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Quietly Present
I was diagnosed with dyspraxia and apraxia when I was five years old. Dyspraxia, or developmental coordination disorder, is a neurodevelopmental condition that affects movement and coordination. Apraxia of speech is a neurological disorder that makes it difficult to plan and sequence the movements needed to produce speech. These disorders affect how the brain’s messages are transmitted to the body. They affect speech, language, motor planning, and the ability to perform daily activities. As a result, I found it incredibly hard to speak, be mobile, and socialize.
As a child, I experienced a lot of stigma and isolation that came with being neurodiverse. As an adult, I have come to reimagine ability and potential, and learned to broaden my understanding of what it means to be normal. I like to think that as society has progressed, so too has its general understanding and perspective.
I was constantly subjected to speech therapy and physical therapy, and though they are practices meant to help, sometimes the approaches can seem outdated and feel inherently ableist. I was reminded daily that I needed to be “fixed” and that my productivity and capabilities would determine my usefulness and relevance in society.
Silent worship was the biggest challenge for me. One of the many aspects of neurodiversity is a constant flow of thoughts, which makes it difficult to focus and creates a restlessness inside. There would be an outward silence but an inward chaos.
Paradoxically, growing up going to a Quaker church, I was taught the importance of simplicity, peace, equality, compassion, and social responsibility. Church—or meeting—was one of the only places I felt a true sense of acceptance and belonging. I attended Sunday school with everyone else; I didn’t need “special” guidance or to be kept separate. There was almost a fundamental difference in how people at church approached and dealt with my disability. I still had trouble communicating at church, just as I did at school. But the difference was that when others had trouble understanding me, they didn’t see it as my disability; instead, they saw it as a challenge to their ability to listen. In the midst of misunderstanding, there seemed to be a kind of understanding.
I like to think the reason I am empathetic, understanding, and patient today is because of my experience as a neurodiverse Friend. I don’t see it as “going the extra mile” for someone else’s benefit; I see it as doing my part in order to get one step closer to living in a more harmonious society. Harmony is fundamentally about balance and coexistence, not uniformity. It’s about creating an environment where diverse perspectives, abilities, and experiences complement each other. And I like to think that that is a general Quaker perspective.
One of my favorite quotes was popular among nineteenth-century Friends (and has often been attributed to Stephen Grellet, a French-American Quaker missionary, though its true origin remains uncertain): “I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it for I shall not pass this way again.”
This quote embodies Quaker values. It encourages us to embrace the uniqueness of each individual and reminds us to always treat others with kindness. It also invites and challenges us to practice active advocacy so that we might use our privilege to advocate for the marginalized or overlooked. Finally, there’s also a sense of urgency in addressing needs and differences. Opportunities to make a positive impact are limited by our time on earth. Inclusivity and compassion are principles to be practiced now, because we might not get the chance again.
There was nothing wrong with my school or my parents wanting me to learn how to communicate and socialize like other children, but I found understanding in the Quaker community. Conscientious Friends understood how hard communication was for me and wanted to give me a break when they could and take on the burden of understanding themselves. I always felt safe and accepted at church, and that made all the difference in my spiritual and personal journey.
Silent worship was the biggest challenge for me. One of the many aspects of neurodiversity is a constant flow of thoughts, which makes it difficult to focus and creates a restlessness inside. It’s hard for me to be still, quiet, and focused for long periods of time. I had imposter syndrome every time I sat in silence. There would be an outward silence but an inward chaos. I would look around the room and think how everyone else was so much better at silence than I was. I would invalidate myself because I thought I wasn’t actually doing it “right,” and I felt like a fraud.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized everyone experiences intrusive thoughts during silent worship; some just struggle with it more than others. I have since learned to embrace the noise: to treat the thoughts in my head as clouds in the sky and acknowledge them without judgment, observe them as they pass, and gently let them go without getting caught up in their content.
I have since learned to treat the thoughts in my head as clouds in the sky and acknowledge them without judgment, observe them as they pass, and gently let them go. . . . Whenever I struggle with restless energy in worship, I like to think of it as an invitation to be present with the mind as it is, as God made me.
I’ve also learned the importance of reframing. What many see as limitations or disabilities, some see as gifts from God. Self-acceptance and remembering that God made me this way help me navigate living the Quaker way as someone with neurodiversity. I now see every distracting thought as a type of divine intervention.
As Quakers, we believe that every person has an Inner Light, a term that refers to the Divine Presence that guides and enlightens the soul. It’s always important to pray and meditate intentionally and to try to still our wandering minds, though I’ve come to understand that as a neurodiverse Friend, my connection to God is different from others.
