When "Them" Become "Us" - Page 7


A few months later, I was sitting in on another therapist's workshop, devoted to "Effective Therapy with African American Families." Watching from the audience, out of the spotlight, I could see shades of myself in the presenter, both in her obvious commitment and in her blind spots. The information she imparted to the predominantly white audience was cogent and precise, but provocative, and I could see how difficult it was for many in the audience to digest the information. It was clear that they felt they were being personally attacked—and the more attacked they felt, the more defensive and hostile they became. I could feel from their perspective what she was doing wrong and why it wasn't working: she was self-righteous when she should have been curious, hectoring when she should have been receptive, counterattacking when she should have been empathizing with her attacker's confusion and anger. "Damn," I thought. "That's just what I was doing in South Carolina."

During several ensuing trainings, I made a concerted effort to avoid getting seduced into "chasing ambulances," as I began to refer to the process of being mesmerized into going after participants' provocative, highly charged comments. While that worked as long as the exchanges occurred among the participants, I wasn't so great when comments were directed at me. With flashbacks of South Carolina, I often clammed up, my head nearly bursting with pent-up feelings, or I jumped too quickly into the fray, getting involved in nonproductive, one-on-one sparring matches. In either case, my inability to manage this recurring dynamic was stifling my effectiveness. I recognized that whatever strides I'd made since the South Carolina nadir, I definitely had room to improve.

One cold wintry Sunday afternoon after a long, intense workweek, I was sitting in my living room watching a tight NBA basketball game between my beloved Lakers and their archrivals, the Sacramento Kings. During the last, breathless seconds of the game, the Laker star player was about to score a basket for a sure win. But instead of just keeping it simple, he elected to do a flashy 360-degree slam-dunk, missed the shot, and lost the game. The Laker arena fell silent. The television commentator's remarks were merciless: "This is what happens when you allow the show to get in the way of the game."

His words struck me like a gong. It was as if he were talking to me, not as a basketball fan, but as a trainer/consultant. That's what I'd done—let the show get in the way of the game, letting my desire to be a heroic warrior for social justice get in the way of the slower process of working with people where they were to build relationships and expand awareness.

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