Speaking and Silence
sixtail and synecdochic say things that need saying, far better than I can. Many other people have spoken eloquently and to the purpose as well, but these were the two I read today.
http://sixtail.livejournal.com/949464.html
http://synecdochic.livejournal.com/317851.html
I am a privileged white person. I am often thoughtless and oblivious to other people's states of being. Having that pointed out to me is always uncomfortable. My reaction to that discomfort is almost always inarticulate withdrawal. I recognize that that is a luxury my privilege grants me.
I also recognize/feel that I have nothing (to my perception, and my faith in my own perceptions on this subject at this moment is not high) useful or positive to contribute to this conversation. Thus I have been silent. However, it has been pointed out that silence is problematic in it's own way.
I am not ok with racism. I am not ok with people being hurt by my action or inaction, speech or silence, attention or obliviousness. I apologize for any hurt I have so caused.
*** *** ***
This passage has been much in my mind lately:
'You learn,' said O'LiamRoe's voice quietly, of its own accord.
'I do not,' said Lymond without expression, his eyes on the thin, badly jointed shoulders on the floor. Presently he said, 'I seem to be armoured with scythes no one can see. Every breath I draw seems to twist some blameless planet from its orbit.' And after a moment, 'I suppose you are right. A cell is safest; or a tower, or a bog. To discuss the world of men, and laugh at it, or even pray for it. But not to meddle with it.'
[...]
O'LiamRoe went on. '...I am telling you that the error you made came later, when you took no heed of his call. It was too late then, I know it. But he should have been in your mind.'
[...]
O'LiamRoe looked up. ... 'It was a piece of advice only, and aimed at myself as much, I suppose, as at you. ... Remember, some live all their lives without discovering this truth; that the noblest and most terrible power we possess is the power we have, each of us, over the chance-met, the stranger, the passer-by outside your life and your kin. Speak, she said, as you would write: as if your words were letters of lead, graven there for all time, for which you must take the consequences. And take the consequences.'
Dorothy Dunnett, Queen's Play
http://sixtail.livejournal.com/949464.html
http://synecdochic.livejournal.com/317851.html
I am a privileged white person. I am often thoughtless and oblivious to other people's states of being. Having that pointed out to me is always uncomfortable. My reaction to that discomfort is almost always inarticulate withdrawal. I recognize that that is a luxury my privilege grants me.
I also recognize/feel that I have nothing (to my perception, and my faith in my own perceptions on this subject at this moment is not high) useful or positive to contribute to this conversation. Thus I have been silent. However, it has been pointed out that silence is problematic in it's own way.
I am not ok with racism. I am not ok with people being hurt by my action or inaction, speech or silence, attention or obliviousness. I apologize for any hurt I have so caused.
*** *** ***
This passage has been much in my mind lately:
'You learn,' said O'LiamRoe's voice quietly, of its own accord.
'I do not,' said Lymond without expression, his eyes on the thin, badly jointed shoulders on the floor. Presently he said, 'I seem to be armoured with scythes no one can see. Every breath I draw seems to twist some blameless planet from its orbit.' And after a moment, 'I suppose you are right. A cell is safest; or a tower, or a bog. To discuss the world of men, and laugh at it, or even pray for it. But not to meddle with it.'
[...]
O'LiamRoe went on. '...I am telling you that the error you made came later, when you took no heed of his call. It was too late then, I know it. But he should have been in your mind.'
[...]
O'LiamRoe looked up. ... 'It was a piece of advice only, and aimed at myself as much, I suppose, as at you. ... Remember, some live all their lives without discovering this truth; that the noblest and most terrible power we possess is the power we have, each of us, over the chance-met, the stranger, the passer-by outside your life and your kin. Speak, she said, as you would write: as if your words were letters of lead, graven there for all time, for which you must take the consequences. And take the consequences.'
Dorothy Dunnett, Queen's Play