Sometimes silent worship isn’t quiet, and it’s okay to feel distracted; silent worship doesn’t necessarily mean a total absence of sound, nor is it about closed eyes and darkness. It’s about finding time to be open and listen for God’s voice. God speaks to people in different ways, and I have come to believe that those thoughts and feelings can be seen as part of the inner experience. Whenever I struggle with restless energy in worship, I like to think of it as an invitation to be present with the mind as it is, as God made me.
Though disabilities like dyspraxia and apraxia are invisible to the eye, they deeply shape how I experience the world. Neurodivergent Friends should not have to announce or explain their disabilities or need for their boundaries to be respected. I hope that the Quaker community continues to be mindful of this and works to create and maintain a culture where people are attentive to each other’s needs, even when they are not immediately apparent. We may engage in worship differently, but our spiritual journeys and connection to our Inner Light are no less valid. Just because someone is not engaging in the way the majority would—whether it’s not speaking, not standing, or not participating in a particular way—doesn’t mean they are “doing it wrong.”
Quaker worship is inherently a deeply personal and individual practice, and each person’s method is his or her own. Silence before, during, or after meeting should never be mistaken as disengagement but rather as an indication of active reflection or personal participation. The Quaker practice of waiting in silence may look different for everyone, but that diversity of experience should be embraced rather than questioned or pressured to conform.
Additionally, gentle encouragement for participation can make a huge difference. Many neurodivergent Friends may find it difficult to join a conversation or share their thoughts during worship. Asking them directly if they have any thoughts they would like to share can be a powerful way to make them feel seen and included, while respecting their boundaries if they choose not to share. Sometimes all it takes is a simple invitation, such as “we’d love to hear your thoughts,” to help someone feel more comfortable contributing to the discussion. This would create a more inclusive and supportive environment where everyone’s voice is valued, even if it takes extra effort for someone to speak.
By practicing compassion and attentiveness toward neurodivergent Friends, Quakers can better reflect the principles of equality and community. Fostering a space for diverse ways of engaging in worship, conversations, and fellowship helps us remember that all are welcome. These efforts are not about performative inclusivity but about deepening our collective spiritual experience.
The post Quietly Present appeared first on Friends Journal.
Finding What Works for Us
I came to Quakerism long before I realized my neurodiversity, and in looking back, the attraction makes a lot of sense. I was drawn to the stillness first, enjoying the seated silence of worship. The church I grew up in required a stringent cycle of sit–stand–sing, and I resented it deeply. In Quakerism, I love the emphasis on equality, and especially the nonhierarchical nature of our meetings. I craved connection; in fact, Shakers and their tight communities have always been a special interest of mine, so being with Quakers felt exciting.
My meeting does not yet have an embodied understanding of what neurodiversity is, although I’m working to change that. Several years ago, I began a healing journey, unaware at the time I was doing so, and much of it involved participating in retreats run by Quakers. I had known for decades about my attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD)—I’m typing this 90 minutes before the magazine deadline—and had just come to realize and identify as autistic. As I discarded the shame and inferiority I felt in being different, I began to disclose my neurodiversity to those in my Quaker community. Others around me were following suit.
Photo by Marcos Paulo on UnsplashI accommodate myself: I shift positions, since part of my ADHD means a lack of core strength and ability to sit up straight for very long; I journal; I bring knitting. I do whatever I can to keep myself in the room and occupied without distracting others.
At the same time, I started getting more involved in my yearly meeting and in youth programming for my family. It became clear to me that more than half of the children and adults in my meeting and my yearly meeting were neurodiverse, although most don’t know it. I believe the neurodivergent adults around me are also drawn to the ways in which Quakerism accommodates them, with its emphasis on social justice, celebration of intelligence, and tolerance of social awkwardness.
As in many parts of my life, I now find myself in the role of translator. I walk with a foot in each world, the neurotypical and neurodivergent, explaining the attitudes and behaviors of each to the other.
The meetings I have attended all over New England have children who are not only fidgety because they are kids but also because they are neurodivergent: they can’t not move. They have meltdowns, which are beyond their control and are not tantrums. They get bored and find this almost painful.
Not only don’t the neurodivergent kids know their own neurotype: often their parents don’t either. Many of the parents don’t realize that they themselves are neurodivergent. I am a psychotherapist who specializes in working with late-diagnosed and “high functioning” autistics. As I often tell my clients, I’ve never met a neurodivergent person without at least one biological neurodivergent parent. It comes from somewhere. Even when parents do know about their children’s neurotype, they often don’t know what that really means. Understanding the subtleties and profound differences in neurodivergent ways of being is rapidly evolving, replacing a misinformed medical model. People wildly underestimate how crippling ADHD can be and misunderstand the ways that autism presents, based on the stereotypical and outdated ways they are portrayed on TV.
