“Where are we gonna’ f**k ‘em?” “IN THE BUTT!!!”
My usual pre-race, nervous giddiness melted instantly into a grimace.
I was standing in a circle with my other male teammates prior to a cross-country race against a school with which my own engaged in a polarizing rivalry. We were the entitled, preppy, rich, white kids, and they were the white trash. No censorship of speech there. I heard it time and time again from each respective school. When I participated in athletics, I didn’t want anyone to judge me on my place of residence, to assign character traits without any evidence, but it happened anyway, precisely because of the vocalizations like the one above. When the shouter shouted this, my school became the white trash to all onlookers. I’m happy to report that he was disciplined for this, but this story still resonates within my mind, especially during these times.
What is respect? I’m sure that many of us have grappled with that question. Societal cues inform us that it’s something that our parents, our religion, and our school environment is are supposed to teach us, but these systems clearly often fail. Respect is a bit like religion, in fact, as many claim to act in its name but truly don’t, while others actually do live respectfully without trumpeting their good works. Some would say that respect involves philosophy; others, strategy. I’ve heard quite a few opinions on this, and I would now like to attempt to detail my experience with respect in the hope of connecting with some people through common ideals. It is, after all, a universality of life.
How I came to know the value of respect
During fourth and fifth grade, I was both shorter than nearly all of my classmates, including the girls, and rather plump, not yet having seriously invested myself in personal fitness. Undoubtedly, I lived a healthy lifestyle, playing three sports and getting regular exercise, but I tended to eat too much in a sitting. Regardless of the reason, I was different in a way that brought me ridicule and exclusion. Though we can expect such pettiness from nine- and ten-year-olds, I still remember how that felt. Toward the end of fifth grade, something happened. Swearing, at this point, imparted coolness presumably as part of the indifference-fearlessness complex. Homophobic language, for some reason, had permeated everyday rhetoric. I made sure with perhaps halfhearted attentiveness to prevent any of these from seeping into my discourse, especially considering that my religious devoutness started to reach a peak around this time. But one day, something amusing came up in conversation, to which I replied, “That’s so gay…er, no…no!” This is literally how I said it, realizing in disappointment what I had just uttered and understanding the message that it conveyed to others about the condition of my mind and heart. I worried for days thereafter about punishment, perhaps from my mother or from a teacher, but even as this time passed, I resolved to make the future, my future, different.
It certainly must not seem apparent, but I’ve endured a few harsh facets of life. I spent most of my childhood and all of my early adolescence living in fear of my father as our relationship worsened. I started self-harming to cope with academic anxiety in fifth grade. At fourteen, I departed from my father and carried on without him. In the same year, I was diagnosed with pediatric growth hormone deficiency, the symptoms of which prompted appreciable difficulty in the transition from my Catholic grade school to a public high school, leading to bullying and ostracism. I lived through the entirety of high school in a socially withdrawn, unhealthily stressed condition. These issues maintained a baseline level of misery that I believed to be an inevitability of life, but this grew to consume me entirely, drawing out all of the joy from life, leading me to abandon my planned path of six years and depart from college to work on managing anxiety and opening myself back up to the world. These maturations required many instances of deliberate engagement in social and meditative situations that made me want to run for cover, and I cried myself to sleep on many a night.
These tribulations do not make me special or entitle me to anything beyond which is owed to my neighbor. Struggle is arguably the most fundamental philosophical aspect of life, a quality that burdens but makes worthwhile the existence of every cell that moves. Billions of people out there have endured far worse, and I wish that wealth were distributed in the world to offer ample nourishment and opportunity to all, but reality seldom humors our optimism. But why have I kept going despite these things, despite the hardships in my unique story? All things equal, I have a choice to continue to meet further challenges just like everyone else; what is my reason for perseverance? Respect. I live for the respect that is given, shown, and held close to the heart.
