#dignity

#dignity

Exclusion and ridicule are especially painful experiences of indignity. Violations of dignity, whether obvious and intended, or subtle and unintentional, are emotional injuries that evoke feelings of shame and anger, defensiveness and withdrawal, and, often, a need to retaliate in some form. Hicks notes that the pain caused by injuries to our dignity is equivalent to physical pain and processed in the same areas of the brain.

And yet, this fall, I found myself checking the balance on my Bridge Card (Michigan's version of SNAP, formerly known as food stamps) as the federal government shut down and the USDA warned that benefits for November would not be going out, affecting 1.4 million Michiganders, or about 42 million people nationwide. (That amounts to roughly 1 in 8 people.) My last deposit came on October 17 and I won't be waiting to see whether I'll eat next month.

Arguments about how we should consider some measure of accommodation (to fascism, to AI) abound, and some are even reasonable-sounding. These are powerful forces with their hands around the throat of our futures. Certainly no one can be blamed for doing what it takes to nudge those hands back a few millimeters so you can get enough air to breathe.

Throughout my life, even as a child, my desire was for independence and dignity. I have always wanted to make my own choices, from what I eat and wear, and where I live, to who my friends are, and even who I vote for.

A job is about a lot more than a paycheck. It's about your dignity. And that lesson has guided my whole career.