I am not the chattiest at a party nor the most quiet person in the room. I’d say I’m an active listener who participates in conversations if I feel I have something valid to contribute. I find I am less apprehensive to speak when I see any type of injustice, even if I am the only one to do so. I have come to learn that in doing so I’m accepting the risks involved. I can either be seen as a confident person, and my comments or actions can be welcomed and appreciated, or I can be rejected, hated—or worse—find myself in physical danger. Many may agree with me in the moment, but few would be willing to openly take my side, possibly for fear of retribution by association, this is called group think. If the majority of the people in any given group are acting or thinking one way, going against the grain is not always beneficial. Why? I’ve always wondered why not speak out if for example someone is being mistreated in front of your eyes.
“I think I’ve grown out of the need to be liked by everyone I meet in this world”
I think I’ve grown out of the need to be liked by everyone I meet in this world. I’ve come to terms with the notion that I may not be a ‘good girl’ or a ‘nice girl’ because that is what is expected of me. I come from very admirable, good to the core, parents. My father very rarely speaks his mind in public and my mother is adored and liked by nearly everyone she meets. I often say I will never be as ‘nice’ as my mother or father, and sometimes I am even grateful for it. Why? Because being ‘nice’ is not always being true to yourself. Let me make a distinction here, I am not talking about being rude but rather I am referring to speaking up when faced with what you know to be true in your heart. I am calling attention to voicing your opinion when everyone else is ignoring the obvious for whatever reason. Giving voice to your concerns is not about being disrespectful, or condescending, or insulting in any way.
Not being afraid to add a voice to your thoughts has truly never been more important. Social media has allowed us to be heard, although remain somewhat hidden behind our screens. Has it made us more bold in our actions? If all screens were removed and suddenly we were found face to face with the person we were interacting with online would we still say the same thing? I would like to think I would, or at least I’m striving to ensure I would.
I can recall an incident in high school (I mentioned in a previous blog) in which I was walking home from school one winter afternoon and saw a boy drop his backpack in the school parking lot. All his books and belongings had fallen out of his bag into a slushy puddle. As he scrambled to put his books in his bag I noticed he had a cast on one of his arms. For unknown reasons to me I kept walking. Even as I kept walking I continuously asked myself why was I not stopping. This incident stayed with me. I think I have a wrong to right in this world. I have to make up for the way I treated that boy. Now, for me, everyone I meet who may need any assistance is that boy with the cast on his arm scrambling to collect his wet books.
One example, which occurred years ago, might help illustrate my point. This incident occurred a few years after high school. It was summer and I was walking towards a bakery near my home. I saw a commotion of people in the parking lot surrounding this one car. I walked towards the crowd and saw a young man outside of the car, leaning into the driver side punching the driver repeatedly. I don’t think I even hesitated for a moment or stopped walking. I found myself right in front of him, I looked into the driver side and saw another young man holding the steering wheel with a bloody face. I tapped the person who was punching him on the shoulder. He whipped around and I saw nothing but rage in his face. When he looked at me he seemed surprised. Maybe because I was a woman and half his height, I will never know, but I calmly looked him in the eyes and asked, “Are you done? Look at his face. I think you are done. If you continue you will kill him”. He muttered something about the driver talking to his girlfriend. I ushered him away, turned to the driver and asked if he was ok to drive, he noted yes, and I told him to get the hell out of there. He drove away. I turned back around and started walking towards the bakery again. I was angry. You might be surprised at who I was angry with. It was not with the two young men. I was angry with the crowd that had accumulated, just standing there watching like it was a television show. I was furious that no one else had stepped in before my arrival.
(My daughter’s art work)
I’ve told my kids many times that if you are watching someone getting bullied and you don’t speak up or do something about it then you are part of the problem. Now I know what you might be thinking, ‘but Gilda that was not your fight to stop…he could have hit you too…he could have had a weapon…you should have minded your own business…’ because that is what my parents, and my boyfriend at the time, told me when I recounted the situation to them. My answer to you today would be that you are correct. However, standing there witnessing a murder would have been a lot worse, and for that I could not forgive myself. Period. Yes, I stuck my neck out and in doing so I accepted the risks, but it’s always worth it for me because the alternative, which is doing nothing, is something I have learned I cannot live with.
Thoughts At F___ It Forties 