I’ve come to be an advocate for both children and adults when it comes to accommodations. Some of these are not forcing or coercing kids to sit in a circle (many have a fear of being perceived but can remain in the room or participate in other ways); understanding stimming (self-stimulation for emotional regulation); and realizing that when a neurodivergent child appears to be controlling others, it often stems from a “pervasive desire for autonomy,” which is rooted in anxiety.
Photo by AlexanderWe neurodivergent folks work so hard to fit in, consciously or unconsciously wearing a mask in order to be accepted. Ultimately, even if the neurodivergence isn’t recognized, it still benefits everyone in a meeting to have the vocabulary for discussing needs and accommodations.
As I have come to realize what work for me, I also can now make sense of what hasn’t worked for my type of neurodivergence (underscoring here that neurodivergence is many faceted, not a linear gradient). What doesn’t work for me is the lack of accommodation for stimming and movement: such as knitting or rustling. Although I am not what most people would consider hyperactive, I am very restless. My mind and body are restless; I even have restless legs syndrome. I try to center my mind, but I get caught up in endless cycles of worry unless I actively meditate, and I don’t often want to do that. So I accommodate myself: I shift positions, since part of my ADHD means a lack of core strength and ability to sit up straight for very long; I journal; I bring knitting. I do whatever I can to keep myself in the room and occupied without distracting others. And it works for me, because otherwise I would not be able to be in the physical room where the messages are being shared.
I also don’t love the small talk after worship. I can do it, but it drains me. When I first came to meeting, I never went to the downstairs area for fellowship, or “coffee hour,” and for years I would just dart out the front door to avoid having to talk to anyone. What people don’t understand about me is that I’m a deeply social introvert. I’ll reiterate that I love getting to know people and spend time with them, but I dislike superficialities. I thrive in community, even if it’s just a weekend crafting retreat. One of my all-time favorite experiences in our meeting was an antiracism retreat where we interacted with tough and meaningful questions and spoke with each other about very intense and almost-taboo topics. After that, I felt exceptionally close to a few members of meeting whom I had known for decades but didn’t really know on such an intimate level. Relating to others and having structured ways of doing so is much easier and relaxing for me.
I want our meetings to get better at seeing and understanding neurodiversity, because those among the neurodiverse are an oppressed group, and we as Quakers have committed to advocating for other oppressed populations. Neurodiverse characteristics are not accepted socially or when they interfere with capitalism. I’ve met with many autistic professionals (including doctors, lawyers, and professors) who have been fired from their jobs and struggle with employment due to differences in communication style or unaccommodated sensory issues. We neurodivergent folks work so hard to fit in, consciously or unconsciously wearing a mask in order to be accepted. Ultimately, even if the neurodivergence isn’t recognized, it still benefits everyone in a meeting to have the vocabulary for discussing needs and accommodations.
The post Finding What Works for Us appeared first on Friends Journal.
Shifting System Paradigms Together
I am lucky that my world currently overlaps with that of many thoughtful, inclusive Quakers. On a Saturday in December, I was invited to the annual Christmas gathering for the ladies at the meeting: a night to craft, snack, and chat. My new neighbors were planning to go and offered to take me along. They are also the ones who now regularly take me to meeting. I have spatial distance and processing issues that prevent me from driving, and transportation has been a major barrier to participating as much as I would like. Still, people have tried to include me as much as possible, and I’m not just referring to the rides.
Quakers seem more open-minded, believing they can make a difference in this world. This seems to attract a lot of neurodiverse individuals: people who long for a fairer world. However, even in meeting, the predominant mindset is still neurotypical.
Let’s get back to that Saturday, and I’ll show you what I mean. The person hosting the event called and talked to me ahead of time about how they could help make the event more accessible for me. Having a clear picture of what to expect usually helps alleviate anxiety. Why? Delayed processing makes it difficult to adapt quickly to unknowns, which can lead to frustration and meltdowns. Although meltdowns are a physiological response controlled by the autonomic nervous system, like our heartbeat or digestive system, having them in public is still embarrassing. If I am going somewhere new, where I don’t know people, and can’t predict what will happen or how people will react, it can make me not want to leave home. Having a point person to answer my questions and help me plan around potential problems ahead of time allows me to participate more fully.
After arriving at the house on Saturday, we were ushered to the back door—one of the accommodations arranged beforehand. The main entrance, where everyone else was headed, had a lot of stairs that I couldn’t climb. I had recently aggravated my ankle, which I had injured earlier in the year, and was wearing a medical boot. Spatial and body awareness issues make me clumsy; I get injured more often than the “average” person. Without planning ahead, I would have tried to go through the main entrance with everyone else, gotten frustrated, had a hard time switching to an alternate plan, and might not have been able to enjoy the rest of the night. But by planning ahead, I ended up having a great time.
