While perusing through the spring 2010 issue of YES! Magazine, I was delighted to see this quarter feature the changing complexion of diversity and racial identity. Consulting and teaching diversity is part of my business and I grapple with these issues often. I was particularly struck by Faith Adiele’s article, My Life in Black and White: Why Memoir is the Ultimate Multicultural Act, where she says “What I love about memoir is that it democratizes storytelling. Official history is penned by power brokers, but the real stories are lived on the ground by ordinary folks.” Adiele’s story centers on her racial and cultural identity as a Nigerian and Nordic mixed race woman. Her story speaks to the experience of the increasing numbers of a racially and culturally mixed generation, people who are no longer willing to accept the stale views on identity from our mainstream society. Adiele’s personal story tells a larger narrative of social justice. I like the notion of ordinary folk telling about their lives, and making a difference in the world.
Letters, songs, speeches, and poems have been avenues for many ordinary people to express their feelings on personal and political viewpoints. How we’ve come to know our collective history has been shaped and reported by these writing outlets. Today, personal essay, memoir, and blogging can be added to a long list of ways we share our lived stories and demand change.
For years I’ve written music, poems, and now personal essays as a way to make meaning out of my experiences. Even the smallest life episode is almost always linked to a larger world view for social justice. Claiming my voice as a young woman athlete was one of them. Throwing the shot put in junior and senior high school was my chosen track and field sport. I lifted weights with the boys in their locker room (which was unheard of in those days), and kept a disciplined focus on practicing my form and building strength. For two years I was undefeated in competitions. Verbal assaults on my femininity and sexual orientation was a regular taunt by student spectators and some parents. In my own private space, writing and telling my fictional stories of romance, lust, and heroinism affirmed my womanliness and courage.
Coming of age in the 70s and early 80s is what I call the “raggedy application” of civil rights laws. As an African American woman, doors were cracked open for opportunities in entry level white collar work. I struggled with the ramifications of sexual harassment, as well as gender and racial prejudicial practices in the workplace by managers who “got it” and just didn’t want to “do it.” I made up girl power songs that were inspiring little mantras to help boost my self-esteem and get up the nerve to challenge abusive management practices. Inspirational words and phrases transcended my pain into courage--to step up and speak out to injustices.
Writing and speaking what was on my mind became a short step toward my own healing and an act of social change leadership. In Mary Pipher’s book, Writing to Change the World, she says, “All writing to effect change need not be great literature.” I agree. Writing for publishing is just one avenue for social change. Another kind of social change writing comes from the heart, like when someone pens a story that breaks a deep silence that frees them from suffering.
So what’s the story you hold so deeply that feels like it’s only yours? Consider the possibility that your small, seemingly personal nugget of truth, is part of a larger narrative that will change the life of others in ways you’ve never imagined. You’ll never know until you commit to write it and share it, even with just one person.
Send me your thoughts--and share your stories!
Be Well,
Yvette
