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Surprising, but not surprising
"If you’re a Republican, this is over," his mentor of ten years told him. Just like that, a decade of work—conversations, memories, laughs—would be down the drain if he dared to be the dreaded "R" word.
“This is why I’m a moderate,” my friend, a lifelong Democrat, told me. “I can’t get down with that.”
If you’re like me, you’ve seen this before. You know this story. It’s a dynamic on the left that’s been around for a bit now. One that’s hurting people—especially from within—and driving them away.
It’s what I want to create space for here—the reality of political-relational wounds and what we can do to heal them.
In particular we’ll look at ones related to left-leaning politics, although the larger theme here is applicable across the board. We’ll look at:
What political-relational wounds are and how they live in social fields.
Why—of all things—I’m putting a sharp eye on parts of the left.
The opportunity we have in front of us.
Ways I’ve been experimenting with how to create spaces of cultural healing for them.
Let’s dive in.
Alotta political hurt out there
People are politically hurting these days.
I’m speaking from a U.S. perspective here—although it’s a phenomenon elsewhere too.
The social field we live in as a country is riddled with wounds—wounds that don’t just live in the abstract, but show up in our relationships—our conversations, the ways we perceive each other, unfair assumptions we project.
Talking about “wounds” and “social fields” like this can sound metaphorical, as if I’m being poetic. But what I’m speaking to here is very real.
To put it another way, a social field is where the social, relational, and political dynamics of a group live. It’s like an invisible container that these dynamics exist in, co-created by how the group behaves.
Wounds form when these dynamics are anti-social in some way. To put it less clinically, it’s when there’s a way of relating within the group (towards members or people outside of it) that causes harm, intentionally or unintentionally.
I was reminded of these wounds after putting out a recent piece on using my voice that used some stronger lefty politics language. A lovely friend reached out about his experience with it, confused and hurt by some of what was included, opening up a space between us to unpack what came through.
Specifically what we unpacked were political-relational wounds tied to the left, from spaces driven by progressive politics. There was language in my piece that brushed up against ones he carries.
You might already know what I’m talking about, but before we get there I want to set the stage by answering a question (for myself and possibly for you too:
Why critique the left?
You may be wondering, with all that's going on politically, with all that's taking place within the Republican Party and far right-leaning spaces—why focus on this? Why put a sharp eye on the left when parts of the right are up to so much ludicrousness and harm?
Great question.
I take inspiration from a piece by NY Times opinion columnist Ezra Klein on the abundance economy. In it he talks about how in the game of big-tent, party politics, it's not enough to bring people together around things or a person they don't like. A political movement can’t sustain itself on anti-Trump sentiment alone.
Instead movements need spaces, ideas, policies, and projects that people want to be part of. That people want to join and identify with. That people feel—dare I say—safe in.
That’s not the case with parts of the left these days.
Lefty wounds
What I've seen in my life—in others around me and in myself—is a growing lack of resonance with the Democratic Party and left-leaning spaces in recent years. A distancing, at the very least.
I’ve jokingly considered myself a ‘recovering progressive’—politically eclectic, nomadically roaming the wild political terrain we find ourselves in as things seem to unravel.
For some, the lack of resonance with the left comes from being disillusioned by the broken party system more generally—the tribalism, the lies, the money, the nonsense. The way party politics creates gridlock and isn’t of service to the American people. How both parties, in some ways, are ultimately the same.
For others, it comes from witnessing things within left-leaning cultural spaces that are out of alignment with their values. In particular I’m thinking about:
Judgment - moral and political purity tests
Dogma - shame and pressure to get people to conform
Divisiveness - black and white thinking, “you’re with us or against us”
Zero-sum worldviews - around privilege and identity, “for us to win they have to lose”
Domineering - overpowering others in the name of a goal
Inability or unwillingness to engage with difference - out of principle or passion
Willingness and impulse to exile - the solution to conflict being kicking someone out
Air of superiority - looking down on others as not having “done the work”
Violence - others need to feel pain in order to achieve goals
I’m wondering what you might add to this list?
Wounds beget wounds
As I look at that list and reflect on this article, I can’t help but feel a lot of compassion for the source of dynamics like these.
For when it comes to anti-social patterning, deeper wounds are always at play. They’re often at the heart of why those behaviors exist in the first place.
Whether we’re talking about patterning on the left or the right, dynamics between group X or group Y—extreme responses often come from extreme pain.
And the left is no different.
For instance, I saw a big surge in coercive and vindictive behavior around the 2020’s and 2021’s—after four years of Trump in office, in the midst of a global pandemic, at the height of the era of racial reckoning.
Political. Wounds. Galore.
Political-relational wounds like this can lead us to act in ways that aren’t in alignment with our values. In the heat of heightened events—ones that carry equally heightened emotions—it can be hard, and even seemingly impossible, to act from one’s highest integrity.
But just because it’s hard, doesn’t mean it’s impossible (note the word ‘seemingly’ above). Properly caring for the wounds we feel helps us do so. This way they no longer live in the shadows. We can get to know them—the unique ones we each carry—understand why they’re here, and give them what they need.