When I entered the house, I could smell the delicious chocolate chip cookies and other snacks. Most places, I can’t eat what everyone else does because I have a gluten-free diet. They had plenty of snacks here that I could actually eat. They also had food for people who were dairy-free, vegan, or who couldn’t have nuts. It can be tricky catering to so many different dietary needs, but they did an amazing job.
I started talking with the host and other people I know, proudly announcing that I had just started my own business: Nettleton Writing&Editing. Because of insistent productivity and not being able to do things in the same way as others, I cannot even get what people think of as an “easy” job, like bagging groceries or working in a sheltered workshop—not for long, anyway. However, I am highly skilled and hold two degrees. I’ve figured out that though I can’t get a job, I can create one, with the right support. Some of this support comes simply from knowing that people at meeting are cheering me on. Other times, it means more practical support, like one of the ladies I talked with that evening who offered to come over for an hour to help me learn more about using social media.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on UnsplashI haven’t had as much opportunity as others to interact with the world and its current technology because I haven’t had access. Some neurodivergent people struggle and blend into the world despite the cost. Others, like me, can’t—no matter how hard they try. And those who can’t are often segregated from society: shuffled into hospitals, day programs, and group homes. At least, the “lucky ones” are. Others end up homeless, in jail, or dead. Resources and opportunities are scarce.
That’s just how the world is. I have heard this phrase uttered often, usually after an injustice of some kind has occurred. It makes me want to bring the speaker along to a Quaker space, like this Saturday get-together. Maybe the people who quote that phrase find their world to be the way it is because it’s too small, too big, maybe too quiet, or too painfully loud. There must be a reason behind such black-and-white thinking, right? Most neurotypicals seem to get defensive and spew trite phrases when someone questions them about norms. They have extremely rigid social expectations and are terrified of change. They are very sensitive, poor things. They also have a way of turning simple problems into complex ones. They do not seem to recognize that in the social world, it’s people who create “how the world is.”
Quakers seem more open-minded, believing they can make a difference in this world. This seems to attract a lot of neurodiverse individuals: people who long for a fairer world. However, even in meeting, the predominant mindset is still neurotypical. Cultural misunderstandings and conflicts can and do occur, usually with one or both sides being unaware of what the problem is. They can’t see things from the other’s perspective. I’ve been told that not being able to see things from another’s perspective is an autism trait. However, almost any trait can be flipped on its head; they are all human traits.
So, looking up at a wider horizon, my Easter hope is this article will have been read and utilized: opening perspectives about neurodiversity that will help changes in our Quaker communities hop along a little faster.
After I sat down and started nibbling on my gluten-free goodies, I struck up a conversation with someone I didn’t know, a young lady going into a mental health field. I stated that I do not believe our current mental health system is good for either patients or providers. After going around and around about our differing opinions, we came to the conclusion that we agreed that the system has issues, but we were at odds on how to go about solving the problem. I proposed large system changes—a complete paradigm shift. To me, shuffling things about in hopes of creating change is like moving furniture around and redecorating a house instead of addressing the crumbling foundation. Neurotypicals seem to avoid major system changes as if they would be the end of the world.
Sitting in the car and waiting to go home, it struck me as to why neurotypicals seem to have such difficulty conceptualizing major social changes, whereas I have trouble with changes in daily routine. As someone who is autistic, I’m a detail-oriented person. I see an up-close picture of life; that’s my world. Neurotypicals tend to see things on a broader scale. They have phrases like “that’s just a detail,” because altering one thing doesn’t change the whole picture for them. Change something as big as a system though, and that picture alters. The world they know disappears.
What does this insight have to do with Quaker meeting? Whether neurodiverse or neurotypical, we need to understand that people will react poorly when someone says or does something that threatens or invalidates their worldview. It can make one feel frustrated and alone. We need to seek out the angles where our neurological-based worldviews can be seen in the same frame—so we can shift that frame together. What’s in a world is determined by the connection people have with one another. Over time, we can learn different ways to change our internal lens and create new relationships. Yet, if we are so scared that we can’t let go of our own perspective, connections get confused, even severed. However, like the spring, there is always hope. No matter how confused or frustrated we get with someone who doesn’t share our worldview, as long as we don’t give up we will never fail one another.
I wrapped my scarf around me a little tighter in the chilly car as a myriad of thoughts and emotions from the evening swirled around me. No, I thought, the swirl was too big to have accumulated so quickly. I just hadn’t seen it amassing. It had taken seven years of attending meeting and building relationships with those present to make tonight a possibility.
