False Assumptions

I’ve spent most of my life living under false assumptions.

From my earliest memory through entering college after high school graduation, I thought all “good” people held my viewpoint. And why would I think any different? Everyone I knew looked like me, had the same family structure that I did, attended the same school and often the same church that I attended. We read the same textbooks and the same Bible. The messages I received were sometimes subtle; more often they were overt.

“Homosexuality is a sin.”

“Sex outside of marriage is a sin.”

“Anyone who is not a Christian is bad and going to Hell.”

“You have an obligation to convert everyone to Christianity, but if you can’t, you need to stay away from those people because they are Satanic and evil.”

“Black and Brown people are lazy.”

“Black and Brown people are stubborn.”

“Black and Brown people are predisposed to violence.”

“Native American culture is voodoo.”

“Asian people are rude.”

And, it goes on and on and on.

Some of the information I was taught made me uncomfortable (slavery, duh). Occasionally, I would question information. Sometimes the response was, “that’s just the way it is.” On the rare occasions I questioned a Sunday School lesson, I was quoted a verse from the Bible and shamed for not having enough “faith.”

Recently, I was watching an episode of Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man,” created by Dallas native and former University of Texas and NFL player, Emmanuel Acho. During the episode, Acho said, “Proximity breeds care. Distance breeds fear.” Those words resonated with me (more about Acho later in this post).

Early on, I was conditioned to live in fear and judgement of anyone who looked, thought or believed differently than I did. And it was probably because I didn’t have proximity to them.

Then the distance narrowed. 

I had the opportunity to get a college education. That education came as a result of scholarship and grant funds, as well as my parents prioritizing and saving so that my sister and I could obtain a college education. When I got married 2 ½ years into my undergraduate program, my husband refused to use the money that my parents had saved for me to attend college. So, I worked part-time and went to school part-time until I finished. There were a lot of sacrifices, including skipping meals so that I could afford the cost of gasoline to drive from Ada to Norman, Oklahoma to finish my degree at the University of Oklahoma. But it was worth it. 

That degree allowed me to get a job that provided health insurance. It also launched my career in public health. For the first time in my life, I was introduced to and became friends with people of different races/ethnicities, sexual orientation, and religious beliefs. I learned that my lived experience was often very different from that of my friends. With each conversation, empathy and understanding grew and judgement crumbled. I was not ridiculed for my questions, curiosity, and “lack of faith,” but was encouraged to ask more and delve deeper. And, I thrived in that environment.

But I also began to distance myself from people who held the beliefs that I had been taught early in my life. I’m basically a “pleaser.” If I was with people who made negative, shaming comments about people who are LBGTQ, Muslims, agnostics, Black, Native American, Hispanic, Jewish, I would silently seethe, but rarely did I challenge them. If I did, I was often shamed back into silence. So, I just stayed away from their negative energy and surrounded myself with people who embraced me and my quest for knowledge.

Even though I was troubled by the hateful discourse that preceded the 2016 Presidential election, my bubble isolated me from any opposing viewpoints. During the summer of 2015 when my friend, Sheryll mentioned seeing several Trump for President bumper stickers in Oklahoma, I looked at her incredulously. It never occurred to me that anyone would actually publicly support someone I thought was so repugnant.  I was baffled when he became the Republican nominee. Although I have admired Hillary Clinton for almost 30 years, I knew there were many who didn’t share my admiration. Yet, with every abhorrent comment uttered by Trump – about women, immigrants, Muslims, people with different abilities, military families who had lost loved ones while defending the U.S., etc., I remained steadfast in my belief that if people planned to vote for the “lesser of two evils,” there was no question in my mind who that was. 

I made a lot of false assumptions. Those assumptions were that everyone values unity over division. That everyone cares about helping others (isn’t that what Jesus teaches). That everyone values intelligence, education, collaboration, building bridges instead of constructing walls and barriers, etc., etc., etc. 

I’ve written extensively about how I felt on November 9, 2016 and for much of the past 4 years, so I won’t go into any more detail now. Because my emotions were so raw and I had been hurt repeatedly by tone deaf comments in the past, I chose not to purposely seek out the opinions of Trump supporters. Therefore, I probably continued down the path of false assumptions. People really do want segregation over integration. People who profess to care about helping others, really don’t. Rural Americans mock intelligence and education. Every video I saw from a Trump rally with individuals chanting obscenities with their faces distorted by hate, just reinforced my beliefs. 

As we waited for the 2020 election results, I felt “wobbly,” a term I heard Brene Brown use on her November 4 podcast, Unlocking Us. I really didn’t know how I would feel when the results were announced. When they were, I honestly just felt relief. I felt like I could finally exhale. But I still felt numb – until I watched the President-Elect and Vice President-Elect address the nation from Wilmington, Delaware on November 7. That’s when the tears flowed. Tears of exhaustion. I am an older white woman, and I have lived in a constant state of anxiety; gripped by fear of white people screaming hate and carrying firearms. On November 7, I felt a little safer.

While I’m encouraged by the number of people who voted in the 2020 election , more than 70,000,000 of those votes were cast for the opposing candidate. When I listened to The Daily podcast on November 9, I heard stories from voters who also felt relieved and hopeful. And I heard stories from voters who bought into the conspiracy theories, who believed that the poll workers who spent hour upon hour meticulously counting every vote were actually “stealing the election.” One woman commented that the people celebrating in the streets had a “real lack of critical thinking,” a term I have used so often that is part of my permanent vernacular. Yet, she was accusing me of not being able to think critically. 

If it wasn’t clear before, it became crystal clear in that moment – we are a country deeply divided. We are not a country of “we” and “us,” we are a country of “them.” We have some serious work to do, and I hope it’s not too late. 

One of the first things we need to do is shorten the distance between difference. Geographically, we may not be able to have proximity to all people, but we can start trying to understand opposing viewpoints. One way to do that is to start listening to each other with respect. I’ve found two resources that I think may be helpful. 

The first is Emmanuel Acho’s previously mentioned series of videos and book entitled, Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man. After earning his undergraduate degree in sports management in 2012, Emmanuel spent the majority of his NFL career with the Philadelphia Eagles. While in the NFL, he spent off-seasons back at the University of Texas earning his master’s degree in Sports Psychology. He is the co-host for the Fox Sports show “Speak for Yourself.” In 2020, he began recording YouTube videos, which are available here.

The other resource is A Starting Point, a civic engagement website that features videos from more than 150 elected officials from both sides of the political aisle discussing integral issues in short, easily digestible videos. The website was founded by actor/activist Chris Evans (who may be best known as Captain America), actor/filmmaker Mark Kassen, and medical technology entrepreneur Joe Kiani.

I’m willing to do my part – to re-engage in conversations with people who have differing viewpoints, but there will be boundaries. There has to be respectful dialogue, which means no screaming, no shaming, no judgement.

Who is with me?