The function of respect and reasonable barriers
Noam Chomsky’s theory of universal grammar attempts to link us all together through human language, a beautiful insight, but still more far-reaching than the simple yet awesome capabilities of respect. It is the language that we do not speak yet understand effortlessly. Perhaps, by a matter of indirect assessment, we can relate to each other in this way; we all know when we’re being disrespected. However, I believe that we all know how to respect by virtue of the Golden Rule, even if we don’t prioritize it or ponder it regularly. A hand on the shoulder, a door held open; these are the poster children, albeit still effective. How about keeping a clean tongue so as not to offend those whom you’d suspect to be more sensitive to language? How about deliberately talking to the person in the group who seems dejected or inexpressive to ensure that he or she isn’t feeling excluded? These actions seem perfectly reasonable, yet I see the failure to uphold them as much more preponderant than the success thereof. I have thought extensively about the role and purpose of respect in my life since that day in fifth grade, and I am glad that at least a few aspects of uplifting character have shifted from the realm of cognition to that of instinct.
No matter what kind of psychosocial anvil someone drops onto the coffee table during a conversation, I respond, “That’s okay” or “That’s fine,” except in instances that require greater empathy and discretion. Sometimes, I say it quite mechanically only to realize later that my companion’s idea had less in common with my ideological homologue than I originally thought. But in that moment, I recognize that even if some subconscious conflict arose in that dialogue, I still used my language to communicate acceptance, and my own language helps me to internalize a welcoming strategy rather than an exclusive one. Unless someone’s anvil implies immediate physical or mental harm to anyone, they are okay. I don’t mean that they, themselves, necessarily feel content; the way they are is okay. By meeting even the potential points of contention or pieces of information of which my fellow is ashamed with welcome rather than scorn or condemnation, I keep the discussion running. In this way, I can learn more from this person, particularly so on any points of differing perspective between us, and grow more from the encounter, ultimately constructing a more meaningful relationship. I am truly the sum total of my relationships; they have taught me everything I know and have guided the formation of my opinions. Because of this, I would rather have more friends than enemies. While writing someone off instantly due to appearance or core moral might not make an enemy with total consistency – though the odds are not favorable – this preemptive shielding destroys any opportunity for friendship, a critical mistake. For humans, I think that friendship is the most globally productive kind of kinship. We can love deeply, but this kind of affection rarely extends beyond more than a small group. We can also ignore indiscriminately, distancing ourselves from the rest of humanity with a puff of apathy, neutralizing our impact. Friendship falls in the center of this spectrum, allowing one person to enjoy several friends and to produce so much for this world with each one of them. Respect underpins the contract that supports friendship: an unconditional willingness to accept another person, from their manner of dress to their opinion on gun control, in the mutual appreciation of the favorable nature of the interaction; no matter what, the answer is that he or she is fine, never having to change to fit expectations or norms simply for the sake of doing so.
Respect also imparts an awareness of barriers to certain courses of action that vary in weight and range of repercussion. I prefer to think of these restrictions as a hierarchy, a tiered system that regulates expression and action. First, some things are physically impossible, much to our frequent chagrin, I would imagine – I’d love to see magnetic fields with my eyes. Others, secondly, are discouraged because they directly endanger ourselves or the people around us. This is a useful application of the self-preservation instinct, one that has lingered from the days of hunting and gathering and motivated truly heroic action. At the third tier, we restrict ourselves from actions that will directly degrade our own or others’ mental and emotional health. Examples include bullying, deliberate and consistent ostracism, gossip, racial and religious prejudices, and betrayal of friendship. Finally, the fourth barrier filters out intentions on the basis of respect. Actions that pass this test are recognized in their full character to minimize the risk of hurtfulness, preclude physical and mental danger, and demonstrate a heightened awareness for the feelings of others. For instance, if someone’s clothing just seems so off-kilter to you, you do not make it your objective to inform that person of your displeasure. You do not even civilly tell a homosexual companion that you don’t think that it’s okay for boys and girls to like members of their own gender. You don’t listen to the media, acquire a small bit of evidence relating to only a restricted number of people who draw attention, and proclaim a viewpoint holding that this sample is representative of the entire population. If this sounds like the grade school maxim, “Just because something passes your mind, it doesn’t have to pass your lips,” I would agree. I grew up trying to think about what I said and did before I actually said and did, but life experiences have lent greater specificity to the standards of interpersonal conduct. Some people operate without one or two. Others seem to be capable of using all four but tend to jump over one. When examining the current state of affairs in the world, we all grasp for insight that will help us to provide an answer to “What has happened to us?” It’s quite easy to enamor the past as if it were somehow better than the present, but we also usually paste over the truly horrific endeavors that humans have taken upon themselves either with no choice or to attack one another. The balance between the gating of action and the abandonment of the barriers altogether has characterized every period of human history. I ponder this equilibrium and think, I want to favor the side of less harm and more respect. Millions of people think similarly, wanting to effect good rather than evil, joy rather than despair, and kindle bonds rather than poison them. But the problem here is that each person has a different idea of what respect is, how people experience joy, and the sets of circumstances that provide for true happiness.
