realized a truth that Bryan Stevenson learned from his grandmother and so eloquently expounds on in his book, “Just Mercy,” when he recounts her telling him often, “You can’t understand anything from a distance, Bryan.  You have to get close.”  How could I say that I care so deeply about the marginalized and have such little interaction with them?  I had been living in a bubble.

    There is nothing like the disruption of life in your thirties to aid in the bursting of bubbles.  Life quickly moves out of the space of black and white when family and friends die of cancer.  An 8 year old child commits suicide.  Job loss occurs.  Home foreclosures for some and short sale for others.  From abundance to poverty.  In earnest, I lived in a bubble for most of my twenties.  While there was some struggle in college and thereafter, my life during this time was mostly euphoric.  I had a rude awakening, but an awakening nonetheless in my early thirties.

    The perspective from inside of a bubble is incapable of presenting the full picture.

    Bubbles are superficial and protect no one.

    They provide a false sense of security.

    Bubbles are going to burst.

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    Photography by: Rakesh Rocky  http://onebigphoto.com/ant-pushing-a-water-droplet/#

    My hope as 2017 draws to a close and a new year begins is that I don’t let fear drive me to create bubbles that keep others out, magnify my own worldview, and blur the experiences of others that are right in front of me.  It takes more effort to recognize a bubble than to burst it.

    In 2018, I want to broaden my perspective, increase my impact, and not lose hope as I think outside of the box and live outside of bubbles.

    Join me.  Let’s go.