Don't Surf in Sewage.

Hello, wonderful people!
 

Over the past month, the Romance Writers of America national organization has been imploding under the weight of hidden (and not so hidden) racism. I'm appalled on so many levels, I can't even. How could so many feminists screw up so many things? How could we betray our authors of color?

I needed a way to explain how this could happen. And it came to me.

In the 1950s and 1960s in California, businesses poured their waste into the ocean. The surfers said the waste was warm, so they would surf there instead of the colder but cleaner water. Their comfort was more important than their health.

Living in the patriarchy is like swimming in a wide river being filled with fecal matter all the time. Instead of actual feces, though, the disgusting elements include ideas of who is more important, whose experiences matter more, and the concept that “I got mine and I don’t care about you.”

The center of the river, where these ideas are the thickest, is deep, fast, and warm. The people there move quickly through society due to the current pushing them. They like being there because they are warm and ahead of everyone else. However, they are neck deep in raw sewage. The illnesses manifest as defensiveness, nasty jokes, cruel behavior to others, and refusal to contemplate anything beyond the status quo.

Some people there never notice, simply enjoying the delights of moving faster and having accumulated more than everyone else. To them, their behavior is normal. Occasionally, a friend points out that they are moving through a foul brew of disease. That perhaps, these behaviors and attitudes hurt other people.

This is what story-tellers know as the Call to Adventure.  People dig in their toes, at first, not wanting to leave the familiar warmth. But one cannot un-learn what one has learned. They take a step sidewise, toward the cleaner, colder water toward the shores. On those shores, people are playing Frisbee, having a picnic, laughing, dancing, and having more fun than everyone else.

It is difficult to move out of the river.  The cold is unsettling and frightening. There is always further to go.

But their health improves with every sideways step. Things smell better. The people there are ever so much nicer. And the view? Amazing.

Sometimes, the river takes a sudden drop or turn. People who thought they were out of the river discover that they have fallen back in. These slips are painful and embarrassing. All a person can do is stand up, apologize, and work their slow way back towards the shore.

You get to take the time to heal from the river’s poison. You get to scrub yourself off and learn new ways of moving, learning, and playing. The only thing you don’t get to do is stop trying.

My darlings, let's help each other clean up the sewage.  Let's share our best practices for combating racism and sexism. Let's help each other out.

Much love,
Linda