I took a graduate class some years ago that dealt with the importance of trust in the classroom. This instructor, who had taught in many ghetto areas, related the following information: Ghetto dwellers have had their trust violated to the point where they are unable to trust anyone. To highlight, these individuals did not look each other in the eye, did not ever touch one another, and spoke only through tough language that would keep everyone at an arm’s length. Ergo, reaching out to touch them would be considered a threat to their being. No handshake. No eye contact. Truth was replaced with hard language. My instructor’s job was to enter into this venue and help these people regain the ability to trust again.
She did this by teaching them to folk dance. No, don’t laugh, it’s true. Some of these folk dances were demonstrated in the class I took from her, and then we participated. The interesting thing about these dances was that the only part of one’s partner that was touched was the elbow. And, that said, it is fascinating to note that the elbow is the only part of the human body that does not perspire.
(An exchange of body fluids, such as perspiration, would be too intimate.)
As a participant in these dances, we were told not to look each other in the eyes, but only do the steps and to touch at the elbow. The connection felt foreign to all of us, but we were told that to those who did not trust, it was a first step to rebuilding intimacy. The instructor indicated that, had we exchanged any moisture this would have felt like a violation to her ghetto students, a threat to one who did not trust.
After hours of dancing, the class was able to pass through all of the levels of building thrust through this form of movement. We were able to go from touch at the elbow to touching at the fingertip. Then there was touch at the forearm. In the last lesson we touched hands and then looked into our partner’s eyes. The final exam for this day in class was to turn out back to our partner and to, in turn, fall backward and allow that partner to catch us. (I had seen this done on TV and it looks so much easier when it isn’t your own back turned away, and then falling through gravity’s pull toward the floor.)
Do you trust? In the beginning it always seems so easy because there is no history between two individuals or two companies, nothing shared that can be violated. As time passes in any personal relationship or business, opportunities present themselves that cause us to need our backs covered, or to be valued in some new and special way. If that partner, business or otherwise, is not there then trust is violated. We were alone in that moment, and now we are aware that we might be alone again in the future. No trust.
No trust means no touching. They seem to go hand in hand.
And yet, I recall a time when the two oldest bros constantly wanted to touch and violate each other by slugging it out. I got so sick of this. So, I thought I needed a more serious solution before they were old enough to tower over me, and take my car. I sent a prayer skyward and jumped in between them.
“Tory,” I said with confidence, “It would be so much easier for you to belt your brother if I held onto Travis while you did it… You know, One good punch!”
Tory, who was seven years old at the time, thought my suggestion to be a surprisingly good solution. Travis, (five years old) looked a little insecure at this dubious parental assistance. We preceded according to planned. I held Travis while Tory trepidatiously belted his brother one punch to the gut. (Tory has always had a fair and tender heart… I was pretty sure that if I held/touched his brother, he would at the last minute see it as his having an unfair advantage. And, he did.) And, the punch was all it took to release the worst temper in the household… Tornado Travis was in full force and yanking on me to let him go! I help him firm in my hands as he cried out in anger more than pain.
“Look what you made me do! You made me hurt Travis!” A self-righteous energy flowed from Tory as he spewed superlatives in my direction. He couldn’t even remember what he’d been fighting about. All he could think of was that he was right.
“Okay, Tory. When you’re right, you’re right. Travis has been treated unfairly and this needs to be addressed,” I said. “You’ve had a chance to get rid of YOUR frustration, it only seems fair to let Travis belt YOU one, while I hold you!”
Tornado starred into my face… What happened to his mother and who is this woman? Had he gone to little boy heaven? A visible energy was building, not unlike a core meltdown. Travis was sizing up his chance to get even with his old brother.
Tory, with concern that he had pushed this thing too far, began to back away. I moved quickly, and the tables were turned. Tornado let loose with one powerful five-year-old punch. A straight shot to the tummy. Tory buckled a bit. His eyes revealed pain.
Now Travis was the self-righteous one… full of nasty thoughts for Mom and wanting to take back the clear discomfort he had just given his brother. Together they hated me. Together they turned on me. Together, I sent them to the bathroom!
“Now, stay put. You have the potty. You have water. You can live in here. Don’t come out until you stop this bad attitude and fighting.
I don’t ever want to see this again.” There, confined to sitting in the tub, they healed their wounds and forgot about me.
Touch. These oldest of bros never hit each other like that again. But they do trust each other very much. They hug like crazy when they see each other. They make eye contact. They love each other.
So I think that I would have to say that touch can be a discipline. And, trust also can be a discipline. Thought must be a part of it. We can’t just randomly take off, and do what we want just because we want it. We must think. We must discern. We must go beyond ourselves. It isn’t an easy road. But it is one that is well traveled and makes a good journey.
May your life be touched by love and compassion, and may trust follow you in natural way.
Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple
(Excerpts from this blog came from the book
Over the Mountain, by Carolyn Thomas Temple)