Towards an Intersectional Humility

"I understand that I might need to stay home for y'all's health, but I'm worried about the residents of Eden House." That's what I told my housemates when we were considering whether to start self-isolation before it was mandated by the city. 

The physical and mental wellbeing of my residents was on the forefront of my mind as I made decisions regarding my own health. While a coworker shared an article with us about how COVID-19 affects survivors of human trafficking in particular, I didn't need to read that article to understand the impact that this pandemic would have on them.

After working at Eden House for 7 months, I knew that losing control over their physical health and bodily autonomy (i.e. where they were allowed to go) would parallel what our residents felt as they were being trafficked. I knew that feeling isolated would be reminiscent of the physical and emotional isolation enforced by traffickers. I knew that having only one staff member at the office each day and not being able to go to NA (Narcotics Anonymous) Meetings was ripping away support that is essential for their recovery and healing.

I was worried.

It seemed to me that my housemate didn't understand the depths of my concerns because they don't know the work as intimately as I do. They didn't understand the impact this pandemic would have on my residents.

Over the last two months, my friends and contacts on social media have pointed out ways that COVID-19 is impacting them in ways that I could never have imagined because I am not part of that community or doing the work that they are doing.

My first memory running into an effect of the pandemic that hadn't even crossed my mind was scrolling through Facebook and seeing the following post from a dear friend*:

I had mourned for my friends who are seniors in college, but I hadn't even though about First-Generation College students whose celebration of an incredible accomplishment has been taken away. They deserve to be showered with praise and recognized, but they don't have that opportunity any more.

I also remember reading this in an email exchange with a friend, talking about his daughter:

"It is even more difficult for Hannah as a chaplain at a retirement community. She is not allowed to have direct contact with any of the residents as a safety measure for them. Phone calls and cards are rather difficult for many of the residents given their mental condition. She and the other chaplain are working toward enabling and enhancing the broadcasting of Sunday services and daily devotionals remotely. Normal remote tools do not work so effectively for that generation given their lack of devices, understanding how to use them, and limited basic cognitive and physical abilities. They are working to use the facility’s TV channel as a means to broadcast and connect since it is used for daily announcements, menus etc."

My grandparents live in a retirement center and I was concerned for their physical wellbeing, but I hadn't even thought about how the typical means of communication that my generation is using to stay connected is potentially inaccessible to others. Residents of retirement communities long for connection like the rest of us, and I cannot imagine the challenge of trying to foster hope and community with limited technology.

I follow a group about Spiritual and Communal Responses to COVID-19 on Facebook and I saw this post at the beginning of Ramadan*:

I've experienced the feeling of distance and loss as I can't gather for church, but I hadn't considered the compounded impact for those who gather to celebrate Ramadan and break fasts together each night. Especially in a society where so much hate is lobbed at the Muslim community, they need this holy time of community for revitalization, but instead they get a month of acute loneliness.

Two weeks ago, my housemate Nate wrote his request to return to his work*:

"Both of my work placements are still working because they are considered essential and have increased the work they are doing for the communities. Jefferson Presbyterian Church is now doing the food bank every week and could use me as someone that knows the way the food bank runs. Okra Abbey is also delivering to double the people now with fewer workers and could use me to help with that. I joined YAV to go out and help communities because I felt I was doing nothing before and I needed to help any way I can. Now I feel the same way and I need to get out and help these communities that have been great to me and that I have grown so close to."

I knew that people were out of work and worried about losing their income, but I hadn't realized how drastic the impact would be on those who are already food insecure. Everyone should have the security and confidence to know that they will be able to eat the next day and for there to be such vast groups that so quickly fall into food insecurity is a failure of our society and our government.

These are just a few personal examples that were close to me. There are also conversations happening about how COVID-19 disproportionately affects Black communities, how dangerous it is to people in domestic abuse situations, and many other conversations of which I am not a part.

As I considered the myriad of ways that COVID-19 affects various communities, I was reminded of a concluding paragraph in my undergraduate thesis:

"Framing social justice work through an intersectional lens does not mean that every organization must do “all the work.” Rather, in order to effectively engage in a long-term battle for a just society, there is still a need for issue-oriented approaches that can focus in on creating specific solutions for specific social problems. ... An intersectional lens for FBCO [faith-based community organizing] recognizes how other forms of oppression influence their specific focus area and then actively works to shape their agenda in ways that reflect solidarity with other organizing agendas. This means networking, cooperating with, and supporting other local and national organizations without also taking on their work."

I can't do the work to support survivors of human trafficking and support first-generation college students and support retirement center residents and support Muslim communities and alleviate food insecurity. I don't have to capacity to support all those communities holistically and also care for myself.

What I can do is listen and pay attention to how things affect those who are different from me instead of believing that everyone is affected the same way that I am and instead of thinking that the issues that I work with are the only important issues.

What I can do is consider and recognize how other issues interact with the issues that I work with and how the work that I do can be used to support others communities in new ways.

What I can do is support each of the individuals in my life as they support and care for other communities.

There's a lot about a lot that I don't know.

I'll close this post the same way that that we close morning meeting at Eden House, with the Serenity Prayer:

Lord,

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things that I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference, 

just for today.

~~~~~~~

*Permission was granted to share these posts and quotes.