After arriving home, taking off my shoes, and setting down my sunglasses, headphones, and weighted backpack, I remembered the email with upcoming writing opportunities for Friends Journal. I was tired and wanted to ignore this nagging reminder, but I couldn’t. I needed to write about that night for the neurodiversity issue. Christmas hadn’t yet passed, but my mind was leaping ahead to March and to Easter in April. While many Quakers aren’t big on holidays, they are a necessary part of keeping track of my life. Holidays are growth markers. They give me a sense of time, another important type of relationship: a perspective that can get lost when someone is buried too deep in the details of day-to-day living. So, looking up at a wider horizon, my Easter hope is this article will have been read and utilized: opening perspectives about neurodiversity that will help changes in our Quaker communities hop along a little faster.
The post Shifting System Paradigms Together appeared first on Friends Journal.
Early March
Everything rumored about March is true.
You brute month, you howling monster month.
Iron-willed March, intractable March,
you will bend a knee. You will give way.
April could only be the cruelest if there were no March.
We’re worn down from climate change’s ferocity:
the heaping snowy mounds that came this year
and its bitter cold.
We’ve done our duty like good soldiers.
We’ve weathered the unthinkable.
We ring hands in anticipation, rub them together
as if there’s a fire near to warm them,
and know no matter how brutal March comes in,
there’s sure to be May and June—
and roses blooming near the doorstep. Then March
will be nothing more than a memory fading.
The post Early March appeared first on Friends Journal.
Peter Wonders about Death and Other Stuff
From a conversation with her ten-year-old autistic grandson.
Imagine what you would feel like
if you did not exist.
What would you feel like if you were dead?
Would you still feel like you were there?
But how could you feel if you did not exist?
It’s hard to explain.
If you and Grandpa had not married,
would I have been born to strangers?
Or, if you and Grandpa had not married,
would I have been born at all?
Would I exist?
If you’re dead, you’re gone.
What would you feel like if you were gone?
Would you think or have feelings?
It’s so hard to explain.
I don’t think you understand
what I’m trying to say, Grandma.
If there was nothing when God didn’t yet create the world,
how would you be there?
If you weren’t born yet,
how would you be there?
Imagine not being there
and not being able to think.
It’s not possible ’cause nothing can change that.
You would still be able to think and stuff.
It’s just weird.
No one knows what if feels like to be dead
because when you’re dead you can’t come back and tell people.
I started to think about this since kindergarten.
When I think really really big,
my brain hurts.
I’ve got a huge suggestion for the Bible:
They should make it easier to understand.
The smallest word with the most complex meaning
is God.
The post Peter Wonders about Death and Other Stuff appeared first on Friends Journal.
Praying with Crow
(1)
I am often left
empty of words,
language is of little use.
Why does Crow
speak better
of such matters?
Prayer comes easy to him
(perhaps it’s the black feathers?),
I wear a gray woolen coat,
yet, I remain silent,
saying nothing.
(2)
I’ve been asking
un-answerable questions,
where did it all go,
all that was once beautiful
gone leaving no trace?
(3)
Crow flies off,
I follow with my eyes,
Coming to rest
on a high bare branch.
Crow looks to the west,
I turn my head
& see the gray clouds
building as snow
begins to fall.
(4)
Crow is behind
a white vail,
not even his silhouette remains.
Turning, I walk home
following tracks
left by Fox
& finding at my door
yellow Spring flowers,
in full glorious bloom
cradled by newly
fallen snow.
The post Praying with Crow appeared first on Friends Journal.
Forum, March 2025
“The Delight of Being Alive” is one of the most beautiful and insightful reflections I’ve read in a very long time (by Gail Melix/Greenwater, FJ Feb.). Thank you for sharing your wisdom and that of your ancestors. It resonated with me.
Kim Moore
Cape May, N.J.
This article spoke to my heart. Years ago I heard a minister talk about a God of society and a God of Nature. The idea of a “God of Nature” resonated with me. The minister spoke of the Native Americans having a God of Nature. This helps define the “Light” for me as a Quaker. Thanks for the article, Gail.
Barry Simon
Middleborough, Mass.
Thank you. I read this as ministry, coming when I needed to receive it.
Harvey Gillman
Rye, UK
I enjoyed this story of discovering nature again and the overturning of injustice from the Federal Bureau of Indian Affairs. I have special feelings for Indigenous members of tribes.
I am also a Quaker from Durango (Colo.) Meeting. I found peace of mind in nature and my love for animals. I’m not an Indigenous person, but as a young child, the outdoors was where I was the happiest. I learned over the years, in talking with the elders and working with members of various tribes, their honor of the land and nature has been embraced in my thoughts. Your writing about “what we love we protect” is so on target, but unfortunately, many are going too fast to realize what they missed.
I worked for the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Affairs in Native American Programs for 20 years in Phoenix, Ariz. I was the Southwest coordinator for resident initiatives, region 9. Before that, I was the executive director of housing at Ute Mountain Ute Housing in Towaoc, Colo.
ET Dahl
Ocala, Fla.
