The Durango Herald published an article (Herald, Oct. 30) about a local county commissioner candidate’s wife, who is white, posting a photo of herself on Instagram dressed as Pocahontas for a Halloween event. This photo resulted in layers of impact for many, and a cascade of responses followed.
There were accusations of racism and demands for apology. There were call-outs pointing to overly sensitive “snowflakes.” Neighbors, at least in ZIP code, battled behind electronic shields. Others cheered and booed via emojis.
And, as has become common in these times of public call-outs, a statement was issued by the candidate asserting no ill intent, though lacking in self-reflection or remorse.
No surprise here. Our American culture is built on punitive justice, which asks: What did someone do wrong and how should they be punished? Add in American hyper-individualism, memorialized on Durango-area T-shirts and attributed to John Wayne, “Never apologize, it’s a sign of weakness.” All of which makes taking responsibility a lonely and risky endeavor.
And yet, I believe most of us long to belong to communities that acknowledge we are all works in progress, that we inadvertently take actions that result in harm, that we want to learn and grow, and that there are paths to reconciliation and repair.
In my work as a mediator, I find that when people have experienced harm they primarily want two things: First, an expression of acknowledgment of the impact on them. And, second, to know that their pain matters and care is available.
And yet, our apologies tend to focus, ineffectively, on our intentions. An illustration: A mother is chopping melon for her child. The child reaches for a piece. The mother inadvertently nicks her with the knife. Explaining her innocent intentions does not attend to the child’s real and present pain. And yet, this is our typical response to hearing our actions wrought hurt, “I didn’t mean to ... I was only trying to ... I didn’t know ...”
When the candidate said, “We understand that the recent Pocahontas costume has been misinterpreted in ways my wife did not intend,” this prioritizes intentions rather than stretching toward understanding, acknowledging and caring for the impacts. The sting remains.
Because this first step – attending to impact before intention – is a tall order, especially within our current cancel culture, it’s crucial to hold ourselves with compassion as we explore our mistakes. We do not learn well when flooded with shame.
The second step, expressing care, invites us to allow ourselves to feel sadness and remorse that our actions impacted others. In this case, we recognize that within our intentions to perhaps have some playful fun, we neglected to also exude care and consideration for our greater community. It can be a relief to embrace the reality that we are imperfect and can’t always anticipate impacts; and we can even be grateful for the bittersweet opportunity to learn and grow.
Based on the clear, and non-blaming statement issued by the Southern Ute Indian Tribe, I can imagine a response sounding like this: “Thank you for helping me understand that when a white person dons Native dress as costume, it fails to acknowledge the following: the trauma and grief associated with the colonization of Native peoples, including Pocahontas herself; the privilege to step in and out of an identity that poses life-threatening danger for Indigenous women; and the punishment that Native people have historically and currently endured for wearing traditional regalia in public spaces. I feel sadness recognizing that I contributed to more pain for my neighbors who I respect and admire.”
Studies show that relationships that endure rupture and true repair are stronger than relationships that float on an unbroken surface. This is vital information in these challenging times.
Rachel Turiel is a Durango writer, facilitator, mediator and nonviolent communication coach.
