Other People Are Not You

Other people are not you.

Well, duh, right? Seems pretty obvious.

Except, so often, we don't act like it is. Our actions regularly communicate that we assume exactly the opposite. We expect others to have the same values, beliefs, morals, and opinions as we do, and treat them as though they do. When someone says "it's just common sense," they're indicating a belief that everyone else will think just like they do. When, politically, someone refers to what "the American people want" or think or feel or believe, they're imposing their conclusions on everyone else, conveying a belief that everyone else is, in fact, just like them.

Other people are not you.

It's what I want to tell every person who argues for removing books from libraries and classrooms, a core tenet of the Intellectual Freedom at the heart of the library profession. They have found, from their particular perspective, a book offensive or bothersome or inappropriate, so they feel justified in demanding it be taken off the shelves, made inaccessible. Reading that book is damaging. For everyone. If everyone knew about it, they would agree. It's obvious, just common sense.

But, I want to say, not everyone is you. They have different dispositions, backgrounds, experiences, beliefs, values, morals, and opinions. You find the book problematic. But other people are not you. As your community library, it is our mission to have books that represent you, your values and experiences. We strive to do so. It is our mission to do that for every member of our community. Which means we will also have books that represent different values and experiences. Some that you might find dangerous even as others find them necessary and valuable. I'm sure there are those in our community who find your favorite books offensive. We're not going to get rid of those books, because they are important for you. And we're not going to get rid of the books that others want for the same reason, even if you want us to. Because other people are not you. We are here for everyone.

Today is election day, mostly local elections. I was struck recently by the divergent responses by some of the School Board candidates in my local district to a newspaper's question: As a board member, what principles and standards will you use to determine whether a book or other material should be removed from a school library or classroom? Here are some selections from four different candidates, with my emphasis added a couple of places:

If a book contains pornographic text or pornographic images it has no place in a school library. While some of these books have LGBTQ themes or authors, what ALL of these books have in common is OBSCENITY and that is the ONLY issue of concern.

The books at issue (in these examples and regarding this book challenge topic, in general) contain obscene sexual illustrations, graphic nudity and sexual activities, violence including sexual abuse of minors, pedophilia, incest, suicidal ideation, self-harm, trafficking, prostitution, detailed directions on how to use sex meet-up apps, vulgar language and profanity as well as alcohol and drug abuse.

I encourage parents, grandparents and other concerned individuals to review these books on their own and judge for themselves whether they believe the content is acceptable for our students. I am convinced that most will come to the same conclusion that I have reached: the material is highly and obviously inappropriate.

-----

We need more books on library shelves, not less. I understand the curriculum development process in [our district] empowers parent participation. I favor such participation. There is a subtle but altogether powerful difference between the exercise of good judgment in the selection of appropriate school books and the imposition of censorship. I would not want a parent who removes a book from his or her own child’s education experience to censor that book from my child’s experience, particularly if respected educators have designated that book as appropriate reading in a broad school curriculum.

Some books and some stories in those books will expose our students to a variety of lived experiences. [Our district] employs good teachers. Good teachers do not proselytize. Good teachers teach their students to be curious, to exercise reasoned judgment in making rational choices, to learn more and more about the world, not less. These qualities make for a well-rounded young person and heighten the potential for a well accomplished adult citizen.

-----

As I made emphatically clear during the recent SM Post live forum, I firmly believe that school libraries SHOULD NOT, IN ANY WAY be a safe haven for sexually explicit materials. I have a copy of excerpts of books such as “Gender Queer” and “Let’s Talk About It” that, as I write this response, are found in high school libraries in the [local districts]. The content is unbelievably scandalous. How on God’s green earth can anyone think that these books should be acceptable for underage, dependent children to view?

As a board member, the standards I WILL ALWAYS follow are those that have been taught to me — and countless millions of others — as the foundational Judeo-Christian heritage these United States of America were founded upon. Allowing students easy access to these sexually pornographic books is against the law. A cursory review of the site Comprehensive Sexuality Education clearly states that these materials are not legal. Why are they in many of our [area] high schools? And some other books are even found in middle schools.

And regarding books that contain LGTBQ themes or authors, while I think that none should be found on any public schools’ shelves, I would have to allow whatever is legally permissible under the law. And just because books of this nature are on the shelves of our local public libraries, well that does not mean they should be allowed in schools’ libraries.

-----

Our school libraries should provide diverse perspectives and experiences that reflect and expand students’ worldviews. With caring teacher guidance, students can thoughtfully engage with varied, age-appropriate materials to broaden understanding and develop empathy. Attempts to limit access often reflect adult discomfort, not actual harm. No individual’s views should dictate what every student can read. Our libraries should represent the full range of students’ identities, cultures and experiences.

