The wonderful post by Cami Kaos on communication has had me thinking over the past day, and I’ve come to some realizations.
This is a post about communication. It’s about the greatness and the biggest failure of social media. It’s about the love of two people, and the silence that grows between them.
The Issue
I’m a quiet person.
In many cultures, silence is important. In some, silence is just a bad thing.
I’ve always known that I’m a fairly quiet person. This is not new to me. Yet I’m somehow realizing the outcomes of this fact more and more as I advance inexorably toward 40.
I don’t mind being a quiet person- in fact, it’s what I strive for most of the time- but I realize more and more now that it does come with some very serious downsides. In many cultures, silence is important. In some, silence is just a bad thing.
The Background
First, I should explain what I mean by “quiet,” because the meaning is jumbled by the mixed-race heritage it stems from. This means that in order to explain what I mean by “quiet,” I have to explain this heritage. I’m a Black Indian. My family history consists of escaped slaves who moved north (my “maiden” name was Pennington, as in James W.C. Pennington), and of Lenape who refused to move west. It’s the hidden story of much of the eastern seaboard, either group of Dark people seeking coverage by intermarrying with the other.
My family history consists of escaped slaves who moved north, and of Lenape who refused to move west.Like all families anywhere, there are subtleties that are inherent and often unexplored, many having to do with communication. A family’s entire communication strategy may have been developed because of historical and cultural context that was forgotten centuries ago. A family of Scottish descent may interact with each other, and with the world, based on a multigenerational event that ended with them crossing the ocean 200 years before.
Thus, it seems, is the case with me. Yet mixed-race families are often even more strange. I have a German mother, and a Black Indian father. Consequently, I have four Black sisters, one white sister, and I- the only boy and the only one with whom my father took the time to impart upon his subtle, quiet, troubled thoughts. As my aunt, his sister, says: I’m the only Indian left.
Now, there are family issues with that statement which I’ll avoid in order to get to the point, that being that Native Communication is very different that European Communication. Although it’s hard and confusing at times, for the most part, I do just fine wearing two hats.
When talking to Native peoples, I speak native, often not speaking at all. I can sit and listen to someone else, or to a shared silence, for weeks at a time. I take a long time to build a relationship with people- sometimes spending the better part of a year to think before mentioning some small interaction that the other person may have all but forgotten. I’m not burying it- because it may be good, bad or ambiguous- I’m considering it. In the words of my Grandfather, I’m letting the seasons tell me what to say- or whether there is anything to say at all.
I grew up mostly with, and truly loving, my mother’s family; but I also grew up with an almost comical inability to communicate with them.
Then there is the White side of me- which is not necessarily “White” so much as “Depression German from Western New York.” They are forceful, they are loud, they are direct and often angry while not actually talking directly about any issues. I grew up mostly with, and truly loving, my mother’s family; but I also grew up with an almost comical inability to communicate with them. In my mixed-race, child mind, I thought that “this is how white people communicate.” It was often painful and hurtful, it was loud. But it was also incredibly loving. To put it bluntly, my Mother’s family will do absolutely anything for you- they’d swim through broken glass if you needed them to. They’d just complain about it the whole time and never let you hear the end of it.
Thus, my childhood: Confusion.
Now, this story is probably something anyone can relate- two separate families and two separate communication styles. I realize that I’m not anything special or significantly different. It took me a long time to realize that this was not “the way White people communicate,” mostly because I never took the time to try to understand. If I was on a reservation- I spoke Native. If I was with white people, I spoke like my mother’s family (I’ll save the issue of Black communication for another day). It’s a technique the linguists call “Code Switching,” and something that bi-lingual and bi-racial people learn from day 2. For me, they were the only two languages I ever knew.
The Consequences
So we arrive out of history to the present day. A man, approaching his forties, having studied Anthropology and Linguistics mainly out of a need to understand his European side, still learning about how he communicates- and about how confused he is about communication in general. So I read a post by Cami Kaos- a delicate, thoughtful post about love and communication, and I’m suddenly confused again.
