In my tough conversations about race with African-American friends, the two words that most powerfully describe the systemic racism they experience daily are Trauma and Exhaustion. Not momentary or situational trauma or temporary exhaustion. By no means. These conditions, I have learned, have been etched into the psychological DNA of many African- Americans whom I respect, and in some cases, revere. Many live with trauma and exhaustion throughout their day. Everyday.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to feel continually traumatized and exhausted. I might were I a Jew in Nazi German or for that matter, a Jew in much of Europe during the 1940’s. Or, in a concentration camp not knowing whether I would be among the next to be exterminated. Or, for that matter, what ISIS victims must feel if their village was overwhelmed by these zealot-killers.

Imagine getting up each morning and not knowing whether I will be stopped when driving because of a minor infraction and then knowing that I could be the next George Floyd or Philando Castile. Imagine waiting at a department store counter for a clerk to show you a piece of jewelry… for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES as what happened to a dear friend of mine. Or just for a moment wondering what it would feel like to be white for just one day. Or, knowing that the slightest move could touch off an incident. Or that a family member might not receive the same level of care as a white patient in a hospital or clinic. Or that the sentence I would receive for a crime is more severe than what a white person would receive. Or, knowing that my children’s education would be inferior to what a white child would receive. Or, or, or?

Knowing all this, how should I think when I come in contact with a Black person? Should I feel pity? I hope not. Sympathy? Not that either. Empathy? Getting warmer. Empathy suggests putting yourself in the shoes of the person whom you’re listening to and trying to imagine what they are feeling.

According to Isabel Wilkerson, author of the New York Times bestseller, Caste, we white folks should consider radical empathy. She defines radical empathy as “putting in the work to educate oneself to listen with a humble heart to understand another’s experience from their perspective, not as we imagine how we would feel.” Radical empathy, she continues, is “not about us and what we think we would do in a situation we have never been in and perhaps never will.”

In other words, radical empathy is not just putting ourselves in others’ shoes and listening with a humble heart. It’s not just viewing their experience from their perspective. For me, it’s more: it’s putting in the work to educate ourselves about our country’s past and, for good measure, to evaluate our involvement in its future.

As the race for President heats up, I sometimes feel challenged by comments from friends who have political opinions averse to mine. I’m tempted to do one of three things:

1.  Try to persuade the other that their view is wrong and mine is right; or

2.  Say nothing and leave the impression I agree with the speaker; or  

3.  Say, “I don’t agree,” terminate the conversation, and walk away in disgust (or hang up or unfriend the former friend). 

• 

The first choice won’t work and may start a political food fight. The second is dishonest and not very brave. The third may damage a relationship beyond repair.

So, what can I do instead? As a mediator I can mentally step back and ask myself, how would I treat this conversation if I were an onlooker, not a participant?

A mediator listens closely to try to discover the underlying interest (or need) of each person in a dispute. Often the real interest is hidden, even from the persons themselves. When it’s my dog in the fight, I tend to focus on a particular proposed outcome, without examining my underlying need. 

Back to politics. Underlying issues, for instance, may be public safety and equal treatment. Store owners want protection. Police officers want to be respected and allowed to keep order. Protesters want to be heard and respected. Black moms, like white moms, want their children to be safe. There’s a broad area for agreement here, if we’ll stop to listen to each other. We can find a win-win.

Or a disagreement may focus on medical care. One side says, “I want to choose my own doctor and insurance plan.” The other side says, “I have diabetes (or asthma or heart trouble) and my insurer won’t cover it.” Or “My boss doesn’t provide insurance and I can’t afford it.” So the issues are freedom of choice and affordability. Are both possible? Again, a wider range of potential agreement comes into view.

When my neighbor says something that pushes all my buttons, I hope I can (lovingly) ask, “Are you saying …” and reframe the feeling (probably fear or anxiety) I’m hearing. “Let me see if I understand what worries you.” 

Then I may truthfully say, “That worries me, too.” Listening for the underlying concern can open the door to a fruitful discussion – or at least to a potential for more conversation and continuing friendship. 

The poet Rumi said, “There is a field beyond right-doing and wrongdoing. I will meet you there.” Looking past the “solution” to the underlying fear or need can help us find a meeting place.

For two years I have been a member of a group of five (originally six) African-Americans and six Jews who have met monthly to listen, learn, and lean together toward social justice. That the white people are Jewish does not preclude any white persons from initiating and engaging in this kind of gathering.

Our process of give and take is partly modeled on circle practices*, which in their essence call on circle members to first build mutual understanding, trust, and acceptance before embarking on efforts, for example, to improve conditions for less fortunate neighbors or other common goals. In other words, it’s personal before becoming transactional.

