Calling All Hearts

Our pastor asked us the following questions in her sermon today:  Where do we belong? To what groups do we belong?  The sermon featured the word belonging (Birdwhistell, “We Belong Together,” 2014).  At first, the pastor led us down a “yellow brick road” of belonging. Then she took a sharp left into the land of being the outsider, not a citizen of the land called “Belonging.”  My social work wheels started turning.

Brene Brown, a professor at The University of Houston in the Graduate College of Social Work, reminds us in her own words, “A deep sense of love and belonging is an irreducible need of all people. We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don't function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick” (Brown, “Want to be happy?” 2013).

Oftentimes, we are so insecure about if and where we belong that we can’t even see the needs of others around us who are desperately searching for the very same thing.  If we aren’t sure of our own spaces of belonging, we are in danger of loosing our gusto, bravery, and courage to stand up for those who are oppressed. We need all the courage we can muster to speak for those who have no voice. Brown reminds us that “the root word of ‘courage’ is cor--- the Latin word for heart. . . Courage originally meant to speak one's mind by telling all one's heart” (Brown, 2013).

As social workers, we walk alongside people who often don’t have places of belonging.  Maybe they are living in poverty, marginalized, or discriminated against.  If we are to make a difference in one another’s lives, we must begin the "calling all of our hearts" to be brave and courageous.

Too much is at stake with our brothers and sisters who  live in poverty, have no health care, have no hope, have no food, and have no sense of belonging except for on the edges of society. Our neighbors will not find changes in their lives if we do not find strength in our own voices to advocate for their voices. Our well-beings are connected to their well-beings. Our hearts are connected to their hearts.

            Let’s turn our eyes to see those who do not have a sense of belonging. Can you visualize a world in which brave and unselfish hearts are so strong that they influence policy for all hearts?

Brown, B. (2013). Want to be happy? Stop trying to be perfect. CNN.com. Retrieved February 23, 2014 from: http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/11/01/give.up.perfection/

Birdwhistell, M.A. (2014). We belong together. Calvary Baptist Church. Waco, Texas.

 

Fifty Years Later it is not Black and White

Warren K. Leffler, via The Library of Congress

     When reading Michiko Kakutani’s article in the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/28/us/the-lasting-power-of-dr-kings-dream-speech.html) I was immediately thrown back in time to Alexandria, Louisiana circa 1960’s. I was in the 7th grade, walking to my locker, when I heard that Martin Luther King had been assassinated. The locker area in my junior high school was strangely silent. It was as if a hush had fallen over the usually noisy school hallways. There we were, 13 year olds hearing awful news as a group, yet I felt so alone, afraid and sad.

     I grew up in Alexandria, Louisiana. We had been “feeling” the unrest of the Vietnam War and racial tension for several years. At times it seemed the world was upside down. Our parents took us to church and taught us about a God of love. Our Sunday School teachers taught us about a Jesus that came to bring peace and equality to all humankind. The world we lived in did not feel peaceful or equal.

     Several issues were going on from my view of life. Older brothers and sons of our family’s friends were being drafted for war or leaving for Canada as conscientious objectors. Meetings were held at our house about both unthinkable options. People seemed to be trying to make sense of this war. At the same time, there were wars at home. The war on poverty, the war between races, and the war between generations were being stoked regularly. Dr. King was assassinated and the civil rights war was on our doorstep.

     At 13 we marched for peace, ate carrot soup in solidarity for Vietnam prisoners of war, stood in line for our Prisoners of War (POW) and  Missing in Action (MIA) bracelets, begged our parents to “stay out “ of the bussing issues, and dreamed of a world far different than the one we were observing and living. This new word “integration” entered our lives as more than a word. Integration was a living breathing life force. We heard our parents whispering and yelling around dinner tables about this thing called “ busing”. As budding teenagers, most of us had no idea what all the fuss was about. Our generation adopted a peace and love approach to life.

     My father grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. In the 1960’s, his family still lived in Memphis when Dr. King was assassinated. My dad had 2 cousins on the Memphis police force and both were actively involved in the intimate details of the death of Martin Luther King. My dad’s cousins helped investigate Dr. King’s assassination, kept peace on the streets of Memphis, and maintained the Marshall Law established in Memphis. The days following the assassination, I vividly remember my mom and dad waiting every night for calls from our Memphis family reporting about the chaos in Memphis. My grandfather, Dr. Ira Cole and my uncle, Dr. Howard Kolb, were both Baptist pastors in Memphis and had their own peace to keep in their congregations Memphis. I felt as if these events were unfolding in my own living room. It felt personal, close, and life changing for me at 13 years old.

     My dad, Dr. Jim Cole, a Baptist minister, was Editor of the Baptist state paper in Louisiana, The Baptist Message. Years before the Dr. Martin Luther King assassination, my dad was already an outspoken advocate for racial equality, much to the displeasure of many Baptists in Louisiana. My family received threatening phone calls and hate mail. I could not have been prouder of my dad for standing firm in his non-violent, peaceful, brave response. His courage instilled in me a value for humanity no matter race or culture. It was not what he said; it was what he did and how he stood firm in the face of a firestorm.

     Integration came to my junior high the same 7th grade year Dr. King was assassinated. My father explained to me what this odd word meant for us as a family and for the many families “on the other side “ of town. It affected everyone, not just us. He further explained to me how difficult it was going to be for our black brothers and sisters to be bussed across town to new schools . He painted me a word picture of students leaving behind life long friends and teachers to come to “our ” schools. This picture seemed unfair to me. Per my dad’s instructions, I was to be welcoming, accepting, and above all else kind, no matter what my other classmates said or did.

