I don’t know if the world is a scarier, meaner place than it has ever been, or if maybe it just feels that way because there are so many more channels through which we can absorb the world’s sorrows. But even for a person who mostly sees through rose-colored glasses, things feel a bit bleak.
Our oceans are rising, our tensions are rising, and consequently (annoyingly?), so too is my desire to spread some damn cheer.
Maybe it’s the holiday season or maybe it’s my default survival mode, but I have a hot take to share: People — by and large — are actually good.
Don’t roll your eyes and stop reading, cynics!
I’m not pretending all is well, that pain and suffering have been eradicated or that there aren’t things that require skepticism, critique or fixing.
And I’m not just going to point to people like Earth-rescuer and Time’s Person of the Year Greta Thunberg, or Utah’s Huntsman family who’s donating a huge pile of money to tackle mental health issues and to providing shelter and support to people in need.
I legitimately believe almost everyone wants to have a positive impact on the world around them.
Although, has anyone else noticed that we sometimes fight for humanity by fighting others’ humanity?
It’s curious.
Coexisting is complicated stuff, particularly when there are so many points of contention. Our endless pursuits to balance freedoms and fairness can challenge our basic instincts and provide fractured magnetism to our collective moral compass, showing due north as one way for some and the opposite for others.
But my perhaps irrationally optimistic brain finds great solace in the idea that most of us are working for the betterment of our world, regardless of our proposed path to that destination. Some are focused more on individuals and others take a more global approach, but most of us want some form of betterment. Progress. Security.
I don’t know of anyone who’s perfect in that endeavor and I argue all of us are varying embodiments of conflict and hypocrisy. We find the closest parking spot at the gym, just to go inside and pay to exercise. We fight for peace. We kill to stop murder.
We are imperfect.
We are human.
But we’re trying.
And when I remember it’s humans on the other side of an issue, I’m markedly more willing to listen, empathize and work collaboratively.
Contrarily, when I lose sight of the humanity of those who think differently, I liken them to monsters. I don’t associate with monsters. I don’t sympathize with monsters. And I certainly don’t bargain with monsters.
But the most direct route to progress isn’t around our opponents (although sometimes that’s necessary). The most direct route is the middle ground, and that path isn’t paved with the bones of our decimated adversaries; it’s cobbled-together from messy instances of courageous and radical compromise.
Each of our lived experiences, ancestral histories, and personal preferences shapes how we define what’s right and wrong. And it’s perfectly appropriate and expected that we’d engage passionately to see our vision of what’s best become a reality.
It’s just that “what’s best” is subjective. (Go ahead and disagree, but doing so would prove my point).
What’s pretty concrete, though, is the fact that everyone benefits from mutual respect. Even though sometimes that’s easier to muster than others.
Earned respect flows effortlessly. Offered respect is something else — it’s the one we give without attachment, simply because the recipient exists.
Which means that even if we can’t overcome someone’s ideology or methodology, we can — and will — benefit from — assigning them value anyway.
That’s what I’m getting at, in an admittedly roundabout way, when I say that the majority of us are good.
And that shift matters, because when we start with optimism, we have a far greater chance to chip away at the world’s vexing problems and make it a safer and kinder place.
Only monsters don’t want that.
Note to readers: That philanthropic Huntsman family I mentioned above? Well, it includes Tribune Publisher Paul Huntsman.
Marina Gomberg is a communications professional and lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, and their son, Harvey. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.