Removing curated materials should only happen in rare circumstances after thorough review of educational purpose, not based on objections from a vocal few. As a board member, I will uphold librarians’ expertise in providing “mirror and window” books that open minds. Literature exposes students to realities beyond their own in a supportive context.

Age-appropriate books with LGBTQ themes or complex histories let students gain insight into others’ struggles and humanity. Avoiding “difficult” topics restricts learning, whereas inclusive libraries prepare students to navigate diversity in their community and world. With community partnership, I envision schools where caring teacher-librarians nurture a passion for reading across genres and experiences. Our libraries should spark curiosity, expand worldviews and foster engaged citizenship.

I am convinced that most will come to the same conclusion that I have reached. How on God’s green earth can anyone think that these books should be acceptable?

Well . . . because other people are not you.

Other people are not you. And because they aren't you, they are different than you. They see things differently. They have different expectations. They won't all reach the same conclusion that you have reached. They have good reasons for thinking the books are acceptable--or the library wouldn't have bought them in the first place. The books have value to someone, represent someone, are meaningful and important to someone, whether you agree or not. Because other people are not you.

LGBTQ stories--and rights and lives--are a hot issue at the moment, and I find this reminder important and relevant there as well.

Personally, I don't understand why someone would want to gender transition. I've always been mostly comfortable in my skin. The feelings that trans people describe, the desire to change, seems foreign to me. I don't understand them. But that doesn't really matter, because they are not me. They get to be their own people, and it doesn't matter whether I understand or not. And if I can fully accept that they are not me, I can fully accept them and their differences from me. They get to feel what they feel, change if they want to, be who they want to be, because that's their business not mine. If they are happier and healthier for it, they'll be more able to contribute to making our community happier and healthier, and I'll benefit from it. It's good for me to support them in not being me.

I'm a cisgender, heterosexual, tall, white, Christian male. Educated. Athletic, if I want to be. Basically, if there is a category where one designation has historically been considered more normal and acceptable and privileged in comparison to others that are seen as different, lesser, or deviant, I am on the privileged side. I have privilege in all the categories.

So I've never had to directly experience sexism in a patriarchal world. I don't feel assumptions and judgments are constantly made about me because of my skin in a racist society. Since I don't know those experiences, I could choose to dismiss them. I could say others are being too sensitive, seeing things that aren't there. Or. Or I could realize that other people are not me, so they get to have their own experiences that I need to learn to accept and honor. Listen to, believe, and try to understand. Support.

Disability. Chronic, invisible pain. Illness. Neurodivergence. Immigration, with culture and language differences. The list goes on. When I accept that other people are not me, I don't try to make them be like me, think like me. Accept my solutions to their problems. Impose my worldview, beliefs, and values upon them. I instead start with listening and curiosity, let them define themselves to me, and work to help them be who they want to be.

Respect the full, unique humanity of each individual.

It seems such a simple concept, just like "other people are not you." Except we fail to fully enact it every day in some way or another. We jump to conclusions, assume, act on automatic instincts that say here is what I would do and this is what I think is best for you. It takes work, a conscious, continuous effort to always remember that other people get to be who they want to be.

Stories are important. Our brains think in stories. We turn our lives into narratives, understand our identities through stories we tell about ourselves. So I'm always looking for simple, compelling, easy-to-convey stories to help us shape the way we think.

This is an important story to constantly tell: Other People Are Not You.

I'm not going to go on in this post with lots of other content, like I often do, and instead stay more concise. (Although another post is already in the works, to debut soon.) I do want to share a few words about and from a couple of the books I've read recently.

First, The Talk by Darrin Bell.

Intimate and powerful.

Bell charts the course of his life from his dad's failure to provide "the talk" to him when he was young--though his mom did so--to the talk he had with his own son when it became time. How an encounter with intimidating dogs when he was young, that feeling of fear, haunted him for years during interactions with police and authorities. He includes important relationships, details from his school, academic, and career life, and, most of all, moments where race and racism played a particularly prominent role in shaping him.

The stories layer, accumulate, and intertwine. At one point Bell recounts the time, weeks before college graduation, when a professor accused him of plagiarism simply because she thought his paper was too good to be believed. He mentally flashes back to moments previously described, being told by elders to swallow his thoughts and accept bad treatment from police, acting on that advise himself and defending it to others. Then the story shifts back to "the present," when he stands up to the professor. The heart of the anecdote is the memory of his childhood bus driver telling him, when he worked as a dispatch at the LAPD,

"They had a code they used any time a call involved hookers, junkies, and black folk. Tried to make me use it. Know why? 'Cause they could. Simple as that. 'NHI: No Humans Involved.'"

