There is medicine in connection. Healing can be found in crossing the chasms that have opened between people, between parts of a community, between members of the community of life on this planet. These connections are blocked when we don’t speak the same language, and they are further blocked when we don’t even try.
As an English-speaking Anglo-American physician, I am aware of the ways in which the languages I speak unwittingly perpetuate separation. The hegemonic dominance of the English language, which has decimated the rich diversity of languages spoken in our world, invites some of us to think that everyone should speak English. Even the word “Anglo,” applied to English speakers of non-English descent, is a nod to the empire building that created this situation. Similarly, the language of modern medicine, of “knowing” and “evidence,” has crushed the space in which the art of healing occurs. Our self-absorbed human interests, complete with noisy thinking, technological fascination, meaningless consumption and material striving, leave us unable to connect with, much less communicate with, the natural world. Our separation has become so complete that many of us have forgotten that doing so is even possible.
I love languages. Even more, I love authentic communication—the giving and receiving that happens with sharing and listening, with seeking an understanding of another’s experience—and the way it heals our wounds of separation and alienation. I’ve been wondering: How can we create spaces in our community for sharing across language barriers? How can we deepen human connection in our community? What might be possible if we knew each other’s stories, the losses we’ve suffered, the courageous lengths we’ve come to make a better life for ourselves, the dreams we hold for our children? What could we create together if we could authentically communicate? And, if our community spaces don’t allow for sharing across languages, what are we losing by excluding, ignoring and devaluing those who don’t speak the dominant language?
I live in Bolinas, a town known for being insular and exclusive. This ethos is partly informed by a desire to protect nature from the dominant culture of development. But another part of our culture in Bolinas is having town parties; as I write this, we are gearing up for what will undoubtedly be a joyful Labor Day. There will be food, multiple (nine!) bands and a general vibe of connection and community. The closing act is a favorite—Los Padres—a band made up of talented musicians who are also fathers, many of whom speak Spanish. I wonder: How could these events be more inclusive, more honoring of the cultural richness within our community? Could they, like more and more events elsewhere, be emceed in English and Spanish? Or could we go even deeper?
As we emerge from our pandemic quietude, we have many opportunities to consider how we return to community life. What if we were all working on our language skills, and co-created a safe environment in which we could try to speak Spanish or English, no matter how imperfectly, to help each other learn? What if we had more community events that explicitly celebrated and elevated this cultural richness? What if there were bilingual community salons in which we could learn language while sharing stories and dreams? What if, instead of radical exclusivity, Bolinas, and all West Marin, became known for its ethos of radical kindness, grounded in earnest efforts to ensure that all voices are heard and all people get to participate in joyful community?
We are cultivating that vision here in the Commonweal Garden, where our efforts are rooted in connection with the land. And that is where it gets really juicy for me, here, on the land, where there are so many open channels of communication. The trees, the birds and the animals are communicating with each other, and with us. When we slow down and bring ourselves into awareness, they respond. There is a humbling nexus here, between land and plants and humans and medicine, and a channel of connection that opens between those who are connected to plants and nature regardless of the human language spoken. Here we can connect through ancestral wisdom about the medicine in plants, through the beauty of growing food and tending the soil, through the universality of how good it feels to lay down on the body of the Earth. We share a mutual desire for life on this planet, and for the generations to come.
Healing separations within communities can be slow and difficult work. Yet we have opportunities to do much in a joyful way. This evening, after a wonderfully fun afternoon dancing in community, learning the rhythms of salsa, feeling the richness of being with people who have lived completely different lives in distant places, I reflect on the miracle that we are here now. Together, in community, speaking the mutual language of love and connection with care and respect for the preciousness and sacredness of all of life. Helping each other learn each other’s languages, while having a whole lot of fun.
Anna O’Malley, M.D., is a family and community medicine physician at the Coastal Health Alliance, where she explores community-level healing work in addition to integrative primary care. She founded and directs Natura Institute for Ecology and Medicine in the Commonweal Garden.