The “About” section reminded me of something. Around the time when I first started at my current workplace, the women’s leadership group at work offered a seminar on how to effectively communicate at work, particularly when persuading our male counterparts. It taught us to rein in our emotions (a “more female” trait than male) in favor of facts, which were more professional and were more effective to our male counterparts. It didn’t strike me till years later that curiously, I’ve never heard of a corresponding seminar offered for my male coworkers regarding how to more effectively communicate with us.
When I stopped coloring my hair, I discovered I was no longer "fully human" to some people. I was young to have all-white hair, but that didn't help. The difference in the way I was treated was shocking. Suddenly I disappeared in the eyes of many people, and I was treated like I was feeble-minded and barely tolerated. There was a little increased deference, but that doesn't help your feelings when you are being treated like you are in a different class of people -- old and discarded. I'm still me, just with different hair! I can still contribute to society!
I broke my ankle and was in a boot. I had to go to the Apple Store to get my laptop fixed. My brother drove me. When we arrived at the mall we found the elevator was broken and the Apple store was on a lower level. I was too nervous with my wobbly leg and boot to take the escalator so I decided to take another elevator in a department store. I sent my brother ahead with my laptop for my appointment because I would need a few extra minutes. When I arrived at the store they told me I was late, they could not see me and I would have to wait for a later opening. They made me sit and wait until the next appointment which fortunately was only about 15 minutes. They really didn’t seem to care or notice my broken foot or accept my brother’s excuse for why I was late. An older me would have asserted myself and explained the situation with my broken foot and broken elevator. But I “took it,” because that exclusivity vibe that Apple stores gave off circa 2012 was tough to shake. (Do Apple stores still give off that vibe?) It made me think about folks with physical limitations and disabilities. They must deal with these situations all the time. What can I do to accommodate people with disabilities instead of forcing them into a narrow box?
This doesn’t quite fit either of your questions; put it down as a story in which my own understanding of who counts, and what kinds of relationships count, was tested and expanded.
Many accounts of human value turn on our capacity to reason; humans are defined as the rational animals. When adults cannot exercise this capacity, whether because of developmental disability or mental illness, they are excluded from the liberal order of autonomous individuals, and (for accounts of personhood that rely on abilities) may seem to cease to be people at all.
Several years ago, my mother became very sick with a generalized anxiety disorder combined with delusions and leading to suicidal depression. Her illness notably involved defects in her ability to reason: she could not engage in conversation, but would repeat anxious thoughts like a broken record without responding to what you said to her. She had manifestly false beliefs that could not be shaken by any amount of evidence or argument. It was intensely frustrating and frightening to talk with her, as I primarily did over the phone from a university in a different state.
My frustration was perhaps exacerbated by my temperament—I tend to engage with people by talking about ideas, and my default approach to the world is analyzing and arguing, which became impossible or counterproductive with my mother. I had to learn (I’m still learning how) to listen to false or senseless talk and say “That sounds really scary” and “I can see why you’d be worried” and “Can I pray for you right now?” instead of disagreeing. When I was visiting, I related to her through service—cooking meals and encouraging her to eat, cleaning the house the way she would have wanted it. In her illness my mother's relationships with me and (especially) my father were no longer a matter of reciprocal love, but asymmetrical need and care, with a fair amount of dislike on both sides. But as painful as it is to see that change happening, such relationships of need and care (like the one in which all our lives begin) are among our most important and intimate loves; there is something holy and sanctifying there that is not found in friendships between equals.
In arguments about involuntary psychiatric commitment, some want to respect human dignity by allowing even very sick people to make decisions for themselves, even if those decisions cause them to lead a worse life. Some go so far as to argue that what we call mental illnesses are exhibitions of unusual and socially disapproved preferences. This kind of thinking springs naturally from the liberal order: if personhood and dignity are rooted in individual autonomy, then treating mentally ill people with respect requires affirming their autonomy, while acknowledging their dependence on others, not just for material needs like food and shelter, but for judgements about what is real and what kind of life is good to live and what is necessary to achieve that sort of life, means violating their personhood. But which shows better honor to a person who is unwell and confused: allowing him to lie in his own filth, or making sure he is clean and has fresh clothes? respecting her decision not to take medication, or getting her help that will enable her to live a fuller life? facilitating self-harm, or posing obstacles to it?