Thank you so much for this beautiful reflection. It resonates deeply with me, especially now in this difficult time.
Pat Johnson
Candler, N.C.
Thank you so much for this article. It spoke to my condition.
Lauri Perman
Saint Paul, Minn.
Thank you for this beautiful account and invitation to follow your example to connect more intimately with nature.
Marcelle Martin
Chester, Pa.
Is it right to regard anything as outside our sphere of action (“On the Use of Despair” by Amanda Franklin, FJ Feb.)? Prayer connects us with an omnipotent God, and Christ said, “You do not receive, only because you do not ask.” There is a time for waiting in stillness, but also, when moved by the Spirit, a place for vocal prayer, which has been a part of Quaker ministry from the beginning.
Clive Gordon
Sutton Coldfield, UK
I am also a psychotherapist. In the last month, a day has not gone by that I don’t hear from clients who are scared, angry, and despairing. LGBT folks, people reliant on Medicare or Medicaid, women who fear we are taking a major step backward, and the list goes on. I catch myself trying to alleviate their pain, but this article helps me see that sometimes I just have to be in that darkness with them. It is surely not an easy thing to do, but Franklin makes the point well, that it is the faithful thing to do. It is compelling for me that sometimes my clients google me and discover that I’m Quaker and have theological training. Now more than ever, they come with questions about faith in the midst of their despair, and this article has helped me formulate a way to approach those questions and those people. I am thankful for Amanda Franklin’s words.
Geoffrey Knowlton
Hyannis, Mass.
Listening to understand other views prevents unpleasant surprises, moves us beyond divisive and exclusionary politics, and refocuses us on core ideals of God’s infinite equal love and forgiveness for all, so we build our lives on solid bedrock.
We changed our Constitution many times before to include more people in our governments, and we can do it again, so women, minorities, disabled, dependent, Indigenous, etc., can all be better represented after every election at the executive decision table with a seat, voice, and vote. The Swiss have already proved this executive power model is viable. Are we willing to share power with our neighbors?
George Gore
Chicago area, Ill.
Thank you for “Rhapsody in Purple” by Kat Griffith (FJ Feb.). Her experience chimes with some of mine, as I canvassed here in the United Kingdom as part of Greenpeace’s Climate Vote initiative. We were (carefully) not promoting a particular party or candidate. Once people realised this and that we weren’t asking for money, almost all who had time were keen to talk. Many had clearly not been listened to on the subject before, and most didn’t think they could do anything about it. But we explained that if they could vote, they could look at the party manifestos and their candidates and see which of their policies might address their concerns. Greenpeace could send them a briefing about this when the manifestos came out.
It was really heartwarming to see people make connections between their own actions, politics, and things (places, people, creatures) that they were really concerned about. Even the Seventh-day Adventist who was looking forward to the end of the world was grateful for the conversation!
Not only is this kind of activity helping build community but it also helps give people confidence in their own judgment, which is being rapidly undermined by social media, accelerated by AI.
Linda Murgatroyd
London, UK
Wow, Kat, you are truly an inspiration and a peacemaker!
Joe Mayer
Burnsville, Minn.
Online: Kat Griffith discusses her article in a video interview at Friendsjournal.org/kat-griffith.
Meetings using moneyYet another use for our money came to me as I was reading your insightful stories on how meetings use money in the January issue of Friends Journal. In a word: outreach. We want to spread Quaker principles and practices to more people.
Here are some ways that come immediately to mind: post directional signs on the major streets nearby; adopt a street in your community, which usually entitles you to a sign posted on that street saying something like this to passing motorists; make sure the sign in front of your meetinghouse is conspicuous; design and print bookmarks, which you can distribute through your public library; host public events that draw others to your meetinghouse.
Tom Louderback
Louisville, Ky.
David Brooks’s advice is very similar to the way great salespeople I have known build relationships with customers (Review of How to Know a Person by David Brooks, reviewed by Kathleen Jenkins, FJ Jan.). It takes real effort and commitment. I suspect that’s why most of us don’t start conversations with strangers. The other reason is fear that the stranger will turn the conversation around to us. Here is a simple technique we use every day to keep the conversation about the stranger. It’s called the reverse: answer the question with a question of your own. Ever have this conversation with the checkout clerk at the grocery store? They ask, “How are you today?” And you answer, “Fine, thank you. How about you?” See, I bet you have done that many times in your life.
Don Crawford
Monteverde, Costa Rica
In the 1980s I worked in Philadelphia at a small agency whose role was to intervene in large-scale interracial and cultural disputes (“Lessons from My Quaker Ancestors and the People They Enslaved” by Os Cresson, FJ Feb.). I was sent one day to the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Although I was a White person born and raised in diverse places, I had never experienced anything like rural Maryland. It appeared that either you lived in a wood shanty or an enormous new luxury home, depending on your racial identity. As part of my work, I met people in their houses of worship and schools. The disparities were shocking, and the sense of never being able to escape social conditions and old patterns was still so strong. The people I met while working there were mostly very hospitable, even inviting me to their Wednesday evening AME church with them (I went). When I went home after a few days, I had the sense that we all had just played old, old roles once more.
