In the wake of the presidential election, I look at everyone
differently. I had mistakenly assumed that we all agreed that Trump was a joke,
not worth our time, and definitely not worth our vote. But now that I realize
that over half our state’s voters—including a smattering of brown people,
Muslims, immigrants and more—chose him, I look around and wonder, was it you? did you vote for him?
I’m wondering, not to blame, but to understand. The fact is,
we’ve all been participating in a broken, oppressive system resulting in our
current fascist state. What I want to know is why did “you” vote for Trump?
One Facebook friend mentioned with a broken heart that her
Chinese immigrant mother was a Trump supporter. Why? She didn’t fit the stereotype
in the least: rural, white, conservative, racist. This friend realized it was
because her mom felt scared, alone, anxious, and wanted some semblance of
change and hope, regardless of how unlikely the source.
Larry Sparks, a longtime presence at the
Boggs Center, often remarks that most of us are
“living lives of quiet desperation.” Like my friend’s mother, most of us feel
alienated, economically strained, frustrated, with little relief in sight. In
such a state, we will fall for almost any snake oil.
In the last decade of her life, Detroit’s transformational
visionary, Grace Lee Boggs’s mantra became “Grow our souls.” Instead of trying
to replicate the old structures of the 20th century that no longer are
feasible or relevant in the 21st century, we need to develop a
radical inner revolution, that requires major changes in lifestyles and values,
Grace iterated over and over.
But what does this mean?
I heard an
interview
with an iconic elder Detroit artist and activist, John Sinclair. He described how he coaches
young artists who ask him for advice. He gives them the unwelcome message of “you
need to take a vow of poverty.” He went on to describe that any artist or
activist committed to their work needs to prioritize it, and that it will
probably require significant economic sacrifice, if they are to have enough
time and energy to develop and live up to their vision.
This sounds harsh to most of our ears. I mean, we’ve been
coached in capitalism’s properity gospel, and made to believe that our success
and self-worth are based on our financial prowess, and that abundance is
defined by dollars. Even on the left, we’ve been taught that the good fight is
for resources, and more equal distribution of wealth. The Occupy Movement was
based on wresting the wealth of the 1% to give to the 99%. Even Bernie Sanders’
revolution was based on restructuring government and economics on a material
level.
These may be worthy goals, but they don’t address this “grow
your soul” business. What Grace meant, and what Sinclair may be alluding to, is
the need to wean ourselves from dependence on old, outdated systems and
structures. I would rephrase Sinclair’s
advice to say, if we are determined to integrate our values with our lifestyle,
we need to redefine wealth.
Growing our souls may very well, to the outsider, look a bit
pathetic, or foolish. I mean, I drive a 2001 Honda Civic with a smashed rear
bumper and rust-eaten front end. My friends and I affectionately call it
“Gigi.” I did get an insurance settlement when Gigi was rear-ended at a red
light, but I didn’t spend the money on body repair, because I decided it was
better spent on housing, food, and other expenses to sustain me for a good
half-year in Detroit. After all, although the car looked like shit, it ran
great.
Capitalism tells me that at my age, I should have
accumulated a hefty retirement portfolio, be at the peak of my career and
earning power, and be well-settled in my own house that is growing equity.
Well, I have no retirement account whatsoever, live pretty much hand-to-mouth,
and have just enough savings to replace Gigi with another 100,000+ mileage car
when she finally gives out. Yes, I’d say I’m at the top of my game as a 20-year
veteran in my career as an Iyengar Yoga teacher, but this does not translate
financially, in a low-income city like Detroit.
I live modestly in one room, on Medicaid and food stamps. If
I am fortunate enough to live another 20 years, I hope to be able to die at
home, wherever home may be, with some level of autonomy, and in the company of
loved ones. I will not string out my life in long-term medical care or an institution.
If Gigi still runs, someone come and get her! That may be my only material
residue.
I also readily admit that the reason I am able to live on
less is because I have spent most of my life in middle class comfort and
security. I don’t have an economic security net, and as a person of color, will
remain outside mainstream America, but I will always have my educational and
social privilege.
Those who have for generations been denied financial rights
by white supremacy understandably want their fair share, and may find the
privileged person’s “vow to poverty” insulting and offensive. They should absolutely
pursue their American dream to whatever extent they can muster, and only they
can define what that looks like.