That way, they can come along for the ride—integrated into the mix, able to inform and inspire healthy decisions for us—rather than unconsciously drive us to act in ways we later regret.
The opportunity in front of us
Thinking about wounds like this, the ones that are alive in my country, I can’t help but be humbled.
When I compare them to the Palestinian woman who works at the local crepe shop in my neighborhood, the heavy sullenness in her eyes when my husband and I showed gentle pro-Palestine support, the order of magnitude of what we’re each carrying can’t be compared.
I typically don’t like to compare like this, or to share them anyways. I find many in my social circle tend to get stuck in crippling guilt or shame when they go into comparison mode: “Who am I—so privileged—to feel angry or sad?” But in the context of this conversation, I find it grounding and motivating.
When I zoom out and think about all of the different forms, variations, and degrees of political wounds that exist in the world, the ones I most frequently encounter here in the US are ones that, I believe, I can make headway on.
Whether it’s these dynamics on the left I’m talking about, or polarization more generally, or disinformation and the decay of shared truth, or intergenerational and ancestral wounds, or political wounds related to my body, injustice, the future livability of our planet—I believe that I, and many others around me, are in positions where we’re able to work with these. We’re resourced enough to do so.
Keeping the global context in mind doesn’t make the wounds in my country unimportant or stupid—they exist and are real. Instead, for me, it makes them surmountable. It makes the healing work that they require doable.
This is inspiring.
So how do we do it?
The question stands: How do we begin to heal wounds that live in the political-relational field on the left—the ones that are driving people away or leaving tender marks? How can those of us who either steward or identify with left-leaning spaces be of service to this?
Spaces of cultural healing
Below I share some principles I practice in the collective healing spaces I offer. They’re in response to the cultural dynamics I’ve been seeing that I want to correct for.
They’re not ‘lefty’ specific practices, really. Collective healing—as I’ve come to know it—is a politically agnostic practice. It’s where you create space—for yourself or with others—to process what you feel about the world.
But because I lean left, and therefore most often serve people who also lean left, these have been inspired by shifts and changes I’ve seen in left-leaning spaces.
These are a few excerpts from my forthcoming book, set to be published this year (stay tuned!)
Here’s my list:
1. Let service look different for each of us
Being ‘political’ these days doesn’t need to look the same. It really shouldn’t. We need each of us to be tapped into our most authentic versions of what being of service looks like—whether that’s traditionally political or not.
I find that in both activist spaces and spiritual circles, there’s sometimes an unspoken expectation that we should all end up on the same page or be doing similar things. At the very least, there’s often a fear of judgment that we’re not doing enough. A perceived need to prove ourselves.
But that’s all just noise. We don’t need that these days. Being a change maker needs to look different for each of us. So in the spaces I hold, I try to make that explicit and celebrate how each of us are contributing.
2. Support divergence of thought
This principle of diversity also extends to ideas. There’s often a “skating on thin ice” feeling that happens in left-leaning spaces. The lingering threat of saying the wrong thing or having an opinion that might get you kicked out.
But if we take anything from nature, it’s that ecosystems need diverse life forms to survive. The jungles with the most flora and fauna are the ones that flourish.
Which is the same for us. We live in a huge, multidimensional world. We need differing views to help us make sense of everything that’s happening. If we clamp down on this, we miss out.
In the spaces I hold, we intentionally set things up in a way that makes room for divergence of thought. Using relational and somatic tools to hold difference as a group and navigate experiences with it in our own bodies.
3. Expand our pool of knowledge—not prove each other wrong
The practice of co-creating wisdom and co-learning in community is at the heart of all of this. You won’t be taught a particular theory or method or ideology. We don’t debate each other’s ideas and try to sway people.
Instead we practice listening below the surface of each other’s stories, attuning to the emotions and wisdom underneath. Seeing what speaks to us below the surface of it all.
A strange way to engage with politics? Maybe.
But in an era where our information ecosystem is all over the place and energy around the world is heightened, we need new ways to politically meet each other that don’t get us stuck in ideology.
4. Trust each other’s process
The type of wisdom I’m talking about, though, isn’t some sort of singular truth or pre-determined lesson. It’s the kind that is unique to each of us and emerges naturally with the right conditions.
Instead of falling back on the cultural impulse to force certain things on to each as it relates to the world, we trust that we each receive what we need from the experience for the unique roles we play in the world.
It’s quite a radical notion, if you think about it. This idea that we all have what we need. That what arises—within us and between us—has a purpose, even if we don’t understand it in the moment, even if it’s messy. All we need to do is be authentic to ourselves and support others to do the same.
Another kind of political space
Do I always nail it on all of these things? No.
Bringing people together about the times we live in is fraught with sticky, spicy things. It’s all an ongoing experiment. But they are things I strive for and have made some in-roads on practicing.
I think collective healing spaces like these have the potential to be places of cultural healing. Spaces that not only offer an antidote, but serve as microcosms of the world we’re trying to build.
I’d love to know what you think.
If you’re looking to offer collective healing space like this, consider checking out my We Heal For All Circle training—a self-paced program to get you started.
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