     Just as progress was being made in this strange new land of jerking kids up and out of neighborhood schools then driving them across town, a brave, wise man of peace was murdered. It made no sense to me. I remember weeping as I left school that day. I was not alone in my weeping.

     That was 1968. All these years later I remember exactly where I was standing in my integrated school and how my heart dropped to my knees when I heard the news. My first thought was how my black friends, who were being bussed to this ALL white school, were feeling. We all needed comfort. We all needed peace. We all needed equality. We all longed for faith and practice to be in harmony.    

     This past January 20, 2014, many Americans remember and celebrate the life of a man who demonstrated to us a non-violent resistance to social injustice. I had no idea then as a 13 year old girl what a social worker was. I just knew I would spend the rest of my life trying to live out what Dr. Martin Luther King and others began in this country. It became a mission in my life. My dad simply instructed me all those years ago, be kind, peaceful, and accepting with all God’s people. I hope I am holding true to those core values that both my dad and Dr. King taught me, “be kind, peaceful and accepting with all God’s people."

“No We Won’t Stand Still” (Matthew West)

At first I thought that it was fluffy to blog about a Vanity Fair article.  Then I read the article. Fluffy morphed into a fire burning in my belly.  Maureen Orth wrote, The 10 Undeniable Facts About the Woody Allen Sexual-Abuse Allegation, in Vanity Fair, February 2014.

After reading the article the nagging question in me became; how many times and how many years do we have to read about high profile cases like Woody Allen and Jerry Sandusky's child sexual abuse cases before it sparks a raging inferno in us? These are high profile cases! What about all the unreported child sexual abuse perpetrators who are never reported? Who will be the voice of their victims? 

 I wonder, what are the statistics about child sexual abuse? (According to Parents from Megan’s Law, The Crime Victim Center)

•    Like rape, child molestation is one of the most underreported crimes: only 1-10% are ever   disclosed. Source: FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin.

•    Fabricated sexual abuse reports constitute only 1% to 4% of all reported cases. Of these reports adults report 75%. Children fabricate sexual abuse less than 1% of the time. 

•    Abuse typically occurs within a long-term, on-going relationship between the offender and victim, escalates over time and lasts an average of four years.

Many child sexual abuse victims never disclose their abuse to anyone. Less than 10% of child sexual abuse is reported to the police.

IT IS ESTIMATED THAT THERE ARE 60 MILLION SURVIVORS OF CHILDHOOD SEXUAL ABUSE IN AMERICA TODAY.

The Vanity Fair author was the first to break the Woody Allen story in 1992. The tenor of her article is one of rage against the misinformation broadcasted as the truth in recent news media.

These 10 undeniable facts listed in the article have been left on the table for the past 22 years and apparently no one has done anything for the allegedly sexually abused child or her family.

It took Woody Allen’s recent accolades and awards for his alleged victim to break her silence.

As a social worker, it is significant to me that the two social workers mentioned in the article were on a hospital panel reviewing the case. According to the Vanity Fair article, “The panel consisted of two social workers and a pediatrician, Dr. John Leventhal, who signed off on the report but who never saw Dylan or Mia Farrow. No psychologists or psychiatrists were on the panel. The social workers never testified; the hospital team only presented a sworn deposition by Dr. Leventhal, who did not examine Dylan.”

Dylan’s voice was not heard until now. The article mentions the numerous times Woody Allen has slipped through the legal cracks for twenty two years. Am I a co-conspirator in aiding Woody Allen’s perceived innocence when I pay money to go see his movies? What about you?

How many nameless children are sexually abused whose names we never know? One such victim is my own mother. Her father sexually molested her for years. She was in her fifties before she found her voice.

My MSW internship is at a family abuse shelter. I regularly witness the continued cycle of violence and abuse that runs through generations of families. My question is, what are each one of us willing to do to protect the children of this world?

Matthew West’s current release, “Do Something,” helps answer this question for me. I think this is my new social worker anthem!

"Do Something"

I woke up this morning

Saw a world full of trouble now

Thought, how’d we ever get so far down

How’s it ever gonna turn around

So I turned my eyes to Heaven

I thought, “God, why don’t You do something?”

Well, I just couldn’t bear the thought of

People living in poverty

Children sold into slavery

The thought disgusted me

So, I shook my fist at Heaven

Said, “God, why don’t You do something?”

He said, “I did, I created you”

If not us, then who

If not me and you

Right now, it’s time for us to do something

If not now, then when

Will we see an end

To all this pain

It’s not enough to do nothing

It’s time for us to do something

I’m so tired of talking

About how we are God’s hands and feet

But it’s easier to say than to be

Live like angels of apathy who tell ourselves

It’s alright, “somebody else will do something”

Well, I don’t know about you

But I’m sick and tired of life with no desire

I don’t want a flame, I want a fire

I wanna be the one who stands up and says,

“I’m gonna do something”

If not us, then who

If not me and you

Right now, it’s time for us to do something

If not now, then when

Will we see an end

To all this pain

It’s not enough to do nothing

It’s time for us to do something

We are the salt of the earth

We are a city on a hill (shine shine, shine shine)

But we’re never gonna change the world

By standing still

No we won’t stand still

No we won’t stand still

No we won’t stand still

If not us, then who

If not me and you

Right now, it’s time for us to do something

If not now, then when

Will we see an end

To all this pain

It’s not enough to do nothing

It’s time for us to do something 

  

Click here to view the You Tube of Matthew West's song and lyrics

Click here to view article mentioned above