“I think some of us, particularly myself, did not understand the implications of what (House Bill 2) would do.”
“I need to do a better job of educating myself about transgender individuals.”
Both of these are actual quotes from two of the 11 North Carolina House Democrats that voted for House Bill 2 in March. Each quote conveys a sense of removal from the weight of the very law that these legislators chose to enact.
But I see evidence of a wider political and rhetorical trend: Distance.
When we talk about justice, our language is so often constrained to the space of abstractions. We debate and discuss justice in the ideal, and when it comes to the political realm we try to decry that which we believe runs contrary to our theories and our models of the world.
But at the heart of even these efforts, I often see such heart-wrenching distance — between theory and practice, policymaker and citizen, powerful and impacted — that not only breaks down discourse but separates the powerful from those they affect. To be clear, this is a twofold divide: A divide that separates proponent and opponent, but also a divide between that which someone chooses in theory and the reality of how that power is instrumented.
I simply believe in the power of persuasive, impassioned political debate even when it is deeply uncomfortable— of meeting an opposer, looking her in the eye, recognizing her humanity and believing in the opportunity to persuade through thoughtful conversation. Specifically, it’s choosing to discuss the impact of policies in human terms, even when it is deeply uncomfortable.
When we view a dissenter as an unpersuadable enemy, we forfeit that chance for human dialogue. This uncomfortable proximity is the only way to make space for genuine compassion in any political debate. When we choose silence in person, but we choose to amplify our voice elsewhere, we forfeit that chance for genuine engagement.
We often say that ignorance is the true enemy to justice. If that is so, let’s get uncomfortable and let’s educate.
