More on Fragmentation

For the few of you who are actually going to read everything I write, here's some backstory on my struggle with fragmentation...a letter I wrote to authors Wendell Berry and Mike Pearse this past spring (for a class that I took with Steve Garber-who is also a great voice to bring into a discussion on this topic).

Mr. Pearse and Mr. Berry,

As much as one may claim to hate the vices of culture, there is no escaping its grip. In college I took a course simply entitled “cultural anthropology.” It was one of the most fascinating classes of my entire college career. Throughout the course of the semester, we read material about the Kipsigis tribe in Africa, various discussions on systems theory, a book about Ireland and mental insanity, and much more. The big theme that arose during the course was the theme of cultural identity. As we sorted through various cultures and peoples around the world, I began to realize the gravity of what I was learning. I was learning the value of people and place and what that means for the way that individuals act-collectively and singularly. Whether meaning to or not, my professor helped me better understand the connectedness of this world, of both humanity and nature. To me, both of your books capture this idea of connectedness and community-that people are formed and shaped by their communities and best operate in the context of such communities, as they have a defined sense of where they come from and to whom they belong. Looking back on my reading, I enjoyed both of your books for this reason-because they helped me better understand my role in the global and local economies.

Today, I found myself in a bit of an interesting situation. As I exited the metro into downtown this morning, I noticed someone doing what I hate…getting off the train quickly, pushing through the crowds with little concern for others, and hastily tossing their newspaper into the trashcan…all seemingly without batting an eye at the world around them. I live in a city where community and place are often the last thing people consider important. DC is a city where people come to do things, not often a place where people choose to settle for the sake of what it has to offer the world. Rather, such individuals often come seeking ways that they can better other parts of the world…whether it be their home districts, or their economic causes. It is a rare occasion to find someone who has come to DC, or stayed in DC, for the sake of making DC itself a better place. And so, I maintain, this city opposes the very notion that both of you claim of great importance in your writing. This notion is the impression that we must learn to listen to the world around us, and to be a part of it, before we can actually speak into and change it. We must have a strong sense of our own identity (as well as that of others) before we can even begin to consider engaging the world around us. DC is a fragmented place-most of the people who work in the city do not even live in the city, they commute from Maryland, Virginia, or elsewhere in the world. Those who walk the length of the National Mall often have little concern for the ground on which they tread, or for the people who inhabit the land of this nation’s capital. What a shame, really! I write all of this because I, as much as anyone else, am merely a passerby in the world of Washington, DC. Admittedly, I have little intention of living in a high rise apartment or an old home near the capital for the rest of my life. I do not feel a strong sense of attachment to the people who pass by me on the metro, or for the residents of Anacostia-a run-down district in southeast DC. Additionally, I came here as many do, to make a difference in the world, not to make a difference in DC. As I sit here writing this, I see that I have become the person that I hate, in one sense or another. And as I sense this, I also sense that I cannot go on this way. I need to make my home a community, and I need to plug myself more thoroughly into the world around me-by listening to what those around me have to say, by expressing genuine concern for those around me-be they a homeless beggar or merely a busboy at a Capitol Hill restaurant- and by truly seeking to become an asset to my community. In so doing, I will make myself a valuable asset to the world around me, and bring about the kind of real change that this world longs for.

As I consider another year in DC, in light of your writing, I consider the opportunity that lies before me. This opportunity is a chance to plug in-a chance to become part of a bigger whole who also understands the whole; and by truly understanding it, I can truly speak into it. Connecting myself to the world around me means looking at the impact of my purchases on the environment. It means considering where what I buy comes from and who makes it. It means seeking out opportunities to hear what those around me have to say about life and the world. It means making the most of every opportunity to speak truth and bring hope to the people surrounding me. This is what it means to be a part of a community; it involves trust, possibly hurt and heartbreak, but it is what I was made for. As author Gregory Bateson, who I read for my “cultural anthropology” class put it in a book-and I will never forget his words-“we are not outside the ecology for which we plan, we are always and inevitably a part of it.” While I certainly do not agree with everything Bateson says, I think that his point here is quite apropos, given my current discussion. We, as a united people, as a part of the world and a piece of God’s kingdom working itself out here on earth, are always and inevitably a part of our community, and our world. Divorcing ourselves from our communities leads us to live fractured lives that lack the kind of value and meaning they would hold within the broader context. We are a people who need to listen before we speak, consider before we act, and love before we judge. In fact, within the word community is the word unity-we were made to live with people and within creation; in recognizing this, we recognize our true identities.

Thank-you both for helping me to see these lessons more broadly,

Rebecca Horton