When Julia and I wrote our second novel, Saving Thornwood, set in a fictional historic “lunatic asylum”, we knew we didn’t want to make the inmates objects of fear and revulsion. In real life, it’s usually the “sane” people who turn out to be the monsters.

Everyone knows that most nineteenth century asylums and “alms houses” were dumping grounds for unwanted people, not only men and women with serious mental illness, but also the poor and the homeless. Immigrants. Women who were “too independent” and held views that were unpopular with their husbands were dragged from their homes and locked behind closed doors.

Today, all you have to do is look at the news to see this same urge to punish and erase people who are different than us. It’s still with us, and it’s just as terrifying and ugly as it ever was.

Why do we do it?

Because we’re evil? Because we’re cruel? Maybe. But then why are we so cruel?

Hardcore pessimists feel no need to ask that question. People suck––end of story.

But when you look at it, that’s not a very deep or sophisticated observation, is it? IOW, there’s not a lot that you can do with it.

…which is exactly the point. Once you’ve decided that whole groups of people are naturally valueless, that means you don’t have to do anything––except maybe push them out of the way. Or make them disappear.

The truth is, you can’t argue or reason someone out of fear and hatred, because fear and hatred are not rational minds. Merely knowing that fear and hatred are irrational does very little, if anything, to lessen their hold over us.

So what can do that? What works?

Experience. In particular, personal experience of the opposite state of mind. And real contact with people who are very different from us.

When I first started leading writing workshops for mentally ill people over twenty years ago, I didn’t know what to expect and was a little anxious. I’d confided in a friend, saying that I’d never worked with mental patients before. Without missing a beat, he replied, “Not that you know of.”

Having lived and worked in New York City for years, I’d had plenty of opportunity to witness certain behaviors of mentally ill people––and plenty of time to learn how to ignore them––the typical coping mechanism of most New Yorkers. These were the mentally ill who did not have the option of “blending into the crowd”, the homeless and unmedicated, the type of people I previously would have crossed the street or changed subway cars to avoid.

A few years later, those same people were no longer mere nuisances or sources of fear. They were real people with real names that I got to know them by. Through their writing, I learned what mattered to them, what their griefs and joys were, their worst and fondest memories. We talked and laughed together, and looked forward to seeing each other every week.

It was terrible to realize that not too many years ago, these same people would have been chained up in cages in unheated basement cells.

As always, the most horrifying part is not just the cruel things that were done to those people––it’s that the people who did them didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.

That’s a terrible theme that keeps getting replayed throughout different times in our history––we’re living through one of them now.

What can we do about that?

Refusing to cooperate with hatred is good and necessary––but what also matters is refusing to be ignorant. I’m talking about my own ignorance, and yours. Because we all have it. And I don’t mean intellectual ignorance. I mean emotional ignorance that can’t be cured just by reading a book or a meme, but only by stepping outside of ourselves into someone else’s skin––and by staying there, as long as possible. Until we change.

Creating and sharing stories is still one of the very best ways we have of doing that. Maybe the best. That’s what I’m trying to do.

What about you?

I hope you enjoyed this May letter from the Highlands. As always, your thoughts and words are welcome.

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Finally, a friendly reminder that my new collection from Lethe Press, These Things That Walk Behind Me, is now available directly from the publisher, or by order from your favorite indie bookshop.