Offended at Being Offended

 I don't always understand why something offends. A lot of the time I hear some group raising hell about a phrase or a media depiction where I scratch my head and think "What's the big deal?". But the reason I don't understand is that I am not part of the group that feels hurt or disrespected. There's no way that I can truly put myself into someone else's head and heart and feel what they feel. Just because I can imagine that if something similar happened to me I would react differently doesn't negate the very real and valid reaction that someone else might have. 

An example is the continuing battle over the use of Native American imagery and team names in sports. Many (not all) Native American individuals, groups, tribes, and nations have expressed how insulting it is to use Indians, chiefs, redskins, warriors etc. as their team mascots. A common "rebuttal" to these images being offensive is that American descendants of Irish immigrants (I count myself as one of that group) don't take offense at depictions of leprechauns, like on the box of Lucky Charms. One meme that I saw recently suggested that the reason was that we weren't "over sensitive whiny little bitches". I suggest that a more accurate reason is that although we once were a persecuted minority, we didn't have our culture, including our language and religion, taken away from us, and we were never considered non-persons. We were within a generation or two accepted as White, an integral part of "real" America. Ask yourself whether Native Americans were treated the same way. 

A rhetorical question that often is asked is "Why, all of a sudden is this offensive?". The answer is that it's probably not all that sudden. Persecution and discrimination have been around for a long time, but speaking out against it has often resulted in lethal consequences in past generations. It's finally relatively safe to demand respect and equality. 

Any other persecuted or marginalized group is going to be sensitive to slights and insults that the dominant majority is going to think are not worthy of getting upset about. The dominant majority isn't going to get upset about these slights because they don't apply to them. Attempting to imagine how they would react to the same slights is meaningless because the majority doesn't have the same context in which to interpret these same words and images. And it shouldn't matter; what someone who doesn't understand why something would be offensive should be doing instead of mocking another for being offended is attempting to understand why it's offensive, or at least accepting the validity of the other's being offended. 

So, You Want To Join a Cult - Part XII

In the autumn of 1979 after wandering around the edges of involvement and commitment I decided to move into a Way Home. A Way Home was a group of PFAL graduates who, while working secular jobs or attending school, opened their home to host Twig fellowships and run PFAL classes. The assumption was that living with other "believers" would encourage a more godly, biblical lifestyle. As mentioned in a previous installment, in 1979 the structure of control that came with the proliferation of Way Corps graduates had not yet arrived in New York City or Long Island. Leadership tended to spring up organically and attendance at meetings and involvement in general was far from compulsory. In the "ministry year" August 1978 - August 1979 there had been a Way Home located in Queens Village, a few neighborhoods north of my home in Rosedale, a quick 15 minute drive up the Cross island Parkway. As the Way year transitioned into 1979-1980 after the 1979 Rock of Ages the previous occupants of the Queens Village Way Home were scattering to the winds - going out as a WOW, entering the Way Corps training, or simply moving to a different neighborhood. The local Way leadership wanted to continue to have a Way Home at this location and invited four of us, all relatively newly graduated from PFAL, to live there for the next year. Bernie B, who had taken the PFAL class with me in March 1978 was appointed as the leader; Wanda M and Beverly F rounded out the group. At first, things went relatively smoothly. I was working as a clerk for a stock broker in Manhattan and attending night school. We ran fellowships several times a week and participated in "branch" (grouping of Twig fellowships in a geographic area) and "area" (grouping of several branches) and "limb" (the entire state) events. I was living a fairly "normal" life, but was able to feel superior to my family and old friends by participating in this program. A few months later, normalcy was upended.

One winter morning, Beverly attempted to call in sick to work and found that our phone was not working and had to walk a few blocks to a phone booth to call the phone company. She was informed that our phone service had been cut off due to unpaid bills. She called me at work and after a few more calls we found out that none of our utilities had been paid! We were in danger of having our electricity and heat shut off, and possibly evicted. Beverly contacted Wanda and the three of us waited at home to confront Bernie about the finances.

Our arrangement was that we would each contribute one fourth of monthly expenses and that Bernie would then pay the bills. (I believe that due to different work schedules we were mostly on our own for meals) What was really happening was that Bernie, who was out of work, would pretend to leave for work in the morning and spend the day at a local bar, spending the money that the three of us gave him for bills on booze. So, we were now several months behind on our rent and utilities. Wanda, Beverly and I were ready to throw him out that night, but our branch leader, Sam P, convinced us to be forgiving and give him the opportunity to redeem himself and pay back all that he owed. Going forward, I would be the house treasurer, but Bernie would be responsible to cover all the back bills. I don't know why we thought this would work, but pressure from leadership didn't give us much choice. This was the first of many red flags in my time in The Way. In an ordinary roommate situation, Bernie would have been out on his ass without any further discussion, but in The Way, the leaders were to be obeyed. Supposedly God would protect us and "honor our believing" if we followed our leaders without question. Here's how that worked out: about a month later we discovered that Bernie was paying the back bills with rubber checks. This time we didn't wait for any input from Sam - we kicked him out without any further discussion. 

Sam was not happy with us. We were "reproved" for our "hard-heartedness" and Bernie was allowed to sub-lease the basement apartment in another Way Home. He eventually was thrown out of there for nonpayment of financial obligations. 

We managed to scrape together enough money to cover the back bills and avoid being evicted, but not before our heat was cut off in the middle of December. This particular neighborhood's homes were heated by oil. A truck would come around regularly and filled the oil tanks which fueled the heater. Since they weren't paid we had no oil. I have a not-so-happy memory of Wanda, Beverly and I sitting in the living room bundled up in coats, hats, gloves and blankets, eating take-out pizza. While I don't believe in the efficacy of prayer any longer, during our no-heat interlude, I received what appeared to be an answer to prayer. It was Hanukkah, the Jewish observance that involves a story of the oil for the temple lamps lasting eight days, even though there was only one day's worth left. We prayed, loudly and somewhat obnoxiously and then went downstairs to fire up the furnace. Even though we were certain we had no oil left, it started and we had enough oil for 8 days, when the next oil delivery came. 

In the aftermath of this incident, Wanda never let go of her anger and withdrew from involvement in The Way, which was problematic since this was a Way Home. She eventually moved out. State leadership got involved and decided that I would be transferred to another Way Home in the Richmond Hill neighborhood in the central part of Queens. Beverly would remain in Queens Village and was joined by several other women. 

This incident should have given me a heads-up to what a cluster fuck The Way was. The allegedly infallible leadership had missed the boat, not once, but twice. They pushed us to give him a second chance, which he bungled, not to mention their decision to put him in a leadership position in the first place. This was supposed to be an experience that allowed and encouraged me to grow spiritually, but it turned out to be a nightmare. I should have bailed out then and there, but what I did was double down on my commitment to The Way. I rationalized that what I needed to do (The Way was real big on what we all "needed") was increase my commitment. Part of this was that I was unwilling to admit that I was wrong. It would have been humiliating to admit that the experiment failed and go back to live with my parents, I had no other options for roommates, and it was financially unfeasible for me to live alone.  I had rationalized that, despite the problems, I was involved in something bigger than myself and the benefits of having "the truth" outweighed the piddling personality issues. 

So, in early 1980 I moved from Queens Village to the Richmond Hill Way Home for the next phase of my Way sojourn.

Start from the beginning

https://aesduir.blogspot.com/2019/10/so-you-want-to-join-cult-part-i.html

Part XIII

https://aesduir.blogspot.com/2021/03/so-you-want-to-join-cult-part-xiii.html