Anonymous
Philadelphia area, Pa.
Thanks for this beautiful and eye opening testimony to native awareness of that natural wellness of spirituality within us all!
Eve
Delaware County, Pa.
The post Forum, March 2025 appeared first on Friends Journal.
Jharna Jahnavi: Emerging Leader for Liberation
Jharna Jahnavi, a medical student at the University of Vermont Larner School of Medicine, and the first in her family to pursue medicine as a career, credits much of her success to receiving a lot of mentoring throughout her journey. “I would not be where I am today without the support of the countless mentors and advisors in my journey. I want to give back and mentor the next generation and make sure they get the same support I did.”
When she moved from Philadelphia, a city where a majority of the population are people of color, to Burlington, Vermont, where more than 80% of the population is white, Jharna felt the change in environment acutely. Jharna found an opportunity to engage with the community and support medical education mentorship through her medical school’s Area Health Education Centers (AHEC) program and was an AHEC Scholar for the summer of 2022. Through AHEC, she was able to join their efforts of building a mentor network and providing opportunity to local high school students interested in healthcare and become deeply involved in the Health Education Resource Opportunities (HERO) program, which is designed to prepare high school students for careers in medicine.
First, Jharna served as a HERO mentor, a fulfilling learning experience. “Being a mentor let me provide students with the kind of support I have been so lucky to receive. It also gave me more opportunity to connect with and work with young people, which is what I hope to do in my career, potentially as a pediatric physician.”
After participating in the Emerging Leaders for Liberation program, Jharna stepped up to take over one of the leadership roles from the previous students. She recruited for, coordinated, and implemented the HERO program on her medical school’s campus. Her biggest area of emphasis and drive for the program has been ensuring the program helps to empower students who might face accessibility barriers to the medical field. This includes students of color, first-generation students, students from low-income backgrounds and rural communities, and students who have immigrated or are part of immigrant families. Of primary focus in her various educational modules are social justice and social inequities in medicine.
As Jharna prepares for the clinical component of her program, she knows that, short-term, she’ll have less time to be involved. But she’s focused on leaving it in good shape for the next student leaders, including developing age-appropriate curriculum for critical topics such as social determinants of health and social inequities in medicine, which she hopes will be in use for years to come.
Jharna sees what she has learned as part of a lifelong commitment to mentorship, and to social justice in medicine. “I hope that I can be involved in HERO again in my career but regardless, this type of mentorship work is something I want to be working on throughout my career.”
Madeyson Dyce: Emerging Leader for Liberation
For Madeyson Dyce, a student at Guilford College and a participant in the Emerging Leaders for Liberation program, art creates a sense of possibility and solidarity. “When people are creating together, they’re learning about each other and connecting. When we use art to express our vision for a better world, we’re taking the first step to making that world real, and we often realize just how much we have in common.”
Madeyson has had an interest in the power of art since she was selected as a Futurist Fellow, a program that supports emerging leaders to make change through an Afrofuturist lens. When she joined the ELL program, Madeyson saw an opportunity to build on what she had learned in the fellowship and to develop opportunities for community art-making.
She also saw possibilities for social action, a way to foster solidarity among different social identities, a means of empowering marginalized people, and a way for a group to learn together about connection and intersection in social justice.
Madeyson’s first project – organizing a group of 12 students to draw a racial justice-themed work on campus on October 20 – was a major learning opportunity. “Planning was stressful. There were so many details to worry about, but seeing people working in community and growing together, it was really worth the stress. And, now we have this powerful creative work that reminds us of the work we have to do.”
As the drawing emerged, Dyce witnessed powerful learning, with the participants sharing and reflecting on what their identities, and what racial justice, meant to them. “I think this gave students a chance to seek control of their own lives and stand up against injustice.”
Dyce was particularly grateful for the support that AFSC gave her throughout the process. ELL Program Director Mariana Martinez helped Madeyson think through the project from the start, and overcome the obstacles she faced in bringing it to life.
The piece stands on the Guilford campus as an affirmation of Quaker values, like struggling for equality and working in community. And Dyce sees it as just the beginning of her work. She’s looking for new ways to embed liberatory creativity into the Guilford campus. “We have a regular paint and sip event, and I want students to think of that as an opportunity to express themselves on deeper issues. Painting flowers and clouds is nice, but what if we were expressing our identities, or painting our just and equitable future instead?”
