Ring Theory, or How Not to Be a Jerk Right Now

Over the past couple of days, many people's biggest question seems to have shifted from “what do I do?” to “how can I even talk to _______?” (You’ve filled in the blank with: Black people, Trump supporters, white progressives, Muslim people, and more.) We know conversation is a place to start, but we're stymied.

I think psychologist Susan Silk’s Ring Theory is extremely useful here. She developed it to help people be helpful, not harmful, in the midst of someone else’s pain—for example, when someone has cancer. Let’s take a look.

The basic idea: Imagine a set of concentric circles with a dot at the center. That dot represents the person with cancer. The smallest ring = his partner, kids, and parents. The next bigger ring = close friends. The next ring = other friends. The next = coworkers, and so on.

Now, the linchpin: In this model, complaint flows from the center outward, and comfort flows from the edges inward. So: as a coworker, I don’t show up at the patient’s house and sob to his wife about my worry for him. Of course I can sob, but I sob to someone in my ring or a bigger ring than mine.

Conversely, we in the outer rings welcome limitless lament from the people in the closest rings. We do not remind them to “trust God.” We do not start any sentences with “at least.” We certainly do not urge them to “buck up.”

This model has rocked my world, and for grief-laden situations I can’t recommend it enough.

So, here we are in November, 2016. Maybe you see where I’m going here: with a little adjustment, I think the concept is transferable.

This election revealed and created a lot of pain for a lot of people in our country. I am white, middle-class, able-bodied, and cis-heterosexual, and I am in pain. My standard response to “how are you?” this week has been “despondent and on the verge of tears.”

But.

I am in an outer ring. If I weren’t a woman, I think I’d be in the very outermost ring, furthest from the pain epicenter.

Now hold up wait a minute: I am not going to recommend an exercise wherein you map All the American Groups on a set of concentric rings. Nobody is helped by the determination that a Texan Muslim woman is closer to the pain than a Black man in New York. We white people have a long history of trying to map and explain others’ grief. LET’S NOT.

Pretend this is a heat map. I'm not an artist, guys.

Pretend this is a heat map. I'm not an artist, guys.

Instead, I offer this adapted diagram: our current national pain is a fire (or many fires) and everyone’s feeling the heat, but some people are in far more pain and danger than others.

I add two suggestions for using the diagram:

First: As we imagine our place on this diagram, let’s err toward placing ourselves farther from the center. Assume others are feeling more pain, not less, than you.

Second: As we continue to have conversations, let’s ask more and tell less.

NOTE: this does NOT mean we can’t complain and lament. But when we realize that we’re on the edges of the pain, our lament changes. Yes, we vent our frustration to others in our ring—but that is not our only work, or our most important. As Tim Gunn says: "Listen and listen intently." And we do NOT gainsay Tim Gunn.

Practical Action:

If you have friends—real friends—who are closer to the fire than you:

  • DO ask them how you can support them right now. You know your friends. Maybe you take them out for coffee or drinks, and you ask them “how are you?” Maybe you just call them and say, “you must be in pain right now. I’m here to listen if you want to vent.”
  • DO NOT vent to them. Do not tell them “I can’t believe Trump got elected.” No. They can believe it, all too well. The rhetoric is not new to them.
  • DO NOT press for information. Your friends nearest the fire do not have the energy to teach you right now. Do not ask them to. Do not make the cancer patient explain cancer to you.


If you don’t really have friends closer to the fire than you:

You might feel a bit of shame about that, because you really do value diversity, and suddenly you realize all of your good friends are white and middle-class. Shame is unproductive, so tell it to shut up. There's time; we’ll work on it.

  • DO NOT suddenly pretend you’re Real Good Friends with your closer-to-the-fire acquaintances. It’d be weird to suddenly act like BFFs with your husband’s sick coworker because you want to understand more about cancer. No.
  • DO make some connections. Here’s a good way:
  1. Choose one of the groups closest to the fire (maybe the one you're most worried about; see yesterday's writing). Google an organization in your area that serves that group. Possible searches: "Islamic center/women’s shelter/refugees/NAACP + [your city]." Note that this is different from finding a political group. This is about putting ourselves closer to the fire.
     
  2. Call that place on the phone. It will feel weird. That’s OK. Here are some general scripts for your phone call (based on a similar idea from Mallory Ortberg), so you don’t turn into a blabbering mess. Write it out. That’s FINE.
  • SMALL OPTION = 
    “My name is _____, and I live in _____. I’m not Muslim, but I’m horrified by anti-Muslim sentiment in our country, and I wanted to let you know that I support you. Thank you for the work you do taking care of vulnerable people.” 
     
  • MEDIUM OPTION = SMALL OPTION + the following:
    “Do you have any events coming up that would be good for me to attend to listen and learn about your community?” or “Could you add me to an email list about upcoming events and opportunities?” [Of course you can search events/add yourself to an email list online, too. Still make a call of support, though.] Then go to an event.
     
  • LARGE OPTION = MEDIUM OPTION + the following:
    “I’d love to volunteer to help your organization in any way you might need. Is there anything I can do that would be helpful?” OR: give money.

Once you do one of those, let us know in the comments what you did! We'll all be inspired and feel braver. WE CAN DO THIS.


last thoughts for all of us:

As we read and hear the lament and rage of people who are close to the fire (on TV, online, wherever): LET US LISTEN. No need to Evaluate the Statistical Legitimacy of what they’re saying. Don’t we dare respond with “But” or “Yeah, me too, totally.”

Might some of the lament feel unfair to us? Sure. Might we feel baffled and afraid, implicated in a mess we never wanted? Sure.

Are we Sad Little Rich White Girls/Boys Who Can’t Handle the Truth and Need to Feel Offended? NO.

Friends (old and new): we are strong, capable adult women and men who love deeply, have Seen and Absorbed Some Shit, and aren’t afraid to break a nail. We know that defensiveness and shame are useless. Let’s drop the shame and defensiveness. Let’s listen, listen, listen.

And stay here, in this community, because we’ll be doing our LEARNING and our GETTING TO WORK.

Because we’ve got to fight those fires.

What do you think? Let's talk in the comments below.

Resources mentioned here:

LearnMichelle Bard