How do you want your (public) life to be?

Dear Friends,

My daughter has this way of dancing through life. Especially when we travel, she shines this innocent joy on every place we go, and everyone we meet. Ever since she was tiny, it has been this way with her. Before her many trips to Africa with the Savory Institute, she traveled with me for work to Colorado, and New York City. She makes people smile and they welcome her—opening doors, offering help, striking up friendly conversation. 

It wasn’t until we moved into Fort Bidwell and became close friends with a Native American family that I realized what a privilege we have to raise her with the freedom to go through life being expressive, and joyously careless, and willing to take up a lot of space in public life. My Native American friends raise their children to be more careful—to know the rules and follow them, because if they mess up, the consequences are greater. Being invisible is safer.

It is incredible to me that two families can live in the same town, literally next door to each other, and have completely different experiences of public life. 

Coming back to American public life after spending time in Denmark was a shock. No society is perfect, but what I appreciated about Danish culture in particular was the intentional design of cities, road ways, public transport, parks, to consider quality of life. My experiences of other countries are always enhanced by the fact that I am traveling for work with the Savory Global Network, meaning I am going to places that are holistically managed and beautifully alive, the people are deep and kind, and the food is delicious. 

So after this soul-filling time in a well designed country, I was welcomed home by being herded like cattle through hot and crowded customs at O'Hare International in Chicago, and then experienced my first direct encounter with racial profiling upon landing in Reno, Nevada.

The contrast, the painful sequence of events, led me to reflect on what I can do to make our public life better—safer, more inclusive, more joyful. My wish is that all people could feel like my daughter in public: curious, happy, expressive, and willing to take up space with her creativity. 

My Native American neighbor and his son came to Reno to pick me up from my trip to Denmark. I was so grateful for their help, and imagined that the trip would be a fun getaway for them. They could swim in the pool at the hotel, visit the arcade, and enjoy time together playing between long trips through the empty desert that connects Reno and Fort Bidwell. It never crossed my mind that they would be unwelcome, and potentially in danger.

When my neighbor was in the parking lot of the Grand Sierra Resort in Reno, opening the trunk of the car, he was accosted by a security guard and kicked off the property. When I received his phone call explaining what happened, I couldn’t comprehend it. It was the Friday night of the 4th of July holiday weekend, and security was on high alert. The resort was packed with partying people who grew more careless as the evening progressed. And yet, in a quiet parking lot, as my neighbor opened the car door, a security guard sped over to the car, flashed his bright lights on him and asked to see his identification. He refused because he had done nothing wrong, and then was asked to leave the property. His young son, who held their small dog in his arms, watched the whole thing.

I went to the security department in the resort to ask what had happened, and the manager said that he was approached because he had a dog with him (even though his son and the dog were on the lawn, and not near him). The manager said the casino was not pet friendly. That didn’t make sense to me because they were in the parking lot far away from the casino, and as I walked outside to help them safely enter the building, I followed a (white) woman with a small dog on a leash. I asked her how she was able to get her dog into the casino because we were having trouble being allowed in with a dog, and she said, “Oh no, they are pet friendly! I always stay here because they allow dogs.” I filed a racial profiling report with security. Then, I got the head of security’s permission for them to enter the building. I set their dog in a backpack with her little fluffy head poking out, put it on my chest like a baby carrier, and walked right past the security desk. No one said anything to me.

I was outraged and shocked. My neighbor was calm. “This is just a regular Tuesday for me,” he said. He explained that racial profiling has happened to him his whole life. I recalled an incident last year when he was pushed off the road in his truck by two police officers in their cars for no apparent reason, after coming home from grocery shopping with his son (luckily his son was asleep, and slept through the whole incident). He even laughed about it, recognizing that it seems to happen when he shaves his head in the hot summer months. Something about that short hair cut must make him look like an outlaw. 

His mother was equally nonchalant about the event when I later told her what happened. “Oh yes,” she said, “I always worry about my darker skinned children. You must be careful, and teach him to be so careful”, she said, tipping her head toward my son. My heart sank and broke at the same time thinking about anything like that night with the security guard happening to my innocent four-year-old son. 

In the LifeEnergy.Guide program for measuring individual well being that we use at UVE for our team and professional guild, one of the questions is: If needed, do you feel you would have access to justice?

How could my neighbor answer yes to this question? I wondered how much his quality of life and personal well being would improve if he felt he had access to justice. 

The next day, I stood in Natural Grocers in Reno with my neighbor’s son in front of rows and rows of refrigerated kombucha. We were picking out a drink for the drive home. A tall black man with a Southern accent came up and stood beside us, gazing in wonder, and indecision, at all that kombucha. We struck up a conversation about the fermented drink, sharing tips, favorite flavors, brands—laughing and talking for a few minutes. When we walked away, my neighbor’s son said, “see, that is how the world should be.” I hugged him and told him that I agreed.  

Our children are watching. They are taking this all in. Are we being the role models we need to be for them in order to create the public life we want?

I don’t want to live in a society where my daughter can be free and joyous in public life, and my son must be careful. I want to create a family, a community, a society where all people can feel free to be themselves, and safe in public. Imagine the creativity that could emerge from this type of culture to address the complex problems we all face.

In Fort Bidwell, we are having this conversation. As a community, we are talking about our past, about racial tension in our community, and most importantly about the future we want to create together. I am grateful. 

Even though it is at times uncomfortable, I hope we, as responsible adults, can have this conversation too.  I wonder what they would say if we asked our children how they wanted public life to be? I think we would learn a lot if we asked them. 

With love,
Abbey