I sometimes think that I am blessed and cursed with a special sight, the ability to see injustice, like threads woven into the cloth of daily life. Sometimes I see it when it isn't even there. Sometimes I mistake ignorance and fear as injustice. My visions of injustice have so often been called into question, I have learned to be wary of what I think I see.
I have a male colleague who has on several occasions characterized my behavior in a way that suggested that he knows me better than I know myself. I asked him once for an opinion on my writing. Did he think it was publishable? He said, "I think that you shouldn't worry about publishing. Just focus on your writing." It felt patronizing, like a pat on the head without the benefit of physical contact. I immediately started to weave a story about him, the Reader's Digest version goes like this: He's a sexist pig. I was ready to do battle.
Then, this morning I was grading papers for an online class I teach. The student wrote about the role of nonviolent civil disobedience in the civil rights movement. She said, "It was a way for the protesters to fight the injustices without attacking individuals." I love that moment when the student becomes the teacher.
I realize that I need to separate this man from his behavior. I need to communicate how his behavior makes me feel. I need to ask for what I need. If he is not willing to give me what I need, perhaps I need to distance myself from him. I don't need to create a new social order. I just need to take care of myself.
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