Lucas Meyer-Lee: Emerging Leader for Liberation
If Swarthmore College student Lucas Meyer-Lee has learned one thing from his Emerging Leaders for Liberation project, it’s just how dehumanizing a prison sentence can be.
To help people understand what life is like for people living behind bars, Lucas wanted to deepen the work of Prison Radio at the nearby SCI Chester prison facility, creating connections between students and people incarcerated there. If successful, the work would give a platform to incarcerated voices, deepening relationships between those on the inside and the outside. Having previously met people like Kenjuan Congo, Jr., who is incarcerated at SCI Chester, Lucas understood that people at the facility would have plenty of stories, poetry, and political commentary to share, if he could help to get it out.
The concept was simple: the students would record the stories and perspectives of incarcerated people, then share them through existing platforms, building on Prison Radio’s existing model. However, Lucas knew that, for it to work, he needed to develop trusting and respectful relationships with people locked up at SCI Chester.
He has faced administrative barriers every step of the way. The phone systems break. Individuals are transferred between facilities or moved between cell blocks, disrupting schedules and conversations already underway between people in SCI and Lucas. Even with incredible effort by his partner on the inside, Kenjuan, the project has been slow-going.
“Growing up a Quaker, I’ve always been opposed to U.S. mass incarceration,” said Lucas. “But now, seeing the prison-industrial complex up close, I realize all the ways it isolates people and makes them jump through hoops. I think about how frustrated I feel, struggling to maintain contact. Then I think about their families and loved ones, and how hard they must be working to stay in touch. It’s heartbreaking.”
Still, Lucas is undeterred. Inspired by some of the powerful conversations he’s already had, and with Kenjuan’s tireless work, Lucas is searching for new ways to help these individuals get their stories out. In some instances, he has used email to gather written statements; in others, he records conversations piecemeal and has individuals respond to each other’s thoughts serially. The complications have even spurred a bit of innovation: to broaden the conversation, and to show interviewees that people are paying attention and value their perspectives, he now plans to have listeners email questions.
Strong allies have facilitated Lucas’s progress and helped him navigate the system. Prison Radio and War News Radio help people behind bars share their stories with the world; they’ve lent Lucas audio equipment, counseled him on the project, and put out audio on it. Knowing that these organizations, AFSC, and Kenjuan are standing with him has helped Lucas stay committed to the project, even in the face of all the roadblocks.
As the project grows, Lucas is excited to grow and evolve beyond Swarthmore. “Students have been integral to so many movements for change throughout history, but we have to move beyond campus to engage the broader community.” Lucas knows that it won’t be easy, but he’s ready to put in the work.
Molly Dorgan: Emerging Leader for Liberation
Molly Dorgan’s relationship with her hometown of Waynesville is complicated. Growing up in the town of 10,000 people, nestled between the Great Smoky and Blue Ridge Mountains in Western North Carolina, she loved the community. But, she knew she would have to leave Waynesville to chase her dreams. She worried, for herself and for her friends, that the local schools didn’t have the resources to prepare them for the journeys ahead.
Through the Emerging Leaders for Liberation program, Molly is creating educational pathways for the next generation of young people from the region. With support from AFSC, and in partnership with schools across Western North Carolina, Molly organized the Field Summit this fall to help local students overcome the financial barriers, inadequate educational structures, and cultural differences that might keep them from college.
Molly understood growing up that she had an advantage. Her parents sent her to science and math summer camps where she not only sharpened her skills but also learned how to pick a college and then apply to it and reduce the cost through scholarship and support. As she headed off to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill supported by a Morehead-Cain Scholarship, her peers in Waynesville were never far from her mind.
Molly spent her first two years at UNC putting Quaker values into action, making the campus more welcoming as an UNC DEI Fellow and diving into public service as a Buckley Public Service Scholar and a member of Pi Beta Phi Fraternity for Women. She also studied the factors that keep students in places like Waynesville from getting to and succeeding in the best colleges.
When she learned about the ELL program, she saw it as an opportunity to make an impact on these issues by sharing her experiences with the young people back home and helping them chase their own dreams. The event, hosted on October 22, was attended by 25 young people, and included conversations and workshops that prepared them to get to, and thrive in, college. Students gained practical knowledge and skills on building their resumes, interviewing, volunteering and mentorship, and telling their stories in college essays.
Planning the event was a learning experience for Molly, too. She was surprised by the number of professionals throughout the community who were eager to pitch in when asked. And she gained a newfound appreciation of and understanding of their career paths.
She sees the event as the spark of something that can grow in the years to come. Starting with the curriculum that she developed and the relationships she built for the event, she’s considering how to build out a local mentoring initiative and virtual library of college access and success resources for students in underfunded rural schools. Molly says, “I want every young person in the area to know that people want them to succeed and can help them succeed. Together we can build a network that supports them.”