Each meeting has a different facilitator (or in circle parlance a “keeper”) and theme. Our group has retained the same 11 members since it began.  Once formed, the group’s membership doesn’t grow or change. It retains the same members. Twelve is an optimum size. Meetings begin with a check-in in which members reflect on the past month, what’s gone well and what hasn’t. In this way and through stories we share, we have built a community in which we have developed a genuine affection for each other.

During check-in we talk about our losses, e.g., a death in a family, and our gains.  We find ways to support each other whether in sadness or joy.  Throughout, we’ve been open to sharing our fears and our dreams. We can disagree (often), but still maintain our trust and affection for each other.

Mind you, it takes time and energy to build such a group. Finding individuals willing to be vulnerable, commit to meeting for two hours monthly, and stick with the group for an extended period is challenging.

We call our group “Cross River Dialogue.” The river is the Anacostia which flows through Washington, DC, and is more than a geographic reality. The east side is mostly African-American, poor, often overwhelmed with street violence, and other chronic urban ills, due largely to systemic and institutional racism. The west is the Washington tourists see when visiting here.

For me the learning can come as a jolt, like when one member exclaimed she’d like to be white for one day just to have that experience, or when another said he hadn’t planned for retirement because he never thought he’d live long enough to enjoy it.

I admit this is a micro step. But it has brought us close and united us in ways we never anticipated. You can find us attending each other’s events, testifying before the DC Council on behalf of each other’s causes, and volunteering in ways we never imagined.

We are truly a circle of trust. 

*The Little Book of Circle Practices, Kay Pranis. Simon and Schuster Digital Sales. 2015

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

It’s 1:00 in the afternoon, and this has been my day so far in The Age of Coronavirus.

7:00 A.M. Wake up, turn on CNN. Nothing but progress of COVID-19. Spreading exponentially. Testing now is actually occurring (after weeks of false reports). But not in Maryland where I live. We’ve received the testing kits and have a drive-thru site ready, but apparently there’s a snafu in the labs that read the tests. 

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After presenting a webinar on our book Love’s Way: Living Peacefully With Your Family As Your Parents Age, I realized that little of what I discussed about having “The Conversation,” or transparency, or naming a healthcare proxy applies to persons with no family connections.

What recourse has an older adult with no one to serve as her power of attorney or executor of his will or someone to call in case of illness or medical emergency?  Whom do these people (often referred to as “solo agers” or worse, “elder orphans”) rely on for these and countless other supports?

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I recently attended an End-of-Life Expo. Organized by Washington, DC-based IONA Senior Services, a highly respected nonprofit dedicated to improving the lives of aging persons, its notice about the expo tweaked my interest: “When you express how you want to die, you reveal how you want to live.”

The day-long expo offered 12 sessions from dementia planning and organ and body donations to writing your own obituary and DC’s Death With Dignity Act. (In 2016 the District of Columbia joined seven other jurisdictions* and enacted a Death with Dignity law that enables terminally ill DC residents to take their own lives with two doctors’ approvals and after meeting a host of other requirements.) More on this below.

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I’ve given up resolving to lose ten pounds (now it should be fifteen) and exercise more. I still hope to do those things, but know I can’t count on enough self-discipline to accomplish either.

So this year I kept it simple. Two discrete goals, time-limited. And a continuation of my jagged trajectory in the bigger sphere of spiritual growth. 

A beloved baby grand piano takes up a quarter of my living room but sits unplayed. I love music. I want to play it. But something else always seems more urgent. One day Jim asked, “Could you just practice thirty minutes a day?” So I made a resolution to do that. I didn’t tell him, but I just sat down and played (badly) on New Year’s Day.

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When thinking about planning, I typically see a maze of legal twists and turns, forms to complete, conversations to conduct — an obstacle course with no finish line. But if I “de-construct” planning, it becomes more doable and less overwhelming. Here’s how I approach it:

Advance Care Planning

I start with my advance care directive comprising my living will and health care power of attorney (POA) or proxy.  These inform my loved ones and medical professionals how I wish to be treated if I have a life threatening illness or accident. The health care POA designates who should make health care decisions for me should I lack capacity to do so. Also included are a list of my doctors, prescription medicines, and other medical information.  

Of course, none of these documents are really operational without a conversation with those to whom I entrust my care. Advance care planning can extend to care-giving, whether provided by loved ones or hired aides. I also include a “dementia-directive”* which sets out my preferred levels of care should I lack capacity to make health care decisions for myself.

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Earlier I discussed how important medical advocacy is when a loved one or friend is hospitalized. As someone’s medical advocate, you want to ensure the hospital staff is serving her as well as possible. Especially at discharge. No one should ever be discharged from a hospital without an advocate, or at least a friend or caregiver, present to hear a discharge nurse’s instructions and review the paperwork that most discharged patients rarely have the capacity to absorb.

Following her hospital discharge your loved one (who has Medicare) may require skilled nursing care (SNC). She qualifies for SNC if: 

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