“Out beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing there is a field. I will meet you there.” So wrote Sufi poet Rumi, a Persian who lived from 1207-1273. His well-remembered words have framed the desire that many have had since to move beyond the limitations of cultural, religion and politics to a space where we can learn and grow in a new way. My religious identity as a member and leader in the Episcopal Church stems from this desire. In the 16th century, the rightdoing of the Roman Catholic Church was confronted with the rightdoing of emerging Protestantism, each of which insisted on the wrongdoing of the other. The Anglican movement (of which the Episcopal Church is a part) founded the via media, or the way in between, incorporating and honoring the strands of each. It was a new field. My commitment to Braver Angels, which is a national organization and movement that was founded after the 2016 national election, seeks to invite reds and blues into a field beyond their rightdoing and wrongdoing, in order to find common ground — the only requirement be that people engage one another with civility and respect.
Getting beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing is getting harder, especially in the last few weeks. The avalanche that has descended on Washington DC has crashed into departments and policies, with a locked-in view of what rightdoing is, at the same time ridiculing or vilifying what they perceive as wrongdoing. There seems to be little, if any interest in gathering in the field that lies beyond. Resistance is either being dismissed, or the forces and voices coming in are literally dismissing the resisters. The outrage that people feel at the arrogance of the new regime is being met with disdain and a doubling down of the rightness of their mission.
The expressed intent of this abrupt, if not cataclysmic change, is to pare down inefficiencies and streamline the operations of the federal government. At some level, this is a shared goal: there has been a long-standing desire to evaluate government operations, but that desire has also come with the realization that the process would take a long time and would need to get at least some buy-in from various stakeholders. The current intent is trying to do it all at once, without much, if any ,consultation — and without thinking past the initial action to anticipate the consequences.
And the consequences not only matter, but in some cases are traumatic. I write this post from South Africa, which over the years has received US aid, much of which has gone to agencies which provide medication for children with HIV/AIDS. That aid is now suspended. Local news outlets report that an estimated 130,000 children could die as a result. The PEPFAR initiative, established by President George W. Bush, and which administers the program, has no funding. Families and communities are deeply affected. Lives are at risk. Elsewhere, a friend of mine’s son, who leads a human rights organization in El Salvador, called Cristosal, which is funded by US money, needs to furlough or fire staff people because the funding stream has been cut off, putting thousands of local people at legal and existential risk. In contrast, the stream has literally been turned on from reservoirs in northern California, to the glee of some and the deep concern of others, because it is said that the water will not reach the areas affected by fires in southern California, and the depleted reservoirs will create a crisis for farmers who rely on that reserve during the drought-prone summer months.
The list goes on.
Getting beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing is getting harder, if not seemingly impossible. The polarization deepens. The anger level ratchets up — on both sides of the political spectrum. Is it possible for the twain to meet, for some sort of reconciliation to take place?. I think we can learn a lot from the unique experience of South Africa, which has lived through unimaginable degradation and violence and somehow, almost miraculously, moved from apartheid to democracy. What has held the fragile experiment together is the concept of ubuntu, a Zulu word meaning “I am because you are.” That all of humanity is connected. Archbishop Desmond Tutu used to say that ubuntu means that a person is a person through another person.
When Nelson Mandela was elected President of South Africa in 1994, he put together the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), chaired by Bishop Tutu. For two years, the TRC met in communities across the country, giving people the opportunity to tell their story, their truth, of what happened during the apartheid years from 1948 to 1994. Set in a courtroom type atmosphere, the TRC invited people — victims and vicimizers — to tell their truth. All if it. Which included some white oppressors admitting that they shot and killed a group of black boys, and then took a bunch of guns and placed them in the dead boys’ hands in an effort to convince people that the boys shot each other. Confronting the truth that apartheid was built on institutional racism. The TRC was an attempt to engage in restorative justice, which was an experiment that many thought was a misguided good-will gesture. But the stories recounted the pain — which was televised across the country. Bishop Tutu wept. The country wept — and slowly began to heal. The healing isn’t done, but the stories have been an important start.
The world is deeply committed to the pattern of retributive justice, in which culpability is determined and punishment is assigned. If this model were to be followed in South Africa, it was estimated that litigation of various cases and atrocities would take decades — and would keep the anger and lust for vengeance front and center. Not to mention the astronomical cost — financial and emotional.
The field is out there. We have the God given capacity to reach it. Embracing ubuntu is a start. That we are intrinsically connected to one another. And the strength of that connection is deepened by telling our stories. Stories of pain and loss. Stories of fear. Stories of resilience. The champions of data and algorithms will no doubt dismiss or deny the stories, or claim them to be irrelevant. The stories are not only relevant, but vital to our health as our country. We need to encourage one another to tell our stories. And to listen to one another’s stories, which are far more abiding than the clinical — and cruel — process that is being waged.
Will this work? I prayerfully hope so. It may not be the only way to stqnd up to the avalanche coming down on us, but truth telling needs to be a constituent part.