The subjectivity of truth
This leads to another issue intimately intertwined with respect: the fluidity of truth and its acknowledgement. We can agree, in complete objectivity, on so little, material that comes nearly exclusively from the natural sciences. When we are young, we learn the meaning of the word “truth,” just as we do the other words. We all come to understand that this word refers to the real state of things as they exist in the world, but this, in a manner divorced from the reality of the physical universe and instead referent to ideology, allows for differences in truth as two or more differently-mined people examine the same situation. Personal opinions originate from personal truths; these could be considered synonymous. The danger arises, however, when people learn to define truth as “righteousness,” to equate the two, because people never believe that their personal truths conflict with what is right. No one believes that he or she is “the bad guy.” The concept of truth, isolated from corruption by human bias, must remain free of that of righteousness. Why? What purpose does this internal segregation serve? People who equate these two then see those who disagree with their opinion, their truth, as disagreeing with their righteousness – in effect, wrong. Hence, if someone thinks differently than me, they must be wrong, a direct result of invoking the name of natural law and cultural morality in all that someone does, a consequence of the unwillingness to acknowledge personal evils and failings. The existence of evil is not cruel and unworldly. Each of us has a balance of good and evil that governs our actions. (I’m not referring to “God versus the devil.”) Respect means acknowledging that, if provided the opportunity to cut my soul open to lay bare all of my core attributes, another person might sort these into the good and evil categories differently than I would and still treating that person with decency. Alternatively, if I looked at someone else’s philosophies and standards, my categorization would not prompt me to expel them from my life with fear and insult. Respect would encourage me to value that person equivalently to others and seek to build off of our respectively positive intentions to create something beneficial for the world as part of our relationship. This sources my despite of cynicism. What kind of a person am I, or could I claim to imbibe my essence with respect, if I blanket their identity with pessimistic anticipation of the ugly “human condition” writing off his or her virtues in hypersensitivity to their evils and mistakes? I have evils and make mistakes just like everyone else. How could imperfection or even the slightest incompatibility with my ideologies disqualify someone from taking part in enrichment of my life? I’ve met cynics, learned under them, and been friends with them, and from this, I’ve learned that if anything surpasses unhappiness bidden by harsh circumstances as an inhibitor to fulfillment, it’s the self-directed unwillingness to ever be happy with anyone, including oneself, leading to a substantially gray, bleak horizon. As for me, I choose to keep looking for the sunrise, no matter how the odds stack against it, no matter the severity of superficial incompatibility, and no matter how poorly someone treats me, I do not surrender the belief that he or she possesses true goodness that can and must be appealed.