I don’t know what policies around involuntary commitment should be, but I am sure that honoring the dignity of an adult, like loving a young child, can involve thwarting her will and compelling her to do things she does not want to do, as my father did when he prevented my mother from selling or giving away possessions he knew she would regret losing and when he forced her into the car to drive her to doctors’ and therapists’ appointments she was terrified to go to. It’s because she had someone to depend on that my mom made it through and has been able to recover—not enough to support herself independently, but enough to understand and take an interest in things beyond her fears.
Leah says that children are not “defective adults,” but I would say that defective adults too are fully human. We can respect the dignity of their personhood by taking care of them and being compassionately present with them, even when they do not have, or cannot be trusted with, independence.
Yesterday was the anniversary of George Floyd's murder, last week Tennessee enacted a law that prohibits hormone therapy for minors (unless it's to make a kid taller or for another non-trans related reason) and also last week Texas passed a bill that anyone providing or intending to provide support (including emotional support) to a woman seeking an abortion after six weeks can be sued in civil court.
One (tiny) plus side of these and other moments, actions, events is that they allow a moment to have tough and clarifying conversations. When George Floyd was murdered, millions of people understood racism in the US more clearly - and were able to voice their defense of the humanity of all more forcefully when a friend or colleague defended his murder. To a lesser extent I think that's happening as anti-trans and anti-women legislation is passed.
Personally, I've kept an open dialogue going with a Republican acquaintance from high school. A frequent listener of FOX and talk radio, he had said BLM was a hate group in the past - but after George Floyd was murdered he switched gears. We semi-regularly check in and talk through our (frequently opposing) perspectives and I keep working to broaden his perspective of who counts as a citizen and who counts as fully human. Our sons are about the same age, so we're also talking about what we want the world they grow up in to look like, and what our current polarized state means for their future. I think without that grounding in 'this is reality, this is their future' our ongoing conversation wouldn't be possible.
I think part of counting someone else as human is acknowledging we can learn something from them and/or need their help. That we actually need them so that we can become more fully human.
I spent three years studying in Uruguay recently and was brought up short by the social exclusion I felt as a non-native Spanish speaker, North American and visibly religious person (Uruguay is a super secular country and there are somewhat understandable feelings against the "northern collosus"). There were also plenty of great people there, many of whom I count as friends! But it made me reflect on my own actions when I am on my home turf. It's not that I was consciously looking down on people before; it's just that my good efforts at "reaching out" probably came across as patronizing. I explored this experience in a blog post here last year: https://www.bruderhof.com/en/voices-blog/life-in-community/the-odd-one-out
> '...a philosophy of children that sees them as “defective adults.” '
Counter: "[In one author's subversive books for children] ...Adults are treated as obstacles to pleasure, like ghosts of children who learn words for big feelings and forget the emotions themselves."
Here's the article that's excerpted from - "In the Kingdom of Klutz - 1996" https://stanfordmag.org/contents/in-the-kingdom-of-klutz ...I've wanted to share with you since I discovered it, Leah - now I can share it with everyone here! (It's about the founders of Klutz Books, who I started Googling after noticing how uniquely quirky - and engagingly fascinating - an old "Natural Disasters" book of theirs I have is!)
I just read "The Little Prince" for the first time, so I'm in a fitting "place" for this conversation!
On the playground the other day, I heard some other moms discussing how terrible it was that a program was giving hotel space to the homeless during the pandemic. The ringleader said (very condescendingly and gratingly) that they kept leaving to get more drugs, so that the police were now bringing THEM drugs in the hotels, and now lots of people were just gaming the system to get drugs. Of course this is absurd on its face, but the "news" reported it. I chimed in politely that I had worked in a homeless shelter, and that it would be unethical to force people to undergo drug withdrawal without their consent and without any support. I said I didn't know what was going on exactly, but that they were doing it with an eye toward helping very desperate folks quarantine for COVID. At least one of the other moms nodded sympathetically, but none of them were willing to speak up for the humanity of the homeless or "drug addicts." They just became a problem to be displaced somewhere else, which is how most Orange County people view the homeless. It was interesting at least to witness the spread of fake news in person instead of on social media!
