Help! Conflicted about The Help

I'm not sure if I'm going to publish this. It's kind of a charged subject and I am certainly not the expert.

The Help.

I read it. I loved it. Like, really, really loved it. I've been waiting/dying for a chance to see it in the theater. And then I did the thing that I usually do that generally sucks the fun from what I like (see Thanksgiving). I did some reading. I tried to see the thing that gave me joy through the eyes of someone else. Someone who was crying tears of hurt and anger while I was weeping with sentimentality and warmth.

Ugh. The thing is that I live in this world and you live in this world, but depending on who you are, where you were born, what color your skin is, how much money you have, etc., our worlds are not at all the same. And I need to know that. I need to see it. Because if someone doesn't show it to me, I will go along ignorantly celebrating things that hurt people.

I have to come to grips with White Privilege. And when I think I start to, I get blindsided again by another reminder that I haven't at all. That I have so far to go. I'm embarrassed and ashamed each time my eyes are opened again and my head is turned towards The Ugly (and I realize I'm looking at myself).

When I was in college, I learned how to do thoughtful feminist media criticism. I had this great teacher. She was a single, older woman who had a very-easy-to-mock way of speaking. Most people hated taking her classes, and I did at first too. But then I jumped all in to a paper critiquing Fried Green Tomatoes from a feminist perspective. I typed terms like "patriarchy" and "phallic symbol" and other things the likes of which my 3.5" disk drive had never known before. And I learned. I learned to look for meaning and symbolism and types and it made me a better thinker.

It was empowering for me to look at things through that lens because I was a (young, naive) woman.

I never looked at a film through the lens of a different oppressed minority. It never really crossed my mind.

In the past few years, I've been trying to do that. See my things and my purchases through the lens of poverty. See Thanksgiving through the eyes of someone living on an Indian reservation. Read a patriotic slogan with the eyes of an innocent Muslim that's been randomly searched too many times. Hear my spiritual cliches through the ears of someone who is hurting and rejected.

I'll be honest - it's pretty depressing. What's even more depressing is thinking I'm doing it, and realizing I'm not doing it well enough.

So, here's the thing about The Help. Someone could probably argue the racial harmlessness of the book. (I guess?) But, if it hurts others, if it reinforces ugly stereotypes, if it assuages in any way necessary responsibility for racial harm, then I don't want my voice to be in the chorus of "oooohs" that you hear in the back of the theater.

After getting a different perspective on The Help, I was a little devastated. (Can you be "a little" devastated? That's what I was - wrecked, but probably not enough) And, then I listened to the Voice.

The gospel is for this too. For every time that I should have known better and didn't. For every time I have valued my entertainment over someone else's reality. For every time I thought I was thinking through race "better" than someone else. For every time my heart is defensive. For every time I don't "consider others higher than myself."

Which is a lot.

The gospel is for this; it is for me. It's to make my heart soft and my mind sharp. It's to do the difficult, messy work of restoration - not to make it look like no work is needed. And it is to forgive me, even before I realize how much I need it.

There and there and there and back again, plus some thoughts on Arizona

Yes, I'm back from my trip falling off the face of the earth.

We went on a little trip that involved a whole lot of chaos and fun, and left me so exhausted that I didn't even open my computer for nearly two weeks. On top of that, I'm dealing with some mystery illness that first led me to believe I might be pregnant, but it turns out I'm just sick.

But, all of this computer-free living in a feverish near-coma has left me with a lot of time to think. What I really want to do is respond to some comments and questions on my post on cultural bias, but I'm going to let that one continue to simmer a little bit.

That post, however, isn't completely irrelevant to this one. Thoughts on race, culture, bias, prejudice and injustice keep swirling around in my head, and throughout the world around me. We are talking about it at work, at home, in some of my friendships, and it's been SO GOOD to bring into the light some of this darkness that has plagued our relationships, our community and our country.

And then, in the midst of these conversations, about how to really love with a love that crosses barriers (economic, racial, cultural), Arizona made news with its tough new law on immigration.

I've formed myriad opinions on this subject. (I've actually read almost all of the arguments for and against that my facebook friends have posted.) I'd share them with you, but you'd be confused because all of my opinions contradict each other.  Because, the thing is, I get that Arizona is facing a serious issue that needs to be addressed. And, I get that technically law enforcement is not allowed to single out anyone based on race alone.

BUT....

I also get that people single others out ALL THE TIME based on race, culture, and accent. Not just in Arizona - everywhere. We identify these things, and they trigger a thousand things inside us, many of which boil down to fear. Some of our fears may be based in reality, some not.

I don't live in Arizona, so I probably have no right to criticize a law that exists within a larger context that I haven't actually experienced.

But, here's what I have witnessed first-hand: My husband being asked by total strangers where he's "really" from. My in-laws being treated like foreigners even though they have paid taxes to this country for longer than I've been alive. Also, they actually took an oath to this country, while the people who look down on them (or usually, look past them) earned an incredible amount of rights and freedom just by being born here.

My guess is that people who haven't experienced that kind of treatment don't see what the big deal is about having to carry around documentation of your "right" to be here.

Two of my kids look like they could be hispanic. That might not seem like an issue when they're 4, but it could be a bigger deal if they come of age in a world where it becomes okay to equate "hispanic" with "drug dealer" or "illegal."

But, all of this really isn't about the law. I don't know enough to claim any authority on the politics of it all. This law is probably justifiable. It's probably well-written. But, I think it makes it a little easier to cloak prejudice in something less hideous. Maybe the law isn't racist. But people are. And that's what scares me - not the law, just We, the People.




*As I strive to fight racism in my own heart and in the world, learn more about what it means to have been born with white privilege, and what it might mean to be a white ally, I have been encouraged and challenged by my friend's posts on race and ethnicity at Infinite Queso. If you're also on a journey like this, check out her thoughts and links - I'd love to know what you think.