The safe space: a haven for many yet a target for many others
One subject of great contention is the safe space, and I will use this as a sort of case study to exemplify my thought processes and my application of respect as I define it. The phrase “safe space” started to undergo linguistic pejoration during my junior year of high school, a prime fuel for conservatives seeking to lump all millennials together as entitled, oversensitive “cry-bullies.” Since then, the derogation has only worsened, even to a threatening degree. I am continually astounded at the fervor with which people speak against these positive environments, asserting that the quest for a safe space signifies an unwillingness to deal with one’s problems. I strongly disagree. I’ve been a part of organized safe spaces; does anyone besides the people who participate know what actually transpires? People vocalize support for one another in the midst of a trying or frightening time. They describe their sorrows and ask for any words of positivity or pieces of advice that might be offered in order for them to accept what has occurred and continue life. A safe space is not a cushy, padded environment where people go to whine. It is a controlled realm where people go when they realize that we are stronger together, when they know that life can be cruel to the point that we simply cannot do it alone, and I have yet to hear of someone who regrets participation or comes away feeling worse off than before. Language is powerful, mending and destroying with simplicity, and when people draw demeaning semantic circles around safe spaces, they lose sight of the ways in which those partaking are just like any other person. How is a counselor’s office not a safe space? How is an academic workshop for science and math classes not a safe space, an environment in which mistakes are not penalized and the objective is simply to improve, to uplift, to learn? How is Christian confession not a safe space, a conversation in which to admit to imperfection but come away with increased resolve to realize more positive visions in the future? How is a meeting for Alcoholics Anonymous or any other support group not a safe space? How is a meeting between the president and his or her Cabinet not a safe space, a controlled forum in which weighty issues are wrestled with many opinions on the table so as to increase the collective wisdom? Even those who decry safe spaces depend on them. Our culture has evolved to prioritize a “thick skin,” a cold barrier to the unfortunate realities of the world that precludes deep consideration of any one experience. If you fall down, allow yourself to feel and express emotion, and ask for help, you must be weak, complacent in the face of the world’s suffering. This sentiment gives rise to the poor state of mental health in this country and explains why mental disease does not share the attention given to physical illness. The latter demands immediate address, while the former is simply attributed to errant thoughts. Saying, “Just be happier,” to a person suffering from depression is truly one of the most useless actions anyone could ever take in this life. Most generally, however, even if I did not believe in the benefits of safe spaces, how in the world would they interfere with my life enough for me to defame anyone who participates in them? Based on the vehemence of the tirades that people launch against safe space organizers and proponents, one might assume that they believe that they’re plotting active violence behind closed doors.
People seem to feel quite strongly about the tragedy of veterans’ suicide rates, and I think this could be a unifying issue. Retired servicemen and servicewomen suffering from PTSD and other mental health conditions elicit a large amount of sympathy, but what I hear most of the time is that we’re just not spending enough money on them. How will money help them to adapt to civilian life, to move past the traumas of their past, and to continue to produce for their fellow mankind rather than succumb to shock, loneliness, and isolation? I’ve surely never heard anyone besmirch the name of a veteran when he or she receives goes to a safe space to receive treatment for a psychological health condition. Does this mean that no one merits a safe space unless they endure the trials of war or that the only sufferers deserving support are those who have chosen service in a military? It doesn’t add up to me because I don’t think that serving in the military entitles someone to better treatment as a human being. If such shame did not surround safe spaces, I’d bet that more military retirees wouldn’t feel as though they have to struggle in solitude, that the most honorable course of action is to do it all alone and emerge as the scarred, victorious sage who knows no end to life’s harmful vicissitudes. If more of them felt strength, not guilt, in asking for help, I’d bet that not as many would take their own lives to escape pain and horror indescribably difficult to carry, especially while alone. I say again, safe spaces are for those taking an active role in preparing themselves to live constructively regardless of the circumstances. Safe spaces bet on humanity’s ability to lift one another up in times of peril. We are stronger together.
This is what respect means to me. This is how I allow it to guide my actions toward hope and acceptance. All people deserve a chance to demonstrate humility and rectitude, and even when their visions for the future do not align with mine, I still treat them with courtesy and dignity. That said, I’m certainly not perfect at this and take responsibility for my failures. Trust me, losing friends and weakening ties when at my worst is punishment enough to perpetuate the internal dialogue that keeps me as attentive as possible to people’s feelings. I do put my faith in the positivity of my neighbors; I search, and I often find it. Acceptance of difference strengthens every single community, whether political, religious, racial, or ideological. Respect for variant opinions introduces greater wisdom in even the simplest of decisions, informing the discussion and consideration of factors that eventually leads to the most universally favorable course of action. I strive to be part of such communities and actively help them to achieve goals that will move the global family in the direction of peace, kindness, and equality. I do not look for a fight. I look for the light.