The “About” section reminded me of something. Around the time when I first started at my current workplace, the women’s leadership group at work offered a seminar on how to effectively communicate at work, particularly when persuading our male counterparts. It taught us to rein in our emotions (a “more female” trait than male) in favor of facts, which were more professional and were more effective to our male counterparts. It didn’t strike me till years later that curiously, I’ve never heard of a corresponding seminar offered for my male coworkers regarding how to more effectively communicate with us.
When I stopped coloring my hair, I discovered I was no longer "fully human" to some people. I was young to have all-white hair, but that didn't help. The difference in the way I was treated was shocking. Suddenly I disappeared in the eyes of many people, and I was treated like I was feeble-minded and barely tolerated. There was a little increased deference, but that doesn't help your feelings when you are being treated like you are in a different class of people -- old and discarded. I'm still me, just with different hair! I can still contribute to society!
I broke my ankle and was in a boot. I had to go to the Apple Store to get my laptop fixed. My brother drove me. When we arrived at the mall we found the elevator was broken and the Apple store was on a lower level. I was too nervous with my wobbly leg and boot to take the escalator so I decided to take another elevator in a department store. I sent my brother ahead with my laptop for my appointment because I would need a few extra minutes. When I arrived at the store they told me I was late, they could not see me and I would have to wait for a later opening. They made me sit and wait until the next appointment which fortunately was only about 15 minutes. They really didn’t seem to care or notice my broken foot or accept my brother’s excuse for why I was late. An older me would have asserted myself and explained the situation with my broken foot and broken elevator. But I “took it,” because that exclusivity vibe that Apple stores gave off circa 2012 was tough to shake. (Do Apple stores still give off that vibe?) It made me think about folks with physical limitations and disabilities. They must deal with these situations all the time. What can I do to accommodate people with disabilities instead of forcing them into a narrow box?
This doesn’t quite fit either of your questions; put it down as a story in which my own understanding of who counts, and what kinds of relationships count, was tested and expanded.
Many accounts of human value turn on our capacity to reason; humans are defined as the rational animals. When adults cannot exercise this capacity, whether because of developmental disability or mental illness, they are excluded from the liberal order of autonomous individuals, and (for accounts of personhood that rely on abilities) may seem to cease to be people at all.
Several years ago, my mother became very sick with a generalized anxiety disorder combined with delusions and leading to suicidal depression. Her illness notably involved defects in her ability to reason: she could not engage in conversation, but would repeat anxious thoughts like a broken record without responding to what you said to her. She had manifestly false beliefs that could not be shaken by any amount of evidence or argument. It was intensely frustrating and frightening to talk with her, as I primarily did over the phone from a university in a different state.
My frustration was perhaps exacerbated by my temperament—I tend to engage with people by talking about ideas, and my default approach to the world is analyzing and arguing, which became impossible or counterproductive with my mother. I had to learn (I’m still learning how) to listen to false or senseless talk and say “That sounds really scary” and “I can see why you’d be worried” and “Can I pray for you right now?” instead of disagreeing. When I was visiting, I related to her through service—cooking meals and encouraging her to eat, cleaning the house the way she would have wanted it. In her illness my mother's relationships with me and (especially) my father were no longer a matter of reciprocal love, but asymmetrical need and care, with a fair amount of dislike on both sides. But as painful as it is to see that change happening, such relationships of need and care (like the one in which all our lives begin) are among our most important and intimate loves; there is something holy and sanctifying there that is not found in friendships between equals.
In arguments about involuntary psychiatric commitment, some want to respect human dignity by allowing even very sick people to make decisions for themselves, even if those decisions cause them to lead a worse life. Some go so far as to argue that what we call mental illnesses are exhibitions of unusual and socially disapproved preferences. This kind of thinking springs naturally from the liberal order: if personhood and dignity are rooted in individual autonomy, then treating mentally ill people with respect requires affirming their autonomy, while acknowledging their dependence on others, not just for material needs like food and shelter, but for judgements about what is real and what kind of life is good to live and what is necessary to achieve that sort of life, means violating their personhood. But which shows better honor to a person who is unwell and confused: allowing him to lie in his own filth, or making sure he is clean and has fresh clothes? respecting her decision not to take medication, or getting her help that will enable her to live a fuller life? facilitating self-harm, or posing obstacles to it?
