Being Complicit in our Invisibility: Where does all our hard work go?

A professional article just came out about a project I had been involved in. The article was paid for and posted on the blog of an iconic northwest clothing company, Filson.

The article was about the restoration of the North Mountain Lookout.

You might like to read it here:

https://www.filson.com/blog/field-notes/north-mountain-fire-lookout-darrington-washington/

It’s a lovely article with quality photos.

The only problem is that it’s a grotesque distortion of reality.

Back in March of 2013 I called the first meeting of what would later be called the Friends of North Mountain. For four years I worked to first clearly articulate our shared vision, and then bring that vision into the world. This required hundreds if not thousands of hours of my time, plus the time of the many people who wanted to support the project, but didn’t want to lead it.

The project needed a leader, and that was me.

After 4 years I realized I couldn’t continue to move both the North Mountain Lookout project forward as well as another project that is close to my heart. So I made a decision and stepped down.

I know the history of those first 4 years.

In this delightful article there were many quotes — about 117 words, from the Mayor of the Town of Darrington, and a photo of him. There was a quote from the current coordinator and a photo of him. There were 15 words from me and no photo. There was also a photo of one of the people making furniture, (white, male) and one of the Filson employees (white, male). And then there was a photo of my mom, and some quotes from her as President of the community group that houses Friends of North Mountain.

The Mayor of the Town was not involved in the North Mountain Lookout restoration.

As a saw mill owner he made some beams for the project. As a Mayor he had nothing at all to do with the project.

In Filson’s version of history it would seem that all the white males of our small logging town banded together with a “Git ‘er done” attitude under the leadership of the chief retired logger, who can boast of being raised mere steps away from where his great-grandpappy was born. And who can also boast of having cut down old growth trees to boot.

One gets the impression from this article that we’re living in a male world, where men make things happen…and then there’s the token woman who gets involved here and there.

It bothers me that many people as they read my reactions to this article, would think that I was making a big deal out of nothing. Or possibly that I didn’t understand why the article was written that way, that it’s not all about me, but that Filson wanted to bring in the community element and talk about the lookout in the context of the surrounding community.

And we do have an amazing community of can-do people.

One of them splits his time between here and San Diego. Another one retired up here from the Bothell area. The project’s current coordinator just moved up here from Arlington. My mom was born and raised in California, and I myself was born in Bellingham and moved out here as a pre-teen. I don’t think any of them happen to be retired loggers. Most weren’t born in Darrington.

Can we celebrate our community’s spirit and involvement, without glorifying the short-sighted greed that laid waste to the country’s old-growth forests? Greed that didn’t originate in small towns, but was played out in them. Can we acknowledge all of the hard working, rural volunteers that didn’t grow up in this town — perhaps reflecting the real demographics of those that are working to build a better future? Can we start to generate a new stereotype for what rural America really looks like?

And can we acknowledge the community building women that form the real backbone of so many projects that are making this world a more beautiful place?

Some will just dismiss what I’m saying as me wanting to receive recognition for my efforts.

You know, I would appreciate recognition for my effort. But that’s got nothing to do with why I spent 4 years pouring my time and energy into this project. And it’s got nothing to do with why I’m bringing up this unequal representation now.

There’s a lot of history for this project that is only in my brain. Someone might want to know that history someday.

I want to share that I was complicit in helping the article come out this way. While I did take time for an hour interview, I didn’t make it easy to schedule. In fact, the interviewer and author was so busy talking to The Mayor that they didn’t bother to call or answer their phone at the appointed time.

I didn’t make time to meet the photographer, though someone shared a couple of photos for me.

In the interview I shared some of the history, but I don’t have any go-to sound bytes that I’m good at repeating. I’m not much for oration off the cuff.

If I had made myself more available perhaps my contribution would have been recognized more? Perhaps.

Why wouldn’t I jump at the chance to be interviewed and rearrange my day to fit it in? Because I don’t much care about having my picture or words added. Because I’ve done interviews in the past and know that I’ll be represented according to someone else’s angle. I did the job I wanted to do. I did it well. And I don’t much care what anyone wants to say about it now.

As a result, we get a distorted and slanted view of what happened and what it meant.

However, I’m not going to take full responsibility for why this was written the way it was. There is so much historical context and inertia for why the white male retired logger come Mayor of Rural America is the focal point, and all the women who came together to organize and create a better future for us all are invisible.

The reason I want to point this out now, even though I know most people will dismiss this as me being overly sensitive, or perhaps unintelligent, or maybe angry. (I am angry by the way.) The reason I’m mentioning it, is because it would be my tendency to brush it off, to grin and bear it, to just say, “oh well, that’s how it goes” and move on.

But I can’t do that any longer. I know now that it’s wrong.

It’s become more clear to me as the Black Lives Matter and the greater recognition of systemic racism unfolds, that I have been complicit by my silence. I can see this huge thing, all around me, in the air we breathe, in our own mothers milk, and it feels like I can do nothing. But that’s not true. I can cease to be silent. I may not know who to talk to or what to say. But I will no longer support the situation by accepting it in silence.

This is the reason why I’m writing this now, and why I’m sharing it. I have so much inertia to just let it drop and move on.

But, which of you might be supported by reading about this and by the fact that I wrote it? I don’t know. I know that it’s very common for us to accept our invisibility in silence. Probably more common than we even realize.

I also know that writing this will help to make someone else stronger.

And it’s your strength that matters to me. It’s not too late to change the world.

We will be stronger together — and we will come together by not keeping things like this to ourselves.