If I really like a person, I’m quieter. The more I like them, the quieter I get.You see, I still have strange issues from childhood, the result of which is that the more I learn and respect a person, the less I want to say. When I meet people, I’m fairly reserved, but talkative and generally gregarious. Direct and vocal. If I really like a person, I’m quieter. The more I like them, the quieter I get. Why? Because I automatically switch from my “confusing” Mother’s family’s communication to my “comfortable” Father’s family’s. I stop wanting to speak every thought I have. I stop talking about anything that crosses my mind.
I want to give that person the space they need to speak. I want to allow that quiet that lets thoughts grow and develop. I want the subtly that only years of silence can bring to a relationship. In short, the more I like a person, them more I want to interact with them like a Native person.
Jessica is my second skin. If there is anyone who I want to communicate with in Native style, it is her.
Of course, this can come across negatively to people of European decent. It’s often hard on our relationship. Friends who I have such deep respect and love for end up thinking that I dislike them because I’m just silent and don’t say much around them. Can I say this to them? Can I tell them “I don’t speak because there’s a beauty in the silence surrounding you that I don’t want to disturb.”
And then, there’s Jessica. My love, my wife, my best friend. And sometimes my hardest communication companion. Jessica comes from a family who speaks everything- often, by their own admission, without ever thinking about it. We come together mostly directly because I speak “White.” But often, we glance by each other because she is my second skin. If there is anyone who I want to communicate with in Native style, it is her.
The (lack of) Finale
Where does all this go?
Nowhere, really. There’s no conclusion. There’s no resolve.
There’s an absolutely beautiful post by Cami that I don’t comment on because I’m confused. I unconsciously start thinking that she and others like Katherine McDade that I’ve met recently are people who are slipping into the “Native” side. But how does that work? It can’t.
In an online community- silence doesn’t have meaning. Silence just means that you are away from your computer. Silence means that you are upset at some little quip that someone made- something you might not have even read.
This isn’t something about the economy or politics that I can just throw out there- this is important. This is human relationships.So, in order to interact, I have to post a comment about Cami’s article- about the subtly of her love for her husband- before I even have time to truly consider it. I have to post it immediately. I can’t wait until the spring to tell her that it touched me. Yet that’s hard, because it’s just the type of thing that I want to let sit. This isn’t something about the economy or politics that I can just throw out there- this is important. This is human relationships.
All day I think about this and reach no conclusion. The more I respect someone, the less I say, the more silence I give them so that we together can hear the wind between our thoughts. It’s hard enough to make this work with most people in person. It seems impossible in an online community.
And then, after thinking about this all day, I get home and poor Jessica gets frustrated because I don’t immediately answer a question out loud. I thought I answered it- I honestly did. I always think I answer it. I don’t always use my voice to answer. I answer with actions and with time. Sometimes I even answer with silence. It makes no sense when I wear my White hat, but is the obvious answer in my Native mind.
It’s a small, everyday question- something about eggs. My reaction is to maintain silence and just begin to work together on the answer. The question itself doesn’t really matter. I go to the fridge and get out stuff, still thinking about the other question- the important conversation we were having while cooking- the one that mattered. Both of these questions I’m silent on. I try to give the space they need, and begin to move instead of to speak. I’m still listening.
I love her, she means everything to me, so the silence is not a bad thing. The timespan grows. Seven… eight seconds. I don’t answer her. I love her, she means everything to me, so the silence is not a bad thing. I’ll just start to prepare the ingredients while I’m thinking about all of this…
nine… I grab the cheese- the larger discussion still broiling in my head… ten seconds.
… Then it hits me. Her frustration. This silence is not a good thing. She’s waiting for an answer. What kind of eggs do I want, dammit? Why don’t I answer her? Why do I just ignore her when she asks me a question?
I’m sorry, Jessica. I thought I was answering. I really did.
I’m sorry to my friends, too. Jenny and Cody, Jon and Lori, Robin and Lynne. I love you. I sit silently around you because that’s a space I want to give you. I know that sometimes, you feel this silence differently than I do, and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry to my online friends too, because our communication will be exactly what the developers of online social media designed it to be. I’m sorry that we cannot hear the wind between our thoughts. I’m sorry that our silence has no meaning.
But mostly I’m sorry to Jessica, my love. Because silence for me is often a gesture of that love, yet it is easily- and understandably- mistaken as ignoring you. I’m not ignoring you, my love. I’m giving you everything I can. I’m giving you space.
I love you, Jessica.
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