Tracing a fine line on the floor
We were given sensitivity training today. All of us in the office (except for those on medical leave, vacation, parental leave or some other valid reason). A professional in the field of psychotherapy led us through the drill necessary to shield us from all forms of harassment. I feel safer now.
First of all, was I at risk of HARassment, or harASSment. I’ve been confused about that ever since I learned that the CBC has a standard for on-air pronunciation. Could I have used the right word wrongly? Mea culpa. Next, is once enough? Well, is it? I’m still not sure. It might have to do with how much pain I feel. Akin to when I touch a hot stove, or stub my little toe. Am I one of the malicious, or one of the “lost in a fog”?
I’m fortunate that my workplace is one without great risk (physical or emotional) where I’ve reported on a regular basis for close to two decades. It would seem that many, many people live in fear. Not here, but somewhere else. Enough to keep the facilitator criss-crossing the nation providing seminars in cold city hotel rooms, to people he will never meet. But he did say thank you to each of us for our attention and commentary.
I learned that tolerance does not equal acceptance, but that acceptance is necessary to abolish intolerance. Much like the rules of chess where who can mate who are so nebulous. I mean that mate in the gaming terms. No, wait, you misunderstood. Mea culpa.
The end goal was to help each of us to trace a fine line on the office floor, over which we must not step. In the best of worlds, my freedom ends where yours begins. Hence, the line.
