“Out beyond the ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing there is a field I will meet you there. It’s the world full of things to talk about.” — Rumi

Recently I’ve been bombarded with images and stories that have brought tears to my eyes. I’ve seen pictures of Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, and Christian Cooper, to name only a few who are clear in my mind simply because their stories are unfolding in the present moment. I’ve read the accounts of what happened to these men. In recent months and years I’ve heard similar stories of many others. I’ve seen images of peaceful protests and of riots. I’ve seen images of police in riot gear, fires blazing. And I’ve read stories of police throwing tear gas into crowds of peaceful protestors. I’ve seen images of police officers taking a knee in solidarity or walking with protestors, embracing them, reassuring them that they have a voice and that they will help protect their right to use it.

I’ve read pleas from mothers of black children for white mothers to understand just how different their realities are, to empathize, to help figure out how to make the world safer for their kids. I can actually feel the fear for their innocent children through their words, and as a mother, I can imagine their terror. I’ve read statements by powerful people emphasizing the need for change, and the calls for action made by ordinary citizens like myself. I’ve also read statements by powerful people demanding that the protests be stopped, the protestors called names such as “terrorist,” the threats of military action.

As I’ve moved through these experiences I’ve found myself moving through such a mix of emotions: outrage, anger, disgust, despair, sadness, grief. And finally as I saw images of police officers embracing and kneeling in solidarity with those they quite possibly were “supposed to” confront, contain, or whatever else, a glimmer of hope. But just a glimmer. There is just so much work to do, so much that needs to change. It’s overwhelming and the forces that perpetuate such acts of racism and violence are strong.

As horrifying and preoccupying as all of this is, it is just one of the many “ism’s” and issues sparking outrage and protest these days. In recent months we’ve had the “Me Too” movement, highlighting sexism, as well as the abuse, harassment and subjugation of women and girls. We’ve had the global pandemic and related “lockdowns” and closures, which have lead to protests over civil rights and highly emotional disagreements about the “right” and “wrong” way to handle the pandemic, or the “Plandemic,” depending on what you believe. Of course there is the ongoing political divide and partisinism that has characterized our country for however many years. And there are others, these are just a few.

What strikes me about all of these is the theme that connects them. The “Us” versus “Them,” the “Right” versus “Wrong,” the urge to choose a side. You either stand with George Floyd, Christian Cooper, Ahmaud Arbery or you are a racist. You either support the “Me Too” movement or you are sexist and/or condoning abuse toward women. You support the restrictive measures aimed at addressing COVID-19 or you’re convinced your rights are being trampled on. You’re a Republican or a Democrat. Regardless of which side you choose, you are absolutely convinced that you are “Right” and that the other is “Wrong.”

I will admit that I do choose sides. My emotions and my ego become activated and I absolutely align myself with what I believe is “right.” We do live in a society and this reality demands some semblance of order. People who commit crimes and/or harm other people simply must be held accountable, and I am an advocate for justice. Our political system is what it is, and this requires me to choose a side when I vote, and I choose the side I believe is most “Right.” I am also very aware, however, that none of this is really a solution to the bigger problem underlying all of this unrest. It is merely a band-aid placed on a symptom of the bigger problem.

We can bring the police officer who killed George Floyd to trial, convict him of murder and sentence him appropriately, and I do believe quite strongly that this must be done. This may bring some sense of justice—at least he is being punished. It does not, however, bring back George Floyd, it does nothing to change underlying racism, nor does it likely change anything at all about what drove the police officer to do what he did in the first place. Men who abuse or harass women and girls can be held accountable, but again, this does not take away the abuse their victims have suffered. Nor has it done much to end, or even change, the pervasive underlying sexism and misogyny at it’s core. I can vote, and “my” candidate may even win the election, but this does nothing at all to change the underlying partisinism that has held Washington hostage for decades if not for centuries. Nothing changes in the perspective or belief system of the “other” side, the divisiveness remains, and may even become exacerbated.

These are all just band-aids, they may briefly conceal the “owies,” as my young daughter likes to call her hurts, but the bandaids won’t actually do anything to heal the “owies.”

What does, then? This is where I come back to Rumi’s quote. Meet me in the field beyond right-doing and wrong-doing, and it is there that we can talk about it. The first thing we need to do is to get past the “right” and the “wrong,” the blaming, the pointing fingers at the “other” side. We need to move past the “us” and the “them” kind of thinking, step out of our egos, let go of our need to be “right.” We need to actually see the “others” not as “wrong,” but as they truly are in their core—human beings. Just like us, albeit perhaps with different views, different opinions, different ideas, different appearances, but human beings nonetheless. We need to see that we actually can all occupy the same field.

We’ve never been able to find this field— let alone share it, though, have we? Why is that? The thing that prevents us from finding this field is the same thing that led that police officer to keep his knee firmly on George Floyd’s neck, the men to shoot Ahmaud Arbery, the woman to threaten the false complaint against Christian Cooper. It’s the same thing that leads men to abuse and dominate women and girls, the thing that leads protestors to protest or riot, the thing that leads police to throw tear gas at peaceful protestors, and the thing that leads political parties to dominate each other over things that you would expect them to agree upon.

Quite simply, it’s fear. Believe it or not, perpetrators of violence, harassment and abuse are afraid—afraid of being powerless, of not having control. If they do not have power and control over others, then they themselves are vulnerable to being overpowered and controlled. Protestors and rioters are afraid that their rights are being violated—again, that they are powerless, that they don’t have control and are therefore vulnerable. And politicians are no different, they are afraid that they, too, are powerless and don’t have control. That they, too, are vulnerable to being dominated.

We humans do not like to feel vulnerable or powerless. We prefer to feel “right” and powerful, and we make the mistake in believing that our power lies outside of us, in the “other.”

It’s this fear that our power is not our own but rather belongs to others that is the problem. It is this fear of powerlessness, of vulnerability that prevents us from ever reaching that field beyond “us” and “them,” beyond “black” and “white,” beyond “right” and “wrong.” We remain stuck in the fear, or rather we do everything we can to avoid that fear by seeking power, control and domination. That is the problem that underlies most, if not all, of the problems plaguing our society.

Ironically, it is also this same fear that could provide us with the solution to all of it. If we could face this fear, acknowledge and accept it in ourselves, individually and collectively, and allow vulnerability to be part of the conversation, we could find the field. We would then have, as Rumi states, a “world full of things to talk about” rather than a world full of the violence, dominance, protest, and “isms” we currently have.

It is within that fear, within that field of vulnerability, that the solutions exist.