Inclusiveness By Linda Stowe
Lately the term “Birds of a feather flock together” keeps popping into the back of my mind, probably because immigration has been a dark cloud hovering over our country for some time now. Yesterday I was thinking about various flocks to which I have belonged over the years. One of them stands out.
Every day a group of the secretaries I used to work with would share our lunch hour. We always went out to restaurants that served hearty fare. One of our favorites was an Italian plaice with melted candles in chianti bottles and red and white plaid tablecloths. This was back in the ’80s, before fast food and delivery were common.
There were five or six of us in the group. We went to lunch every day from noon until 1:00 PM. The mornings were spent phoning each other to agree upon where we would have lunch and who would drive. By 11:45 AM some of the group set their purses out on their desks, a plain signal that they would be leaving for lunch soon.
At one point someone in our group invited Denise, a new hire, to join us. Denise readily accepted, but she did not stay with the group long because Denise ate only salads for lunch. Salads with more lettuce than anything else and often dressed with just lemon juice. We were hearty eaters and not a lunch went by without someone asking Denise about her food choice or suggesting that she try something beyond that “rabbit food” as one woman called it. Ironically a couple of the group members would claim to be on a diet and would order a salad too, but it was always more calorie-laden than the one Denise was eating.
It wasn’t long before Denise found other ways to spend her lunch hour and left the group. Nothing explicit was said but it was obvious that Denise was not comfortable. She no doubt felt judged by the group for eating salads, and we judged ourselves because we were not making better food choices. I left the group myself later to take classes on my lunch hour. I heard that some members of the group said I was wasting my time, but at least I didn’t have to sit there while they judged me.
Now, forty years later, I wonder what I could have done to support Denise. At the time I thought I was being empathetic because I didn’t join in making comments about her salads. But I didn’t speak up either. If I could re-do my actions, I would have occasionally just ordered a salad like Denise to show that she was included. Maybe others would have joined me as well and we’d all be thinner today.
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Polly here.
This was wonderful. In so many ways. This becomes a great lesson for all of us to learn. About being inclusive.
It doesn’t have to mean that we change who we are, or change our lives, or even that we “do” what others might be doing.
But if they are living their lives and not hurting anyone in the process, why not just let them make their own personal choices? Time and again, we see this in all things.
People hate others without knowing who they are. Plenty of people in this world hate me because of my sexual orientation. They think that I am a sinner. And they don’t even know me. Most of them have never met me. Yet. They have passed judgment on me with the slap of a label.
Being inclusive means making space for others. This is true. Should it matter what their background, identity, or story may be? Or should we be open to knowing them?
It’s about listening, learning, and letting people feel seen and valued for who they are.
When we’re inclusive, we build a stronger, kinder world. This place, this planet, is ours to share. It doesn’t belong to any single person or group.
It belongs to all of us. And we should all belong.