I don’t know what policies around involuntary commitment should be, but I am sure that honoring the dignity of an adult, like loving a young child, can involve thwarting her will and compelling her to do things she does not want to do, as my father did when he prevented my mother from selling or giving away possessions he knew she would regret losing and when he forced her into the car to drive her to doctors’ and therapists’ appointments she was terrified to go to. It’s because she had someone to depend on that my mom made it through and has been able to recover—not enough to support herself independently, but enough to understand and take an interest in things beyond her fears.
Leah says that children are not “defective adults,” but I would say that defective adults too are fully human. We can respect the dignity of their personhood by taking care of them and being compassionately present with them, even when they do not have, or cannot be trusted with, independence.
Yesterday was the anniversary of George Floyd's murder, last week Tennessee enacted a law that prohibits hormone therapy for minors (unless it's to make a kid taller or for another non-trans related reason) and also last week Texas passed a bill that anyone providing or intending to provide support (including emotional support) to a woman seeking an abortion after six weeks can be sued in civil court.
One (tiny) plus side of these and other moments, actions, events is that they allow a moment to have tough and clarifying conversations. When George Floyd was murdered, millions of people understood racism in the US more clearly - and were able to voice their defense of the humanity of all more forcefully when a friend or colleague defended his murder. To a lesser extent I think that's happening as anti-trans and anti-women legislation is passed.
Personally, I've kept an open dialogue going with a Republican acquaintance from high school. A frequent listener of FOX and talk radio, he had said BLM was a hate group in the past - but after George Floyd was murdered he switched gears. We semi-regularly check in and talk through our (frequently opposing) perspectives and I keep working to broaden his perspective of who counts as a citizen and who counts as fully human. Our sons are about the same age, so we're also talking about what we want the world they grow up in to look like, and what our current polarized state means for their future. I think without that grounding in 'this is reality, this is their future' our ongoing conversation wouldn't be possible.
I think part of counting someone else as human is acknowledging we can learn something from them and/or need their help. That we actually need them so that we can become more fully human.
I spent three years studying in Uruguay recently and was brought up short by the social exclusion I felt as a non-native Spanish speaker, North American and visibly religious person (Uruguay is a super secular country and there are somewhat understandable feelings against the "northern collosus"). There were also plenty of great people there, many of whom I count as friends! But it made me reflect on my own actions when I am on my home turf. It's not that I was consciously looking down on people before; it's just that my good efforts at "reaching out" probably came across as patronizing. I explored this experience in a blog post here last year: https://www.bruderhof.com/en/voices-blog/life-in-community/the-odd-one-out
> '...a philosophy of children that sees them as “defective adults.” '
Counter: "[In one author's subversive books for children] ...Adults are treated as obstacles to pleasure, like ghosts of children who learn words for big feelings and forget the emotions themselves."
Here's the article that's excerpted from - "In the Kingdom of Klutz - 1996" https://stanfordmag.org/contents/in-the-kingdom-of-klutz ...I've wanted to share with you since I discovered it, Leah - now I can share it with everyone here! (It's about the founders of Klutz Books, who I started Googling after noticing how uniquely quirky - and engagingly fascinating - an old "Natural Disasters" book of theirs I have is!)
I just read "The Little Prince" for the first time, so I'm in a fitting "place" for this conversation!
On the playground the other day, I heard some other moms discussing how terrible it was that a program was giving hotel space to the homeless during the pandemic. The ringleader said (very condescendingly and gratingly) that they kept leaving to get more drugs, so that the police were now bringing THEM drugs in the hotels, and now lots of people were just gaming the system to get drugs. Of course this is absurd on its face, but the "news" reported it. I chimed in politely that I had worked in a homeless shelter, and that it would be unethical to force people to undergo drug withdrawal without their consent and without any support. I said I didn't know what was going on exactly, but that they were doing it with an eye toward helping very desperate folks quarantine for COVID. At least one of the other moms nodded sympathetically, but none of them were willing to speak up for the humanity of the homeless or "drug addicts." They just became a problem to be displaced somewhere else, which is how most Orange County people view the homeless. It was interesting at least to witness the spread of fake news in person instead of on social media!