He recognizes that in his professor's eyes. "When she looks at me, on some level, she sees 'No Human Involved.'"

That's one small part of the story Bell tells. It's a moving and effective story, personal and political at the same time, one that evokes empathy. Intimate and powerful.

Here's "the talk" Bell had with his six-year-old son in response to the question "Who's George Floyd?"

"George Floyd was a human being. But the police didn't see him as one. So they murdered him.

"The world is different for George Floyd, for your mama and papa, for you, and for everyone who's Black because of something called 'racism.' White people won't see you or treat you the way they do little white boys."

I tell him the reason we've never let him play with toy guns. When police see little white boys with toy guns, they see innocence. But they would look upon Zazu as a menace. As a thug. As a threat to be dealt with. They may even shoot him.

I know this makes no sense to him. Because it shouldn't.

"Are white people better than black people?"

"No, son, they're not better. And they're not worse. A lot of them are our friends. But some of them are very mean, and they lack something called 'empathy.'" I explain to him what that is, and he digests it. "Do you understand?"

"Uh-uh. Why do they lack empathy?"

"Do you remember the broken watch I found in your closet? It was my great-grandpa's pocket watch. You'd broken it and hid it. You'd lied when I first asked you if you'd seen it. Then you lied and told me it wasn't broken at all. You lied to protect yourself. Then you had to tell more lies to protect your lies."

I remind him that before long, he'd actually come to believe that he hadn't taken or broken the watch. And when his sister finally told us she'd seen him with it, he lashed out at her and accused her of being the liar. "Do you remember that, son?

"Well, that's what happened to white people. They told a lie a long time ago to rationalize forcing black human beings into slavery. And they told lie after lie about how black people were dumb, dangerous, inferior savages, and that it was their duty to control us, and our duty to submit. They said we deserved that. They've lied to everyone, including themselves, for hundreds of years.

"Do you remember, son," I ask, "how awful it felt when I found the watch and all of those lies you'd been telling came crumbling down?" Zazu nods. "And do you remember how Papa yelled at you for a little while, and told you how much your lies had hurt?" Zazu nods.

"And do you remember how you felt when Papa picked you up and held you, and gave you a kiss, and said he loves you anyway?" Zazu says, "Surprised." "And how did you feel when we came up with a plan for fixing the watch together?" My son says, "Happy."

"Well, son, white people could have that feeling too. How could they have that feeling?"

"By not lying anymore."

That's at the end of the book. It took everything that came before for Bell to be able to articulate it. The weight of those stories informs readers' understanding of what he is saying, making it all the more powerful and personal. It's highly effective storytelling.

And, Treaty Words: For As Long As the Rivers Flow by Aimée Craft.

"Since I was a young girl, I have been taught to listen and observe," begins the short Author's Note at the end of the book. That's what the book demonstrates. It tells a short, slow, simple story. A girl spends a day with her grandfather. For most of that day, they sit, listen, and observe nature. Near the end, the elder shares some wisdom and the girl lovingly listens and absorbs without interruption. The story practices what it preaches.

A bit of the lesson shared:

"When the earth was created, it was a partnership between the earth realm and the sky realm. With the help of Creator, our grandfather sun and grandmother moon agreed to work together with our mother, the earth, to create life. Then other beings of Creation were place on the earth and in the sky. We, humans, Anishinaabe, were the last to be placed here. This is why we refer to ourselves as younger brothers and sisters to the rest of the beings in Creation. . . .

"Treaties are the basis of all relationships. We learned them from everything around us. That was the gift the Creator gave us. We spent many years listening and observing--to see how good treaty relationships were made. We use the word aagooiidiwin to explain the Treaty: it means that we agree to work together. . . .

"Long ago, we made treaties with our brothers and sisters, the animal nations . . . You remember those stories don't you? We made those treaties to live well together. With the deer nation, for example, we agreed not to take too many of them. In turn they would provide us with food and sustenance. We agreed to work together. To collaborate and respect each other. We agreed that we would discuss when we did not agree and find solutions together. That treaty built upon all the other treaties that came before. We promised that we would always do our best to honor the treaty. To do that, we would meet regularly to confirm our agreement to continue to act in relationship, and toward mino-biimaadiiziwin, that collective and reciprocal sense of well-being. We would all benefit from the relationship, as equals. And most of all, we would respect each other, always. Without the respect, there could be no treaty."

That is what the grandfather wants to pass on at the end of his life: an attitude of listening, cooperation, respect, collaboration, and reciprocity toward all things. That is the Treaty.