But a great many may find—if that dream involves an
enjoyable well-paying job with benefits, built without exploitation, and
granting enough time off for other pursuits—such jobs are few and far between.
It’s not their fault if they cannot find favorable work conditions. Many
businesses and even nonprofits are doubling down to make ends meet, and requiring
more and more of employees. Some folks are recognizing that our society’s
emphasis on jobs as the cure for everything is misguided, and that the physical
and emotional toll paid for financial security is too high.
And so we circle back around to “growing our souls,” when
outer conditions will not meet our most important needs, and we need to “make a
way out of no way,” as Grace also actively coached.
“You are very brave,” Grace used to tell me, whenever she
asked me about the intentional community I was involved in building a few years
ago. I wasn’t being brave at all, I was just trying to integrate my needs for
community, shelter, and livelihood. Others would say I was incredibly foolish,
hubristic even, outrageous, and just plain stupid. I would describe to her how
we were coping with limited heat and electricity, unfinished plumbing,
harvesting rainwater for toilets, while building enterprises that we hoped
would sustain us.
I ended up leaving that intentional community after a year,
for the usual kinds of obstacles that ambitious projects face: lack of
resources, differences in priorities, interpersonal strains…. But even after
the first cohort largely disbanded, that household continues and develops. That
is, we may not see or directly benefit from the fruit of our effort, but
hopefully others will.
Growing your soul will look differently for each person, and
mean something different for each of us. It involves relinquishing that which
is holding us back from leading our most meaningful, fulfilling lives,
renouncing our former desperation and replacing it with something constructive.
For many people, it may mean quitting stifling jobs, and
learning how to live with less money. It may mean moving out of houses that
guzzle fossil fuels, or bicycling, walking, or taking public transit instead of
driving. It may mean we replace shopping with gardening and swaps, eating out
with potlucks, and entertainment with community-based art-making. It may mean
leaving relationships that do not support our new lives.
Growing your soul may very well involve renouncing social
capital, not just economic capital. That is, I’ve needed to put myself in the
position of learner moreso than teacher. I’ve needed to apprentice myself to folks
much younger than me, or who have radically different life experiences, who
have important lessons for me. I’ve needed to hold my tongue and listen
instead, and not just listen with my ears, but with my heart, silencing the
shouts of my ego that tell me I am right.
Growing my soul also means silencing the shouts of my ego
telling me to be quiet when it’s necessary for me to speak up. Ego flares in
both directions: taking up too much space, AND sometimes taking up too little
space in a gesture of false egotism. Growing my soul has meant being visibly
vulnerable, making and admitting mistakes and shortcomings, and asking for
help.
As we grow our own souls, we will attract and connect with
others on parallel paths. And this is where Trump supporters come in. If many
of them voted for him, not because they are secret KKK members, but because
they are looking for something, someone, anyone, who promises to lead them out
of their “lives of quiet desperation,” they may be willing to open their hearts
and minds to a new way of thinking and being, that has more to do with connection
than hatred.
I’m thinking of my Facebook friend’s Chinese mom. I’m
thinking of the 45% of white women, the people of color, queer folks, Muslims,
who, voting against their own self-interest, fell for Trump’s message, because
they want and need some path of hope. Unless we look at the bigger picture of
the 21st century—globalization, technology changing the nature of
industry and labor, and the depletion of natural resources, including our
capacity to grow food—we may very well want to point our fingers at any
convenient “other.”
The next step of growing my soul will be to reach out to
family, especially the folks who think I’m nuts, and the ones I avoid. I avoid
them because I don’t want to get into ideological arguments, or listen to them
gloat over material achievements, or get sucked back into definitions of
success that I’ve rejected.
Instead, let’s reach out to one another, discover our common
struggles, and support each other in growing our souls. What does that look
like for you? Let’s get concrete, specific, real, and day-to-day. How do you
expand your inner capacity for change? How do you evolve yourself? Beyond your
silo? How do you lovingly engage with family members, colleagues, neighbors,
and acquaintances who voted for Trump? How do you take yourself out of your
comfort zone, and navigate this new territory with courage and compassion?
