We, the team here at Lace on Race, set ourselves the task of envisioning our individual and collective hopes for this beautiful space that we all share.
It was supposed to be published as a sort of year end wrap up, but, as usual, life—with its attendant illness, travels, baby preparations, and the like—got in the way.
But there is never a bad time to talk about hopes. And in this month, where we are talking about both education and Black History Month, it feels especially right to share these hopes.
So, this weekend, we will be sharing with you our hopes, both short term and long term, along with a guest piece from one of our valued community members, a woman from whom I have learned much and whose presence graces this space.
Hope is one of those words that can kind of exist on a spectrum. On one end, there is entitlement, a sense that whatever we want must happen, often without regard for others around us. It places us as center, and devalues or even denies the perspective of the Other; so long as we get what is coming to us, it’s all good, right?
Entitlement has no Plan B, because to think of other outcomes means to step away from the stance of our own needs and perspective being the only one that matters. There is either all or nothing—and we have seen this binary thinking here. Entitlement works from a place of lack—just like pie, there is only so much perspective, primacy, dignity and worth to go around. There is no acknowledgement of even the thought that what we want might not be best for us. And there is no room for Others.
For these purposes, let me tell you why I do my utmost to eschew entitlement in this space. For these years, as I have pondered what I want to say to you all and what I want to impart to you that will stick and be internalized, one thing that became very clear to me is that in doing so, I could not demand.
For a couple reasons: one, it’s mostly ineffective; tell someone what they must do, or must think, or what conclusion they must come to, and you are almost guaranteed resistance. Or, it’s effective for a time, like rote learning, but eventually falls apart at the slightest touch. That’s a Jenga style of relating; hard and rigid bricks stacked upon hard and rigid bricks that eventually collapse.
But the last reason is the most important—because this space is not so much about teaching and cramming information into skulls, which is then to be swallowed uncritically, as it is about an ethos, and a sense of entitlement is in direct opposition to the ethos and gestalt of the space.
This is why we have resisted rules as such. And we’ve been right to do so. With the exception of reacts, this beloved community has developed a shared (if lightly steered by our group guidelines) set of norms bound by a common ethos. Those who cannot or will not incorporate this quickly fall away.
As for a sense of entitlement that this space continues, or that people parrot what I say blindly, or even that our method ‘get its due’, Welp. Just no.
Entitlement disables the brakes on my own behavior; turns me into something that more resembles a deeply tanned dictator with cotton candy yellow hair. It’s entitlement that keeps us from our better nature; it’s what leads us to selfishness over the collective and the interdependent. Which is ironic, because this stance requires fawning hordes; requires deference; requires someone to look down upon and to take from.
Put another, more visceral way, I do not own this house, nor this property, nor the orange tree we all prune and water. I built it, yes; the ultimate responsibility to pay the metaphorical mortgage is mine; and to keep the tools in the shed sharp, but there is no key. No locked gate. All can enter in, and either choose to work and nurture, or destruct and destroy. That’s a risk, and entitlement hates risk. I am not entitled to your work. I am not entitled to your funding. I am not entitled to your ears. Because that would make you all little more than sharecroppers on my land. No. This space is ours, with all the risk that entails, and all the beauty that has been wrought over these two years.
Ultimately, entitlement is, um, childish. And here in this space, we have a shared ethos of growing up.
So we reject the on/off switch that is entitlement. We turn to the middle point of this spectrum, and move to expectation.
Expectation is more flexible. And more complicated. And, if we allow it, more creative. Expectation always has Plan B, and Plan C. It is the if/then of stances. It is negotiation; both with the Other; and internally.
People in entitlement stance often like to think of themselves in expectation stance; people who misuse terms of art like ‘boundaries’ and ‘self care’ ‘what I deserve’ make this mistake often. I expect people to be kind to me, but if they aren’t, I can visualize ways to keep my sense of self intact. People in entitlement cloaked in expectation don’t have that kind of flexibility of mind. They either get what they want or they blow up, shut down, or run away. This is important in this space; being able to stop and really assess if we are coming from a place of expectation or entitlement can guide our internal response, and our external relating with each other.
For the purposes of Lace on Race, we have expectations, yes. We work hard to stay in that stance. Expectation is the workhorse of this spectrum we are dancing upon. It sets a structure you can depend upon, it creates a container you can trust, and it encourages and invites others whom you can trust will be as good an actor as you. It sets goals, to read, to comment, to reflect, to apply, with insistence (which is different than entitlement) on progress.
Expectation also makes room for the Other. You have expectations of this space too, and you are right to. Expectation allows us to meet each other right in the eye, unlike the top down, blindered way of entitlement. Valid expectations help us to pull up, individually, in dyads, and together. If I have no expectations for you, I am not fully seeing your capacity, volition, and agency. Expectation, be it soft, exhorting, playful, even stern and unyielding, still comes with a choice, and with an invitation to engage all of you toward what you see in the Other’s eyes. Expectation is a dance, with all the graciousness and space and, yes, even a sensuality (which makes embrace of all possibilities and styles and levels possible). Every step is valid—but the promise to stay on the floor and dance with both the gizelle and the bull is a choice made with clear eyes and soft hearts.
Hearts. Hearts.
This leads us to hope.
Ach.
Hope.
Hope is something like this for me: I am terribly nearsighted. Terribly. I need my glasses for everything. When I take them off, people in front of me become a blur; no eyes or noses or lips; they become diffuse. In that moment, I am not seeing them as they are. I aim for the forehead and hope I’m getting close to the eyes.
But. There are times I will close my eyes or take off my glasses when I am with a person. When I want to see more than what my glasses let me see; when I want to hear more. It’s crazy right? But it works. I close my eyes when I listen to important texts; I take off my glasses and let the face diffuse and can more clearly see the white spaces between the words they speak; the words they filtered out. I can more readily hear tonal shifts can discern non verbal. It’s a sort of alchemy, this: seeing less of the temporal so I can glimpse traces of the heart.
And I sometimes get to glimpse their own spectrum: who they were; who they are; and who they might well become, and I cleave to that vision and silently vow to, in however small a way, to honor and affirm and move them closer to the person they were meant to be, and crucially, to not be a hindrance to them. Then I put my glasses back on and see the person in front of me, clear, yet also sheathed.
And I hope. I hope that the diffused vision takes root; I hope their communion with me was fruitful; I hope they take a piece of me with them, just as I will hold an ember of their precious light with me.
For this group, embers, yes. Thousands of them. Hope. Not a dictate, like entitlement; not a transaction, however healthy and productive, like expectation. But hope transcends my feeble imagination. As we share our hopes with you, share yours with us! Our hopes are the wind that is on or backs as we walk.
With Love, Lace
Please visit the Discussion Forum for this post
Hopes: An Introduction
Hope and Vision Series Links:
A Quilt of Vision: Abiding in Community
Reflect on Whiteness, Reject the Myths, Engage in “Good Trouble”
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