Chantilly Mers-Pickett shares her story of using circle as a response to the spa shootings in Atlanta, USA.

Hosting Through the Vulnerability of Shared Responsibility

Grace and peace Circle Way practitioners, learners, guides, and healers. 

I bring you greetings from Turtle Island, from a small town called Bloomfield, New Jersey, land originally stewarded by the Lenni Lenape people.  

I was raised in Polynesia, the islands of Hawaii - shores, valleys and mountains stewarded by kanaka maoli, native Hawaiians. My parents and ancestors come from even smaller islands further west in Micronesia, historically called Belau, today known as the Republic of Palau. Our islands are no longer the colonial territory of the United States, and previous powers - Japan, Germany, and Spain.  

I greet you as a Pasifika circle way practitioner, because both my Indigenous lineage and colonial history are alive in me as I move in circles as a host, guardian, or scribe. Perhaps land and lineage are always alive in our circles. And for me, this reality of living as both Pasifika and Asian felt most intimate and tender in the wake of the March spa shootings in Atlanta. 

A few days after the shooting, I called to check in with a friend, an Asian sister and colleague and asked, "How are you? Do you need anything?" 

Tears came. She had a virtual space planned that evening, and she did not know how she would make it through. The pain was raw. We are not conditioned as Asian women to express grief, much less hold a space for others who need to grieve.  

In that moment, fears flooded in and that inner voice began to speak. “Chantilly, you cannot host when this shooting is raw for you too; this is too vulnerable of a space.” 

Vulnerability for me is dangerous territory. In the words and research of Brené Brown, vulnerability is “emotional exposure.” It is much safer to maintain a degree of emotional distance as a host. As an educator and facilitator, we are trained to maintain distance almost as a neutral third-party. Through the years, I have practiced circle in educational settings, meetings and workshops and integrated circle as a methodology with a center that was strong enough to hold difficult and weighty conversations. But how could I as a host hold the space, when the historical pain, trauma, and violence of this shooting was so close to me? 

But the other voice, the voice of Spirit, spoke gently saying, “Call in a circle. There are others. You do not have to carry this alone.” 

I felt in that moment, both vulnerability and resolve. 

We knew another Pasifika sister who is a circle keeper. She is a circle keeper in the tradition of Kay Pranis and restorative justice circles. Immediately, we looped her in. 

In less than an hour, we determined my Pasifika sister would guardian. I would host and our Asian sister would welcome, offer context, and check-in. Circle gave us the infrastructure. We had the practices already embedded in us. And for me as a host (a grieving and afraid one at that) did not have to experience or hold pain alone. We could release our pain to the center, trust each other and lean into the principle of shared responsibility. I needed to take the emotional risk, however, of hosting through my own vulnerability. 

I also decided for the first time to host this circle using the medicine of music. In our traditions of faith, music offers us portals to experience the Divine and for us to release whatever it is we are carrying. I chose a song as a start-point and the instrumental music from my guitar supported the rim as the circle question moved around, in and through us. 

“What truth needs to be witnessed now?”

And I just played. When someone decided to speak in, they unmuted and spoke their truth. It was so beautiful what happened as people started sharing their truth and we bore witness. This unseen, but very felt power took shape in the middle. It forms in the alchemy of people with hearts open and spirits attuned and attentive. As the talking piece moved around virtually, the people actually formed the closing round and check-out. It was amazing what emerged, when we leaned into the vulnerability of shared responsibility. 

Someone said, "I need to speak affirmations of myself. For far too long I have been ashamed and invisible.”  

“Well, that is how we are going to close. What affirmations do we need to speak and hear?” I asked.  

They in turn began to speak affirmations about themselves and to one another. It felt like someone opened a window after a storm and let the light and warm air flood in. The affirmations brought breath and buoyancy, as if this alchemy between us became medicine. 

Behind my guitar, with shaky fingers, trembling voice and tears on my face, I offered the check-out. “What word might describe how you are leaving this space?”

Affirmed.

Beautiful. 

Beloved. 

Connected. 

I added my word to the center.  

Seen. 

Chantilly Mers-Pickett (she/hers) is a Pasifika minister, justice educator, and circle practitioner. Born and raised in Maui, Hawaii, a daughter of immigrants, she moved to New York City to study Theology and the Arts at Union Theological Seminary. Today she co-leads a beautiful faith community, Common Ground Church, in Manhattan and collaborates with What’s Next Now? a team of racial equity consultants. She is passionate about reclaiming ordinary spaces for emergence and radical togetherness. A learner of living systems, permaculture, and Indigenous wisdom, Chantilly lives and tends a garden in Bloomfield, NJ (Lenape Land) with her multigenerational ‘ohana made up of her parents, spouse, two daughters, and their 7 tropical plants. Learn more about her at kindomcollective.com