e, disrespect and dishonoring. I recently wrote a friend that had I been in Sandra Bland’s shoes during that fateful traffic stop in Texas two weeks ago, I’d probably have been just as “combative”, and rightly so.
To not be angry may also be a sign of denial or privilege. I was shocked by those who claimed after 9/11 there was nothing they believed, cherished or experienced – nothing – that would ever cause them to fly a plane full of people into a skyscraper full of people. I’m troubled by those who can’t fathom why African Americans set their community ablaze after an unjust trial verdict or yet another incidence of police violence against them with no meaningful consequences for those responsible. I don’t understand either of these views. I can imagine a dozen scenarios that would cause me to commit horrific acts of violence in the name of justice, survival, blind rage, terror, staggering grief or sheer desperation. How fortunate, or how numb, are those who can’t (or won’t) imagine such possibilities. How fortunate or numb they must be to be unable to identify a single incident in their lives deserving of outrage. How separate they must feel from the rest of us who, as I outline in my poem corajuda, have “excellent reasons and outstanding references” for our anger.
Being in touch with anger and what I’m capable of doesn’t mean I would commit horrific acts. Feelings don’t have to lead to action. Feelings aren’t a statement about a person’s character or worth – behavior is. Deciding mindfully, with our “upstairs” executive function brain, what to do with our anger is where we truly own our power. Owning our anger allows us to use our precious energy making effective choices instead of suppressing our feelings with shame. Being in touch with our anger allows us to empathize with other humans, and become curious about why someone might fly a plane full of people into a skyscraper full of people or burn down their community.
Such empathy and curiosity can lead to real change and sustainable solutions. It’s a new way to approach our problems. Eckhart Tolle said “Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath.” Marshall Rosenberg said “Violence in any form is a tragic expression of unmet needs.” Pain must be heard, felt, respected, then healed. Unmet needs must be met somehow. This is how to diffuse anger – not denial in ourselves or others.
Yet sometimes anger doesn’t need to be diffused, it needs to be transmuted – into action. Or anger needs to transmute another emotion, like fear. I recently saw a Facebook post from a younger female acquaintance who was understandably upset by (yet another) man groping her at a busstop. She expressed her profound fear and devastation at this repeated behavior in men around her. I was struck not only by her lack of anger, but the lack of anger of almost everyone who responded (only offering empathy and concern). It makes me super angry to witness one more young woman so programmed to see herself as powerless that her response to a man grabbing her in public is fear and running away instead of baring her teeth, fiercely snarling NO in his face and kneeing him several times in the groin until he falls down. It makes me super angry that none of the Facebook bystanders (except me) urged her to conquer her fear, learn to defend herself, and kick the shit out of the next a-hole who dares to invade her space.
Fear comes when we see ourselves as less powerful than the other. This is often an illusion of our powerlessness, or our limited read of where we stand in the Power Over paradigm. Having, feeling, and expressing anger is a result of taking a stand for our worth; of owning our power. Anger is a sign of awakening self-love. It’s a remembering of self-respect.
We need the self-loving force of anger to drive change not just in our individual lives, but as a collective. Writer Courtney Martin recently said “one of the things I feel like my parents really entrusted me with was this idea that you should trust your own outrage. And being able to honor that anger, to me, is one of the most im