Equal

I walk around in the world considering that, at my essence, I’m equal to everyone else. Of course, I see that some people are smarter than me or more skilled, for example, at surgery or computer repair.

However, in terms of basic human respect, I feel parity with others. We’re human, with all our joys and sorrows, errors and successes. I hold this belief as a core value.

Every time I discover occasional people who set themselves above me, I ‘m shocked. In the people around me, there seems to be a social consensus that, in appearance at least, we exist in an impartial, classless field. Wealthy people often wear jeans and t-shirts, indistinguishable from the rest of us. If, at a social function, (which, in Hawaii, means everyone wears aloha shirts), I happen to meet a military person of high rank, such as a General or Admiral, they’re friendly and down to earth, reinforcing my bedrock belief in our basic equality.

As a female, most males I meet appear to be respectful, sometimes kind and generous. I remember the 1950s when men assumed superiority to the “little women” as adult females were commonly called. In the cultural revolution of the 1960s and 1970s, it became fashionable for men my age to shed their entitlement and declare equality with women. Because of my deep belief in humanity’s egalitarianism, I welcomed this societal change as just and correct. I felt fortunate to be part of such profound positive transformation.

However, the future proved that backlash always follows change. Today, it shouldn’t surprise me to encounter men who consider me inferior because of my gender. But it does. Males I meet aren’t blatantly sexist at first. They have a veneer of politeness, sometimes friendliness, which I like to believe is true.

However, a well-known and highly regarded tailor I visit to repair a suit jacket touches my breast while measuring me. A male dentist wipes his hands on my dental bib, covering large areas of my chest. These “professional” men seem to consider my personhood to be a sack of flesh for their own amusement. Both times, I escape, furious, and never return. I post social media blasts to warn others.

Some artists I’ve known also place themselves above me. Years ago, two male artist “friends” visited my art studio, located in my home. In the weeks that followed, I couldn’t understand their snide attitude toward me. In essence, they said I wasn’t a real artist because my home looked ordinary. I felt hurt and confused. Later I learned that each of them had painted the walls, floors, ceilings, even the toilets of their homes in vibrant slap-sash expressionist colors. For this reason, they considered themselves “real artists” and me, with plain white walls, a non-artist. I considered the two men superficial and avoided them. Their need to elevate themselves at my expense wounded me and also seemed odd and unnecessary. Even as a child, as I cowered while my parents screamed at each other, I wondered why we couldn’t speak from the heart with respect and get along.  

I should know better. Most primates socialize in a hierarchy. Much as I dislike it, it’s only natural that others might place me on a lower rung at times. From a Darwinian, dog-eat-dog perspective, a society founded on the concept of equality is a luxury of elevated and, perhaps, unrealistic aspirations. The egalitarian paradigm assumes that we care for those less physically able than ourselves. I prefer to dwell in an idealistic realm where basic humanity is valued, whatever one’s status.

 I know I’ll be disappointed in people at times, such as by the young man who cut the catalytic converter off my car while parked at the Best Buy store. When I emerged from the store and started my car, I sounded like a NASCAR driver, much to my horror. I thought my normally quiet little hybrid might explode at any moment. It proved to be a $4300 repair and involved hassles with my insurance company. However, I’ve gained enormous new appreciation for my muffler. I’ve learned to park in crowded places rather than the more spacious spots farther away I had preferred, apparently ideal for robbers. 

I find out that the Best Buy lot sits near a homeless area. Catalytic converters sell for $500 on the black market. To a poor person, this is a gold mine that can be sawn off in three minutes. Unwittingly, even with my old 2009 Toyota, I find myself probably perceived as a superior caste. However, in the past, I’d run out of money and had to sleep in my car for weeks at a time. I could understand the temptation to steal low-hanging fruit. I find my compassion for the crook unexpectedly expanded.

In spite of this thief and others like him that I’ve encountered, I find it possible, if difficult at times, to maintain my joy in, and a sense of identity with, all people’s worth and dignity.

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