This is the transcript of a podcast episode. You can listen to the episode here. This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Earlier this week I spoke with Maryann Karinch, who is an author as well as my literary agent. One of the things we spoke about is body language. In particular we talked about what we glean from others based upon their body language and what we project with our own. She mentioned that so many people are fearful about coronavirus, political upheaval, and all of the stress-inducing circumstances right now, and that one thing we can do to help each other is to project safety and warmth. Even with a mask on, we can make eye contact–and smile at each other, because that smile shows in our eyes even when our mouths are covered. I’ve noticed that I am less likely to make small talk or acknowledge the people around me when I’m out wearing a mask. I think there is this underlying sense right now that people are dangerous, and that we need to protect ourselves from strangers because they might give us a deadly disease. While it’s true that we need to be careful about the coronavirus, if we are taking precautions like wearing masks, staying at a distance of at least six feet, and not lingering in enclosed places, the risk of transmission is actually quite low. And meanwhile, a lack of connection to others can be really challenging.
All of this got me thinking about a book I read recently called Whistling Vivaldi, by Claude Steele. The title of the book comes from the experience of Brent Staples, who is now a New York Times columnist. Staples is an African-American man, and when he was in college at the University of Chicago, he found that just walking around in Hyde Park, people would get nervous when he would come toward them. Women would clutch their handbags or couples would hold hands and develop this stony expression as they walked past him. It made him feel awful and he couldn’t figure out how to make it stop. He tried smiling at people or just avoiding eye contact. Nothing seemed to work.
One of the things that he started to do in his nervousness is that he began to whistle. He found to his surprise that he was a pretty good whistle. He could do these beautiful songs and they would come off strong and clear. He would usually whistle either the Beatles or Vivaldi’s the Four Seasons.
Then incredibly, he found that when he was whistling, people would smile at him. They would make eye contact. Their defenses dropped. The point the author is making is that when these people walking around Hyde Park saw Staples, they saw only a young black man, and they assumed he was violent and became fearful, but then when they saw a young black man whistling Vivaldi, that gave them a different impression of him. Suddenly he wasn’t a stereotype, they saw him as a person. And so they smiled. They felt better and thus so did he.
I think some about how for some people, just because of their physical appearance–the way that they look to others, the way they move in the world–they can come across in ways that they maybe don’t want to. Staples did not want to be scaring people, but people were afraid of him because of stereotypes they had about him.
He had to work harder to help people to feel calmer and safer. I think particularly for men, for large men, men of color, this is something to be aware of. Staples has described himself at that time as, “a broad six feet two inches with a beard and billowing hair.” (You can read Staples’ account of his experience here.) I have spoken with men who work in victim assistance or violence prevention and they’ve talked about their efforts specifically to project an air of calm and safety in their work with victims.
It’s obviously frustrating and unfair to be judged based upon a stereotype, which is really a snap judgement with little information, where we are projecting things onto you that have nothing to do with you. The stereotypes that attach to me as a white woman in my 40s are different from those that attach to a Black man in his 20s, but I’ve also been in situations where I’ve realized that because of my race and class, the way I speak and dress, that I’ve intimidated people. I think we all probably need to be aware of the impressions that we’re making.
Similarly, I think it’s worthwhile to engage another of the things Maryann talked about, and that’s curiosity. I would guess that the people who saw Staples and were afraid probably weren’t seeing much besides his race, gender, and age. We all make split second evaluations, particularly when it comes to our own safety. Can we try, though, to take just a second look? What was Staples’ demeanor? His expression? Was there anything about him that signaled threat? He’s said that he was a shy, timid kid who tried to fade into the background. I’ll bet that was pretty obvious to those who actually looked at him.
I remember once a woman approached me and asked for money. My instant, split second observation was that she was a heavyset black woman who was dressed in tattered clothes. If you live or work in a city, you get approached all the time by homeless people asking for money—so often that you start to develop defenses against that request, for complicated and heartbreaking reasons–because you can’t give to everyone, because you know that if you allow that moment of humanity, you will feel the full impact of the person’s dire situation and the inadequacy of your ability to help.
And so my instinct in that moment was to turn away with a murmured, “I’m sorry,” as I’ve done so many times. For some reason that day, though, I took a second look. I actually saw her. She was around my age. Her clothes were torn, but not dirty or old. She had a bruised cheek and her hair was in disarray. She saw me take that second look and repeated herself. This time I heard her. “I need bus fare. I’m going to My Sister’s Place.” My Sister’s Place, I knew, was a battered women’s shelter in DC.
“Are you okay?” I asked. She nodded firmly. “I just need bus fare. I need to go to My Sister’s Place.” Right. It finally clicked. She was fleeing an abuser. I handed her some money and wished her good luck. She thanked me and hurried down the street to the bus stop.
I wish I could say that I always truly saw people. Even after that day, I have far too often dismissed others without even really looking at them. I wish I were better at supporting the homeless, as well as the lost, the confused, the desperate. Far too often I’m stuck in my own concerns and worries, my projects and plans. But when I can engage curiosity–step outside myself for just a moment and actually see the person in front of me, I always am rewarded for it. The ability to help that woman get onto a bus and to safety, what a gift that is to me. I am so grateful that I had that opportunity. And I think about Maryann Karinch—when her doctor told her that she had cancer, she started down into a well of worry, picturing her own dark future. That was when she had just a moment of noticing that her doctor was upset. She got curious about why, and remembered that his wife had died of the same cancer that he’d just diagnosed in her. That caused her to want to help him, to say to him, “I’m okay, and I’m so glad to be fighting this with you.” She was able to comfort him and in doing so, she felt better herself—stronger and less alone.
We all need those moments right now. This is a hard time. When we support each other, we build bonds that strengthen ourselves as well as those around us. The first step is just to see each other. Let’s all try to look for those opportunities.