Please note: This article was published in the Summer, 2006 issue of White Crane

Journal.

Unspoken Mentorship: Intentional and unobtrusive coaching for new generations of

queer men and women

By Chris Bartlett

Many spiritual traditions point to the value of a gift freely and anonymously given.
Jewish tradition states that all charity and philanthropy (tzedaka) ought to be contributed
anonymously, with the goal that the recipient not be aware of who gave the gift. The
strength of such an anonymous gift is that it can have a positive impact on the recipient,
neither bringing about shame nor reinforcing existing power dynamics. I argue here that
a gift of mentorship can likewise be unspoken—fueled by a powerful intention, and
strengthened, paradoxically, by the lack of formal or named structure. In short, please
mentor someone—but don’t tell him or her that you are doing it!

How would it feel if you knew that a number of men and women had been secretly
watching your back; both gently guiding your path with an invisible hand, and offering
words of support in moments of both success and failure. They had actually been doing
this for you for over ten years, without formalizing the relationship or pointing out the
many gifts of coaching and leadership development that they had offered. You had often
noticed their involvement in your life: the shared lively debates about politics, tips on
how to manage a difficult situation or person, or advice on the best disco music for
inspiring a crowd. It was they who (without telling you) had advocated that you receive
the scholarship or the position of leadership. It was they who (without your knowledge)
sent friends your way: new, inspiring friends who came along at just the right moment.
They (unbeknownst to you) observed your growth and watched your development. It was
they who told you that you were more than up to the many challenges that confronted you
in living a good life.

I was lucky to have such an intentional and powerful gay adult in my life in Eric Rofes,
who had been my friend and colleague for fifteen years when he died in June, 2006. Eric
played an influential and unobtrusive role in my development as a leader. What I didn’t
know until quite late in our relationship is that he had an intention to have this role
towards me (and to quite a few others).

I had been thrilled and honored when Eric sent me the draft of one of his books to review,
or invited me to sit on a panel with him, or introduced me to another gay writer or activist
whom he admired. He gave me gentle feedback about my own efforts: “Your talk
grabbed the audience”; “You could have given a few more examples”; “You need to
include more ideas from women and people of color”. When I went through some very
challenging months in 2000, Eric wrote me an encouraging note but didn’t offer any
intrusive or unsolicited advice. If I had attempted (as some did) to formalize my
relationship with Eric in some way, he would have said, “I don’t like the concept of the
mentor. Too hierarchical. I learn as much from you as you do from me.”
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Three years ago, after many years of such steady and informal coaching and friendship,
Eric revealed his original intention in the context of a discussion about leadership
development. He told me that Urvashi Vaid, community organizer and philanthropist,
had talked with him in the early 1990s and suggested that he choose seven gay men and
work with them to understand what it meant to be a radical gay community organizer.
Eric liked the idea—but he decided that he didn’t want to tell the guys that he chose that
they had been chosen. In addition to me, he chose six other men from different regions,
fields of interest, and skills sets. If you were to speak to any of them today, they would
tell you that they experienced the same depths of Eric’s generosity that I had.

Having had such a positive experience with Eric, I have sought to embrace this model of
“unspoken mentorship” (as I call it: Eric would have been appalled at the implied
hierarchy). I too have chosen a number of men (and in my case women and transpeople)
whom I have intentionally and (unstatedly, informally) supported in their work as allies,
colleagues, and organizers.

I choose five to seven men or women whose lives I would like to impact. Why five to
seven? It’s natural that some percentage of the total will not be interested in my energies
on their behalf: some will be too busy to receive my intention; others will be the sorts of
independent spirits who bolt at the appearance of my assistance. It’s important for me
quickly to let go of those who clearly are unwilling recipients of my intention and
attention.

When I do choose, I look for the individuals who seem to benefit from my particular
personality and energy type. Perhaps my match is the new young sissy at the faerie
circle, or the co-worker who shows particular signs of strength in gentle leadership. I
have been drawn to the transman who has spoken up at a community forum, or the
lesbian who has just moved to town and shared a smile and a warm hug with me. I
choose carefully, because the intention of support for these individuals is a powerful one,
and it’s important for me to carefully consider possible recipients before I set my
intention into action. I choose widely and diversely: people of color, queer heterosexuals,
bold colleagues, dance partners, Radical Faeries, and, in one case, someone I met on the
subway.

Once I have chosen, I begin to support the individual in his or her work. I offer to help
on their projects, I share information about my own work, I recommend participation in
various community efforts, I email interesting articles to them for their comment, and I
am available to listen if they wish to share something. The key thing for me is to be
keenly aware of when such support is appreciated, and when it is obtrusive and unwanted.
I am always listening for the invitation for my unspoken intention. When the invitation
does not exist, I let go and move on. Importantly, my intention is to help each one
manifest his or her own dreams successfully.

I measure success in this project by the extent to which I am steadily of service to some
number of queer folk who are open to my support. It feels unnecessary to name the
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relationship or to set forth its responsibilities in a contract. Such formality would, I

believe, dispel the magic that exists in an informal relationship of mutual service and
kindness.

At Eric’s memorial service in San Francisco I told a few of his “secret mentees” about
Eric’s intentions towards us. It turned out that he hadn’t mentioned the plan to any of the
others. I have to say that I’m not sure that it was the right thing to do to tell them myself.
One of the people I told was thrilled to find out (“I thought that something like that was
going on”); another seemed perplexed (“How weird”). The key thing I learned from
these interactions at the memorial was that the magic of any of our relationships with Eric
did not come from knowing that he had the intention. It came from the actions he took to
invest in each one of us- actions that derived from that purposely unexpressed intention.
Perhaps Eric would have preferred to have kept his secret to the grave, knowing as he did
that some of the more spirited among us would resist the idea of being mentored by
anyone. It is certainly clear that Eric’s impact in my life, and the lives of these other men,
had nothing to do with a formal, structured relationship called mentoring. On the
contrary, the beauty of his intention came in the humility of its not being spoken and in
its actual impact: a new generation of gay men who benefited from Eric, as he benefited
from us. It’s tzedaka of the best sort, I would say.

Chris Bartlett is gay community organizer and activist from Philadelphia, PA. He can be
reached at Bartlett.cd@gmail.com .