The measure of a community isn’t how it treats insiders, but rather how it treats outsiders.

[…] I now have a different view of small towns, one based in part on how they sometimes treat those they perceive as outsiders. Because I’ve had that experience as well, and it can be grim enough. […]

Over the course of our 12 years in Columbia, my family slowly but surely progressed from insiders to outsiders, beginning with the adoption of our youngest daughter, a beautiful girl from Ethiopia. My other two children, who are blond with blue eyes, were never followed by store employees; my youngest daughter was. My older kids were never told by their schoolmates that parents didn’t allow them to play with “kids like you,” or that it wasn’t “safe” to come to their house. Or that their “muddy” faces weren’t welcome on a hayride at a local farm. My youngest daughter has had all those experiences. She has also been told that slavery was necessary to “help” Black people to be ready for life in America.

No, none of this came from our friends, who were appalled right along with us. But we were forced to see a different part of our community, one that made our family feel far less like we were truly at home. […]

And that’s when I realized a truth that should have been blindingly obvious from the start: The measure of a community isn’t how it treats insiders, but rather how it treats outsiders. It is easy to be kind to your friends and allies. And when you experience that kindness, it can turn a small-town community into something like a security blanket. This is where you belong. But when you experience cruelty, a small town can be something else entirely. It can make you feel trapped and uneasy, as if there is no place to rest, as if your home isn’t truly your home.

What is your experience like if you’re the only Black or brown person in a sea of white? What is your experience if your household is a blue island in a red ocean, or a red island in a blue ocean? How much grace is extended to you when you fall or stumble? How much tolerance do you experience when you disagree? That is the measure of a place, not its love for its favorite daughters and sons.

David French, from “Try Tolerance in a Small Town” (The New York Times · July 27, 2023)


Photo: David & Nancy French with their children. The Daily Herald.

Are you listening?

Sad, sobering but beautiful.  “The photographer and filmmaker Katy Grannan travels around America to capture the nation’s mood in 2016.”

We want to be called to our best selves. We long to figure out what that would look like.

krista-tippett-becoming-wise

I’ve traveled a long way since my early life in Oklahoma— far enough to know that I might be accused of taking this virtue of hope too far. So be it. My mind inclines now, more than ever, towards hope. I’m consciously shedding the assumption that a skeptical point of view is the most intellectually credible. Intellect does not function in opposition to mystery; tolerance is not more pragmatic than love; and cynicism is not more reasonable than hope. Unlike almost every worthwhile thing in life, cynicism is easy. It’s never proven wrong by the corruption or the catastrophe. It’s not generative. It judges things as they are, but does not lift a finger to try to shift them. I experience the soul of this moment— in people young and old— to be aspirational. This is something distinct from ambitious, though the two may overlap. I’d say it this way: we want to be called to our best selves. We long to figure out what that would look like. And we are figuring out that we need each other to do so. This listening for the calling, and the shining, fragile figuring out, are tucked inside the musings I hear from young people as much about how they want to be and who they want to be as about what they want to be.

~ Krista Tippett, Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living