I was raised in the 1960s & 1970s in a nearly all-white town. I don’t understand the life experiences or struggles of Black people in America. I don’t need to understand, to see that Black lives matter.
I’m not an immigrant, nor were my parents. I don’t understand the life experiences or struggles people face trying to find their way in a new land. I don’t need to understand, to see that immigrants are not my enemies just because they’re from somewhere else.
I don’t understand the life experiences or struggles of trans people. I don’t need to understand, to know that their lives matter.
I don’t understand the depths of hatred that LGBTQA people frequently experience, because my cisgender identity has protected me from much of that hatred. I don’t need to understand that to know that people who are different from me are still human & have value.
I don’t know the struggles of people dealing with life-disrupting mental illnesses. But I don’t have to understand that to know that people don’t lose their value as human beings because they’re ill.
I don’t know the struggles of people dealing with life-disrupting chronic illnesses. But I don’t have to understand that to know that people don’t lose their value as human beings because they’re ill.
I don’t understand the life experiences & struggles that women face, living in a patriarchal society with pervasive sexual violence. But I don’t have to understand, to know that women’s experiences are valid.
It’s entirely possible to not understand something without reacting with fear, hatred, exclusion, violence, or disdain.
I don’t understand much about the world, & I frequently find that what I thought I understood was inaccurate & based on bias that I didn’t even know I had. But I don’t need to understand everything about the world to see that people should not have to live in fear because of who they are, who they love, or what they look like.