If you want Peace, work for Justice

In two days, I will blog4peace.  I am looking for my old blog4peace posts, and I can't find the first one I did.  I remember I was blogging a good bit, and reading other people's blogs.  I didn't know what to say about Peace.  I guess I had a globe.  And I wrote: "IF you want peace, work for JUSTICE."

This was a poster I had on my wall when I was about 12 or 13.  Justice.

Justice is a big word now.  Sort of like the year the media discovered Africa and found out about famine and civil war and slavery in the 20th century.  JUSTICE.

I am confused about why anyone would fear the word justice: no I'm not.

I fear Justice when I know I'm wrong.  When I know that my world is based on inJustice.  When I know my world only works because other people are working harder, eating less, living less than I am, so that I can have My Life.  It's the discomfort I felt when I went on a tour of a lovely plantation house and tried to imagine the gentile ladies and gentlemen and the fine food and the fine clothes and the dancing... and I couldn't see anything but the enslaved people carrying the food and making the dresses and working in the field.  I know, I'm a spoil sport.  Sorry.

I once told my aunt Ellie, whom I loved and admired, that I loved nice things but couldn't really enjoy them when I thought of the injustice and poverty in the world.  How do you deal with it? I asked.  "I don't think about it," she said.

I tried not to think about it.  It would have been so much easier.  And sometimes, even now, I try not to think about it.  I can do that.  I'm an old white lady with a house, a husband, and three children who help me more often than not.  I can forget about it.

I feel frustrated at the line of thought that goes: "Identity Politics" is the cause of stress and conflict in America (and other places, I guess.)  If you wouldn't identify yourself as black or Mexican or Muslim or Catholic or a woman or a homosexual, you wouldn't have a problem.  Because we are in a post-racial America.  And it's white.  Oh, wait, they don't say that.

I feel frustrated because I can't understand how anyone can actually believe that, and I know that they do.  I feel frustrated because I don't love these people as much as I loved my aunt, and I can't forgive them as easily.

Let's say it: I am an old white lady.  I am comfortable where ever I go.  If I am the only white lady in a restaurant, I STILL feel like I own the place.  I can ignore color or sex or sexual preference or ethnicity.  I can kiss my husband in church.  I can speak to police officers about my rights and their responsibilities.  I can walk down the street looking at houses in fancy neighborhoods.

Not everyone can.

Someone who says "Identity Politics" tells me something about themselves.  They are short sighted, at best.  They may see more clearly if they listen to their friends with different "identities," and maybe their world will change.  I'm sorry.  It sucks, not being able to forget about it.  But it sucks more if you live it.  Have a cookie.