The origin of the word “community” comes from the Latin munus, which means the gift, and cum, which means together, among each other. So community literally means to give among each other.—from the Internet, www.seektoknow.net
I hear the term “community” bandied about quite a bit these days, and I sometimes wonder to which community it is that I truly belong.
There is the gay community, and the straight community; the transgender community and the queer community. The Black community, the White community. The medical community, the activist community, the faith community, the secular community. The local community, the global community.
There’s the circuit party scene, and the recovery community; the Muslim community, and the Jewish community; the retired community, and the community of youth; the poor community, the wealthy community; the political community, and the disaffected among us; the infected, and the affected. The positives and the negatives. The intellectuals, and the uneducated. There is a sense of community, and there is no community.
There is the European community, and the Asian community. The Mexican community, the Hispanic community, the Puerto Rican community, and the Latino community. There’s communal living and there’s community college. The virtual community, and the neighboring community…and, oh, one of my personal favorites, the climax community (and no, it has nothing to do with what you think…look it up!).
For most, the accepted definition of community is some shared background, or common characteristics, be they ethnic or cultural or religious or whatever. And I concur that we should honor our differences, and rejoice in that which makes us unique and special—that it can serve as both a source of pride, not only in who we are but where we come from.
But I think that many times, and what gets lost in all of this, is what it is that we do all share in common, and that binds us all together. We tend to define ourselves as individuals, or as part of a team, a nation, a culture, a race, a gender, by sexual orientation or by religion; by the way we dress, or what we eat, or who we sleep with, the kind of music we listen to, or who we hang out with, and by the end of the day we perceive only that which separates us, and can only “agree to disagree.”
I oftentimes wonder if that which we celebrate and share in common with others in our group—our community—are the very things that keep us from coming together as a whole.
True, there are acts and deeds in our history and our collective consciousness that always appear to be unforgivable, both as individuals and as societies—racism, sexism, homophobia, and genocide, just to name a few. And indeed, there are bad, evil people in the world. And we must continue to rail and fight against evil and wrongdoing and injustice at every instance and opportunity.
But what would we propose as the solution? Should we hole up and erect fortresses around ourselves, and our communities, in an effort to protect us from harm? Do we create bigger and stronger armies, and larger caches of weapons? Do we create a police state in which to live? Do we attack others first, attack their weaknesses, their “different-ness,”—shoot first, ask questions later? Or do we instead attempt to reach out to one another, and work together to try and find some common ground?
I suspect that some, if not most, will probably dismiss this mode of thinking as either far too simplistic or hopelessly naïve—what my dear friend used to refer to as my “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm” or “Pollyanna” outlook on life. And you know, they may all very well be right.
But I would venture to guess that there are some people, indeed many well-intentioned souls, who have a lot invested in, and believe that they have something to gain, by making the rest of us believe that we are more different from our brothers or sisters than we are alike.
And most of us, whether we realize it or not, are deeply, deathly afraid of that which we do have in common—what I would call our goodness, our love of life, and our love for each other—our humanity. Face it…we all come from our mother’s womb. We all have red blood flowing through our veins. We all seek shelter and peace and safety and healing. We all have a soul, or a spirit, or a consciousness, or ego—call it what you want.
And it all just seems too plain boring, or too corny, or somewhat forced, or artificial, or bland, and much too—well, you know, the same—as everyone and everything else, to even really give this idea of a “shared common thread of humanity” much of a second thought.
We want to cling to the belief that somehow we have the one thing in the universe that nobody else has, the one thing that makes us entirely unique and wholly special, the one gift that only we possess and can offer to rest of the world. And if only everyone knew what that one thing was, they would come to realize just how unique and special and important that we really are.
And I suppose that kind of thinking is only natural and important and even healthy…up to a point.
Where it ultimately fails us is when we come to believe so much in our own uniqueness and specialness, that we fail to see that it also lies in everything and everyone around us.
Take care of yourselves, and each other.
Jeff Berry
Editor
publications@tpan.com
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