I wouldn’t know either, if I simply watched the nightly news
and was rest assured that all is calm and peaceful in the land of liberty.
I wouldn’t know either, from a great distance, that there
are entire communities currently living in utter desperation with fears suspended
upon their own soil.
I wouldn’t know either, if my very own community and steeple
remained quiet or indifferent to the wailing or cries of the stranger, the marginalized
and those seeking immediate refuge.
I wouldn’t know either, from under a covered shelter, that
this current climate of bans, deportation, and profiles has generated epic
storms raining down utter confusion, sadness and despair in so many peoples and
communities.
But I do know. That even in my current classroom which hosts
worldly cultures and flavors: Bangladesh, Somalia, El Salvador, Australia,
South American, Far East, Middle East, Africa, South and North Boston……students
have recently been breaking down crying in complete confusion and frustration
over not knowing if they or someone they love will be sent away from their
beloved USA or randomly torn away from their own hands or doorways. My students
are 40 and 50 year old US citizens or green-card holders; fearing for
themselves, their kids and families….wondering just how long till they can
safely visit their relatives across the sea or safely walk across these city
streets.
But I do know. From my child’s classmates, their families’
and friends’ stories, of being scared to walk to school, scared to enter
federal buildings like a school, not knowing if it’s a safe space or a deportation
center. Children saddened and shamed that they feel targeted because their
parents might look and dress differently or not. Children confused, thinking
that they have done something wrong, internalizing a sickening guilt-upon the very
soil that they were born; a birthright. Here are young citizens shamed into
thinking that they are bad, their parents are bad and what they believe is bad;
a birthright.
But I do know. From my friends who either wear a hajib, have
dark skin or a Muslim sounding name, who are terrified in this uncertainty and
in disbelief that their own country is policing them and profiling them all
because of life’s lottery of where they were born or how they were raised; even
the Mohammads and Fatimas born right here on US soil.
But I do know. That in my own flesh and blood as I embrace
my beloved student, neighbor, and child’s friend, that I haven’t been profiled
yet as a middle class white male in 21st century USA. I didn’t
choose privilege; I was just born this way. However, true compassion allows for
rebirths, continual growth and infinite baptisms.
What about the other? What about the others’ other? The silent
voices and community of folk in this land who may feel too powerless to speak
but experience the overwhelming weight of the burden caught within this tumultuous
climate: women, the environment, people with disabilities, people living in
poverty, the LGBT community, etc…
But I do know. That perhaps this isn’t the official and exact
stated public policy and perhaps some of these beautiful folk don’t need to
worry; things are simply being mistranslated; but when you take the letter of
the law along with the spirit of that law--and coming through a blow horn that
has continually threaded the needle of overt to subtle discrimination; blurring fact and fiction-- it is
beyond discouraging and disheartening in any language and to any public witness.
But I do know. That faith demands in every language and
tongue: to love our neighbors more than ourselves, like that humble Samaritan walking
the streets in that New Testament. I know that I can’t retreat from love’s
calling even when the nightly news states that all is fine and calm; or when
the steeple or minaret or town square ignores the desperate crying and fears of our fellow human
beings. And like our brave and faithful brothers and sisters who have come
before us; love marches on.
