Safety is a loaded word. It speaks of an absence of danger, unthreatened. Safety is something we're consumed with in the US - probably to far too high a degree. What we've done, then, is expand the definition of "safe" to include freedom from discomfort - but "safe" and "comfortable" are two very different things - ask anyone who's spent time in a fallout shelter or apocalypse bunker.
What we've taken to heart is the notion that we're unsafe if we're uncomfortable, and that's bad for a whole lot of reasons. Discomfort is good. Very good. It's the only way we change or grow - it's why you can boil a frog if you change the temperature gradually. Discomfort makes us evaluate who we are and where we are and why we are. Discomfort is precisely why we go to college; you can't learn anything without it.
The "safe space" mindset is not unique to college campuses, but it is where you hear it bandied about most often. A safe space is not really what a college campus wants to provide (well, I'm sure some do, but that's more to keep students happy than to really teach them anything). Colleges want to provide a place of respect. Academia is a world of ideas, but it only functions if those espousing the ideas respect one another (even in disagreement).
Milo whateverhisnameis, the alt-right firebrand gets a lot of press for protests and instigation - recently his appearance at UC-Berkeley was cancelled due to damage and danger from those opposing him. The vitriol is not entirely because of his ideas, but also in the way he presents them. He's an antagonist. The medium is literally his message - berating and insulting those people and groups he dislikes or with whom he disagrees.
This is why it's NOT a free speech issue. Free speech is a public right - Yiannopoulos should be able to say whatever he wants (within the established legal framework) without fear of reprisal. Of course, that guarantee is that the government won't act against him for his words; it does nothing to restrain organizations or institutions. Free speech will get you barred from all kinds of places, jobs, and relationships. Those are the consequences of free speech.
Universities and self-congratulating progressives alike are big fans of free speech, but it really becomes a useless tool without respect. I'm sure there's some adequate short-term catharsis for those who get to express their anger and vitriol in stress-relieving ways - and lots of people make money off anger - but it doesn't actually serve a purpose in society without respect.
So, when the members of a community, like UC-Berkeley, for instance, say loudly that they don't want a certain type of speech on campus, it's the schools' job, as an institution of learning (and thus challenge) to go out of its way to defend even what might be termed "unsafe" speech. However, the same community is entirely within its rights to mandate decorum and respect for those given the privilege of addressing the community. It has to work both ways.
Speech is inherently dangerous. Any opinion I give is an opinion. In an age where people can't even agree on facts, opinions are shaky ground. speaking out publicly is vital and terrifying - but it has to be done in relationship, whether one-on-one in a conversation or within a community. For that, there are rules - even if they're unwritten. Even if your opponent has done horrible things, you still need to treat her like a human being who's done horrible things, not as the embodiment of those horrible things.
What happens, then, if my opinion is that you're worthless; if the free speech I am exercising is that you are, in fact, not worthy or deserving of respect? That's the dilemma. Typically, the whole purpose of these antagonists is to point out the hypocritical moral problem that comes from denouncing someone for denouncing someone. It's an insensitive piece of performance art against which there is no real rebuttal. It's a lose-lost proposition.
Unless, of course, a community is committed to community, to respect. A guest speaker does not show up willy-nilly and take the stage. There are negotiations; a relationship is constructed. If both parties cannot agree to the ground rules, there is no way to proceed. In these instances of real conflict, generally both sides are at fault; each fails to meet the other in the middle and we end up with chaos.
To me, the middle ground in any relationship must be respect. Even if I decide you're unworthy of it, I must still give it, or there's no point to anything. It is this sacrifice, inherently dangerous, uncomfortable, "unsafe," that allows us to be challenged, shaped, and changed. You won't like it - no one does - but it's all we've got, unfair as that might be.
I appreciate his statement that the white struggle to deal with issues of race in our past and present is not a struggle someone else can do for us. It's not a sentiment you hear often, but something I resonate with - that there is not one struggle, but many, from every perspective and position. It's challenging.
Perhaps more challenging, though, is his assertion that the brutality and violence we often rue in our police and prison system is not a regrettable anomaly, but the natural output of our society. Yes, race is mixed up in this pictures because race is mixed up in everything we've ever done as a society, but by presenting the large picture of "you act as you are," Coates addresses a bigger picture that should concern even those deniers of race disparities.
He argues we have a militant and aggressive police force because we are a militant and aggressive country. We might outsource most of that over seas, but it still represents the core of who we are as a people (and if it truly doesn't, then we need to act differently toward the rest of the world). This argument has given me pause to look at all those things we decry in our society:
We hate that our political leaders have entrenched themselves in intractable positions, unwilling to talk or make real progress because they perceive it as some kind of moral or ideological defeat. Yet we have a nation that blunders blindly into war just about anywhere we can frame an ideological message and keep throwing money at problems long after it makes any sense (I'm thinking Syria, but there are a lot of foreign policy moves that would fly here).
The same thing plays out across society. We hate that our attention span is so short, that our people don't seem to care about real issue or knowledgeable arguments. We prefer sex and violence to plot and narrative in our entertainments. Our most vocal and consistent support in sports is for a game in which grown men (and sometimes children) literally kill themselves and each other on the field, then we pat our backs for being mildly outraged when they do the same thing off the field (although not so outraged to stop employing them).
Coates takes an interesting tactic, though. He advises his young son to stick to his own struggle. He doesn't advocate trying to change the system or change the world, but to deal with the situation he's found himself in (as an advantage black man in the 3rd generation since the 60's) and address the world as best he can from that position - even if its not enough to change things, it is the very best that he can do.
You read Between the World and Me searching for glimmers of hope. There's a sense in which Coates has hope, even though he can't rationalize it. There are certainly no words of hope, other than the thankfulness of having one generation in a slightly better position than the last. There is, however, an undercurrent of expectation - something I'll label latent hope. Coates acts as though he expects things to improve, even though there's no real evidence to have such faith, simply because there's not much option outside nihilism, and no one wants to pass nihilism on to their children.
As a Christian, it's a challenge, partly because, while Coates respects the place of faith in Black American history, he doesn't believe in a god. I do see a Christian response in his advice to focus on one's situation to make a difference that might count. Nothing pains me more than Christians who adopt the persona and narrative of conservative and liberal, those who take on the mantra of Republican or Democrat and play the partisan game of our nation. I say that with intention. Nothing makes me more upset. Poverty, rape, slavery, addiction - those things are far more terrible, for sure, but in playing the political games of nations, Christians are, whether consciously or not, giving up on the Church as the hope of the world.
I've said it before; I'll say it a lot more. The message of Christ was for anyone who has any respect for his life or teaching to live as an alternative to the narrative of nations and power. It is only through a alternative lifestyle that we could ever hope to tackle the horrors of poverty and injustice in any meaningful way. The message of Christ is essentially the same message Coates gives to his son at the end of Between the World and Me: live your own struggle. The narrative of the world you've been given will not resonate with the narrative that speaks truth to your soul. Don't get fooled. Skip that national narrative and struggle with the one in your heart.
Coates and Christ might not preach the same narrative (then again, they might be closer than were comfortable with), but it's good advice. We need to speak into the world, with our words and, more important, with our actions, from our own narrative, not adopting one of the positions made available to us by the narrative of power. Participating in the society we have will only continue to produce the results we're unsatisfied with. Playing the game means we've already lost.
The great myth of power is that there exists no alternative; the challenge of the gospel is to live into that non-existent alternative and, through our lives, make it real.
*And I fully admit, Coates will likely be as disappointed with what I've gotten out of his book as he is with all the other people who seem to miss the point. I'm thankful either way and highly recommend it.
