I rang my Tibetan bell to begin a workshop with about 100 doctors and administrative staff from a major hospital. An older doctor yelled out, “Lunchee, lunchee!!” Many in the audience laughed, but just as many were stunned and looked away or down. There was a long silence. The doctor looked around quizzically.
Obviously, what happened here could be the turning point for this entire workshop. As the doctor made his comment, I kept looking around the room for reactions. There was an incredible range. No one was neutral. Now at first glance, this could be a humorous opportunity to loosen the group up or to deal with it dramatically and directly. To me, these are just some of the major choices a facilitator is faced with. I could do either one, but I first wanted to examine my motives and my fears: of questioning a doctor, of the backlash of other white participants who knew the doctor and might come to his defense, and many other familiar scenarios a person of color, like myself, faces every day.
What was seductive about this experience was that it could have been so much easier to keep my mind on my brilliant agenda and to give this incident as little attention as possible. But, something told me to look at what the purpose of this diversity workshop was all about – to look at some of the key issues that perpetuate racism – such as the denial of our own racist behaviors and attitudes. Well, here it was. The only difference was that I wasn’t the one to bring it up and it wasn’t on my terms or within my time frame. So much for control and the illusion of perfect agendas!
So, if in fact, one of my key goals was to get everyone involved – then here it was. The work would be what to do with all this energy – how to channel these countless reactions into a learning moment. The answer, perhaps, lay not in my knowing the outcome, but rather in acknowledging that something had happened and then lending it a voice to realize itself. As Abraham Lincoln once asked, “Where are my people so that I may lead them?” How true, how true…
I asked the doctor if he noticed what the reaction was when he said, “Lunchee, lunchee!” He said he didn’t. I then asked if he’d like to know and he agreed. I then went around the whole room and asked each person to share what came up for them. That was the entire workshop. It lasted for over two hours. The responses were phenomenal and overwhelmingly emotional and truthful. Some defended the doctor and some just looked down and cried. The doctor eventually apologized for his insensitivity and acknowledged everyone who helped him gain a deeper insight into what he had done.
They talked about this workshop for months. It became legendary because of its powerfulness and simplicity. The truth always is.
The doctor later came to my afternoon workshop and I shared with the group what had happened previously. I then offered him my Tibetan bell as a gift. A first he was hesitant, but I told him it was not without some conditions. He was intrigued. I told him that he was never to sell this bowl, but to pass it onto his children and they, to their children, each time telling them how the bowl came into their family and why. He smiled and we both hugged as the audience applauded us.
I miss that Tibetan bowl because it took me almost thirty years to find and had the most beautiful sound when it rang. But, its parting was meant to be. It had found its way home and its purpose. Perhaps, it was fulfilling its destiny. It certainly served me well on that day.
