Heroes can’t help us, community can  

It's so easy to love a hero, and it's so important to feel appreciated and special as a human. Maybe, especially as Americans, we are conditioned to feel like extra personal effort and courage will or should result in positive outcomes followed by adulation. It's practically addictive, sometimes to our detriment. 

But right now it feels like there are more challenges, and more critical challenges than ever before, the news is exhausting, even the weather can feel ominous. 

When the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade with the Dobbs decision my social media pages flooded with posts from my long time friends making individual, heroic offers to provide help for anyone who wanted to come to Colorado to go "camping" wink-wink. 

Two summers ago when the country seemed to ignite over the death of George Floyd at the hands of police in Minnesota, I, like everyone I know, ended up with a t-shirt, a yard sign, and a new image on my social media pages. I sincerely hoped that my yard sign would help people feel less threatened on my street. No one saw my t-shirt or my presence at a rally because I am so vulnerable to COVID-19 that I can no longer participate in activities that involve crowds. I felt frustrated and decided to learn more about the problems. 

I've been an activist since the 80's, so it was challenging to be at a beginning place, but I had a lot of good reasons for being there, and there was a lot of information flying around about problems that I, as a white, cisgendered woman, don't have. But it was my background in activism and charity that helped me to quickly understand some concepts better than others. It was my experience as a woman in male dominated professional spaces that helped me to understand other concepts. 

First, let me say that I know what it feels like to be the one person in the room with a unique answer or perspective and not be able to make anyone listen. That doesn't happen often. I get a lot of respect in my spiritual community! But it happened often in school, and it has happened in work spaces where I was the only woman in the room. I think probably it has happened to everyone at some point. We all know how it feels to be overlooked when we have something valuable to contribute. 

So, that helped me to understand that Black women, in particular, were more exhausted by that experience than I was. I learned how often I overlook some people, what my preconceived notions were when I size people up visually. Since I was reluctant to admit I had those behaviors, I spent a lot of time checking out what I was learning against what I knew about myself and I became convinced that it was true, that there were Black women leaders who had life experiences and expertise in the general problems that we are confronting and we're not listening. I felt better about my own shortcomings and mistakes when I could see a way to do things differently. It was a relief to be able to move forward from simply being wrong, from simply being biased, or racist, especially when those were things I didn't want or intend to be. It was the fear that I would end up finding out I was awful with no way to be anything else that had held me back. 

But I knew another thing about being ignorant, that it's easy to take advantage of ignorance. Being a member of a liberal community that desperately wanted to do something to fix the problem that was setting our country on fire, I knew that "opportunities" could arise that were false, or flashy, without being real answers. I knew that there was nothing about the way that I live my life by default that would help me know who the Black women leaders were in my community, so that I could amplify their voices. 

I researched. A lot. I looked for these leaders that had a history of activism that went back years. I looked to see who they lifted up. I looked to see if those connections were reciprocated and how old those connections were. I looked to see how the white leaders I was familiar with had reacted to them, and if any controversy around them meant anything to my values. I found names. 

Let me tell you who I am listening to now and whose priorities I try to give a boost to. I’m listening to Denver City Council member Candi CdeBaca, Candidate and activist Elisabeth Epps, RTD GM & CEO Debra Johnson, State Rep Leslie Herod, and Shontel Lewis of RTD on the local level. I'm listening to Representative Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, and Representative Cori Bush of Missouri. I didn't start right away promoting their ideas or priorities. I started with listening. It took me a while to come to understand the perspective of these very different individuals and it was important to me that I shared the goals that they were driving at. 

Those names are just a sampling of how I've changed who I'm listening to. And I'm listening, because I'm worried and I feel like I don't really know what to do with the level of problems that we have in front of us. I want to help, of course I do, and I have a little bit of a background in that that made it easier to understand the next part. 

The Druidry Centered Women's Circle (formerly the Denver Celtic Women's Circle) holds two charity drives a year. We do it because of our tree metaphor. Our personal studies and practice are "rooting" and what we share with community is "branching." We're a tiny little group so to be effective in sharing we partner with people who are already doing things. We couldn't possibly run our own food bank! So we partner with Food Bank of the Rockies for our February food drive. For our November/December charity drive, we vet local charities, pick one, find out what they need, and then make ourselves into a funnel for our community's generosity. We found our place in connecting generosity to need, and it is such an amazing experience...everyone wins. People who give through us are grateful we did the research and their gifts will matter. Local charities doing good but really difficult work are happy to have someone else do the work of rounding up what they need. We don't have to be a charity, and we don't have to give what we don't have. We just had to be a connection. 

And that's really good news. Prior to the Dobbs decision there were already people who couldn't connect to the reproductive healthcare that they needed, and there are organizations that have been doing the work of funding, providing, and connecting to that care. They already exist, and they would love help and money. I had started following Gwen Snyder Isn't Civil on Twitter, and got schooled quickly that publishing posts about "camping" was creating evidence for prosecution and not supporting already existing networks. Again, my place wasn't to heroically rescue anyone. It was to lift up information. 

The meaning of Martin Niemoeller's famous poem about WWII finally made sense to me: 

    First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

    Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.

    Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

    Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

But I realized, to my horror, that in our time, they first came for the transgendered kids in schools. I realized that I hadn't recognized it as a test, a test of how much they could get away with if they picked the right target, a test to see how far they could go before *I* felt included in their aims. 

They lied about transgendered people, about the parents of transgendered kids, and about those kids themselves. I knew it at the time. And suddenly I realized how dangerous it was to parcel out rights, to get ordinary people to put priorities on problems. I realized how important it was to pay attention to the least powerful or most hated groups. 

I realized that if we had made sure that the people of Flint, Michigan had clean water, we probably all would. (They still don't, by the way.) I realized that if we made sure that Native people had access to food and healthcare, we all had a better chance of that. I realized that if Black communities had the resources they needed and weren't dumping grounds for pollution, we would all have had to deal with the issues that are destroying our environments. I realized if we had shoved back against the lies about "grooming" and "damage" and "danger" in the discussions on transgendered people all rights to freedom of conscience, expression, and difference would be safer than they are right now. 

If we fight for the least of us, if we listen to the people with experience of the worst of it, we have a better shot at being okay. 

There's a common lie about human greatness. Our greatness is not about individual success. Our success comes from alliances, from community, from making connections. That's what makes us great. It's not time for me to create answers. It's time for me to help the people who do. And it is critical for me to recognize my place in the web. 

Community will save us, if we can recognize it. 

Peace of the mountains to you, 

Paulie Rainbow

founder: Druidry Centered Women's Circle