On Being a Resolutionary
I took metal shop in high school.
We used a lathe machine which cranked loudly and slowly, churning the metal grates in an interlocking fashion. There were dusty bolts and screws that had a purpose for which I cared or knew little about, and glittery silver metal shavings that were light to the touch, but grated the smallest parts of the skin. I leaned into the machine for a closer look at the results of my metal filing work and that’s when I felt the tug on the back of my neck.
The bottom of my scarf was slowly rolling into the metal grooves and pulling me in the process. I grabbed the top of my scarf quickly, trying to create space between the scarf’s knot and my throat. I yelled out to a classmate to help me. We couldn’t pull the scarf out of the machine, we couldn’t lessen the weight of pressure on my neck and we couldn’t clearly think our way out of the panic that ensued.
I was ensnared and slowly choking.
At the start of the semester, the teacher discussed the rules for using the equipment ad nauseum — the functions of each machine, where all the buttons were, and what to do in the event of an emergency. Somewhere in between don’t touch this and please remember that, I’d forgotten the rule about wearing certain clothing while working.
The teacher, seeing my downfall, intervened by turning off the machine. He clicked a switch that was located high above the machine on the side of the wall. Once stopped, my classmate, the instructor and I took our time to untangle my situation. I was able to breathe again, without the fear of death looming.
That teacher was a resolutionary.
When the pandemic hit, and students were forced to learn from home, there were a slew of parents across the nation that decided to withdraw from school and homeschool instead. Many of these parents coordinated with other families, pooled resources, or created micro-schools to continue their child’s learning. As a result, homeschoolers increased nationally in 2020, and the number continues to rise.
Black parents, in particular, aware that some schools, even before the pandemic, had not been safe, intellectual spaces for their children, used the interruption of the pandemic to create learning environments that were both healthy and liberating.
These parents are resolutionaries. I count myself among them.
It may sound like “resolutionary” is a fancy way to say “problem solver,” but it’s much more than that.
A resolutionary sees how a problem impacts the whole and believes they have the power to change it.
A resolutionary is ego-less. They are determined to make change not for their own edification, but for the edification of others.
A resolutionary is focused on the outcome and because of this, they are undeterred by the problem before them.
There are those, so married to being a problem solver, that they look for problems to solve, and when there are none, they create some. There are other problem solvers so attached to their own solutions, they are unable to see the benefits of a solution they haven’t originated.
A resolutionary, on the other hand, has the power to shift the trajectory of how things are done, or how they’ve always been done, because they are first willing to unbiasedly disrupt systems that do not serve all (or the whole).
I think about my battle with the metal shop machinery. The lathe was much like any system, designed to do what it does. Once the gears of the machine began to turn, your metal slab would be whittled down to flaky metal shavings — period. No amount of yelling at the machine, yelling at me, positive self-talk, or fiddling with the machine’s parts would stop it from churning and ultimately choking the life out of me.
How many of us are ensnared in systems that are not designed for how we fully show up, and to what extent does our disregard of the rules or desire to show up as our full selves become a liability in these systems?
When I was choking, I didn’t need anyone’s theory about how I got caught up. I just needed a resolution. I needed the entire system to stop, to shut down the whole machine so that I could begin again, better.
Resolutionaries come from all walks of life, from all races, genders, professions, socio-economic backgrounds, ages, abilities, intellectual capacities. There are resolutionary parents, teachers, siblings, friends, activists, neighbors; people who are willing to intercede because they know that if they allowed things to continue without disruption, or a new approach, or intercession on someone’s behalf, the impact could be harmful to one, and harmful to one, is one too many.
Unfortunately, this persona comes at a cost. Resolutionaries are valuable, but also vulnerable. Unlike problem solvers who are lauded for their ideas and inventions, resolutionaries can be seen as unconventional in their approach or possessing a naivete about the power of existing systems (that have worked, albeit for some). However, they aren’t naive as much as they are unfettered; a quality necessary to pursue solutions that are unpopular, but effective.
So why not the term, “revolutionary”? Well, because frankly, it’s highly charged and often political. It is radical. And rightfully so. The term should not be trivialized by overuse. Also, a revolution can be justified by violence.
We can have a revolutionary war, but war is never a resolution.
What would it look like if we created space for resolutionary ideas and practices in education, healthcare, politics or families? Could we mitigate conflict? Ensure a diversity of ideas in high-stakes decision-making processes? What if we decided to extend the notion of being a problem solver to being a resolutionary? How might it impact our world?
