I remember sitting with my grandmother and a few others having a discussion. Somehow
the idea came up from someone in the conversation in the sunlit church
courtyard, that Nazi’s might want to join our group advocating religious
freedom. The ridiculousness of this occurred to everyone, but it was part of a
larger discussion about how far tolerance goes.
My grandmother kicked in with “this is the one area I have
to be a hypocrite, but I am intolerant of intolerant people.” I laughed, smiled and was filled with joy at how much I love my grandmother. Also with the
respect due her, it basically stopped the conversation in its tracks, and
steered us towards more sensible things.
This was not the only time I heard my grandmother say this. She said similar things often, and throughout her life. I thought it was a cute little phrase, and I embraced it. Proud as I stood up against intolerance, and glad to battle against it.
This was not the only time I heard my grandmother say this. She said similar things often, and throughout her life. I thought it was a cute little phrase, and I embraced it. Proud as I stood up against intolerance, and glad to battle against it.
It was my grandmother's funeral where I discovered some
things about her character I did not know. The minister who spoke at her service
had been her minister for 10+ years. He shared how much she had done for the
community, for the church, for civil rights, and for so much she was passionate
about. And then he shared that she had one personal obstacle she truly struggled
with. One thing in her life that made her feel she was not everything she could
be. This one emotional sore point made her struggle through pastoral counseling
in an attempt to find a way to deal with her weakness. “I am intolerant of intolerant
people,” she would say. Her intolerance ran deep, and I had no idea till that
moment, that this glib phrase was really her cry of frustration within herself.
I don’t know if I could have helped if I had known, because to this day, I’m
not sure she was right to be concerned.
I think we can only stop intolerance by fighting it, and we can’t
fight it if we accept it. Maybe it’s possible to try and have more empathy with
intolerant people, and that’s where I fail. I also have no empathy for people
with no empathy. I cannot understand the mind that does not feel for others at
all, that would yell out “let them die” at a political rally when speaking of
people struggling without health care. I can not understand the mindset of
people who make an effort to not consider others. I do get people who struggle
with certain kinds of racism, and I’m pretty good at putting myself in other
people's shoes. Except when they don’t even try to have that same skill. People
who close off, who follow people like Ayn Rand who believes that the very trait
of having empathy makes you a parasite.
I am intolerant of intolerant people. I have no empathy for
those who don’t even try to have empathy. I have no understanding for those who
do not even try to have understanding. And I’m proud of it. Because unlike my
grandmother, I don’t think there’s a way to accept these things, and still
stand against them. And standing against them is the only way we survive.