It’s…Complicated

I have, unsurprisingly, been all over the place this week. I wish I could wrap everything nicely for you with a bow. The only consistent thought, coming up again and again, is how I have to get comfortable in the gray zone. A good friend put it differently yesterday. Getting comfortable with complexity.

This first started with what to call Wednesday’s events. I have seen arguments to call it domestic terrorism and arguments against that. I have seen arguments saying that demonstration is not a strong enough word. I have seen arguments that calling it a coup is complicated and dismisses coups that have happened elsewhere. I’m not here to explain all the arguments, but rather to talk about complexity.

People do not agree on what to call Wednesday’s event, but they agree that it’s important to be discussing it in terms of white supremacy. White supremacy is the belief that white people are superior to people of other races and thus should dominate them. Of course, this is further complicated by the fact that white supremacy also constructed races and therefore gets to decide what races are and who belongs to which race.

This is also complicated because versions of white supremacy can be found in many countries and cultures and groups of people that are not white. We see a preference for light skin in many cultures across the world. Think about skin bleaching in southeast Asia. There is racism within Judaism (a people classified as a race by a Nazi German), with Ashkenazi Jews at the top. There is racism within the Latinx community where Indigenous and Afro-Latinx peoples are often underrepresented. It is confusing and complex to see groups of people who would not be considered white by white supremacists, echo these pyramids of power in their culture.

On Thursday, I started seeing a new complication–what about Jewish people. I saw a lot of Jewish people get angry about antisemitism not being explicitly included in discussions about white supremacy. I saw Black and Indigenous folks get angry that Jewish people were centering themselves in conversations. I am Jewish and to be honest, I cringed at a lot of the ways I saw Jewish people engaging. And I had to sit with that. I have seen some heartening responses from both sides acknowledging that antisemitism has often not been an explicit part of the conversation. Acknowledging that there are Jewish people who are deeply racist. Acknowledging that anti-Black and anti-Indigenous racism is still the focus in the United States. Acknowledging the moments of antisemitism by Black leaders. Acknowledging that we all benefit from ant-racism work. This was, is, uncomfortable work. And, as my therapist pointed out, we are unfortunately often in the business of reenacting trauma with each other. Of triggering each other. Of leaving spaces with few people and sides feeling seen and heard.

In therapy, I spoke about my own internal struggle. I am an Ashkenazi Jew. I am white by some standards and not white by others. I have explicitly been told in my life that I am not white. I have also explicitly been told that I am. I felt fear as a Jewish person in the USA on Wednesday as I have following every synagogue shooting that has happened since my family moved to this country. As I did following Charlottesville. I also felt shame and embarrassment that Jewish people were making it about us. These are my feelings and I promise I am working through them, and in the meantime I want to be honest about them. Being Jewish and white in this country is scary for days, maybe weeks at a time. But I move freely. I come with the privilege of class and money and, yes, skin color. I have no accent and most often (and most annoyingly) people that do not know me well, assume I am Christian. It is easy for me to hide, to blend in, as it has been for some Jewish folks for eternity. This is a blessing, yes, and it comes with its own complications.

Being Jewish in this country has been really scary at times, but it has not been the same as being Black or Indigenous in this country. I don’t see my friends and family and community dying of COVID at higher rates because of their Jewishness. I don’t see my friends and family and community dying at the hands of cops in disproportionate numbers because of their Jewishness. I don’t see my friends and family and community being pushed to certain neighborhoods and food deserts because of our Jewishness. I have heard stories of the times that this has happened to us. Of Europe before and during the election and rise to power of the Nazi Party. But it is not happening to us now, not in this way, not in this place, not in this time.

And just like being Jewish in this country does not pose the same threat as being Black or Indigenous. These are all also different from Latinx experiences, from immigrant and migrant experiences, from the experiences of Asian people, from Muslim and Arab experiences, from transgender experiences, from experiences of poverty and houselessness. It is true that none of us experience the same oppression as the other, and yet we all experience oppression. In some form at some time on some level.

The other thing that’s complicated is where do we go from here. How do we move forward as a country knowing what we know of each other now. Knowing that there is a percentage of the population who so desperately believes in white supremacy that they are willing to give up our democracy for it. Knowing that there are people who hate (and fear) Black, Indigenous, Latinx, Asian, Muslim, Jewish, and transgender individuals so much that they are willing to watch this country crumble.

How do we call more people in while ensuring safety for those most marginalized? What do we do to reintegrate people who are wanting to take accountability and are wanting to try to do the work? How do we handle the people who don’t?

I heard the other day, I believe from Sonya Renee Taylor, that it is immensely challenging to imagine a future like this because it’s so hard to imagine something we don’t already know. This is a challenge. This is work that we have actively chosen not to do as a country. And so, a country where we do this work feels scary and new and unimaginable to many. Let’s acknowledge that and try anyway.

I think a lot of us assume that what we have been unable to achieve is impossible. I don’t think that’s true. As a country, we haven’t been trying all that hard if at all. But even if it is impossible, is it not still worth trying?

**Please let me know if any language I have used could be improved upon. I am using what I know to be best practice at this time, and language is complicated and fluid and I’d like to know if anything could be worded better.**