On the eve of the anniversary of 9/11 I dug out this essay that I wrote in the days following that horrible day. As I read it over for the first time in quite a while, It was dramatically clear to me the evolution that has taken place in my awareness of different injustices and inequalities. This is as it should be if we are truly involved in life. I take the risk of perhaps sharing too much of me. I hope this is accepted as my feelings as they came to me, and not a point of argument. The losses on that day were at the same time enormous and intensely personal. We all changed on that day. Incidentally, this was subsequently published in The Jamaican Gleaner as well as an online Southern journal of sorts called The Kudzu. Both Sides Now I am an American. I live in the land of milk and honey. And for that I feel both pride and shame. But mostly I feel such a sense of responsibility. I am one of the many who up until now felt that being an American and living in America made me somehow invincible to outside threats. There is no question whatsoever that I have harboured multiple fears resulting from the prejudice and inequality that thrives here on the home front. I have made choices which have places me within that sphere of uncertainty at times in my life. I knew the risks I was taking, but always held fast to a sense of personal safety within my conviction to do whatever it was I was choosing to do. There is also no question but that I accepted that leaving the borders of the United States put one at risk of the outside world. But still there was some kind of American armour of right and justice that allowed me to feel pretty much confident in that safety of my convictions. And if I chose to venture outside the box that is America, I had to accept the added risk that I was taking, but also accept that I was making the choice to put myself where I was when I was there. Hence I could travel within the borders of Rema, in Jamaica, and not feel terribly threatened. I knew that we were making our venture under the best conditions possible. We took appropriate precautions and felt secure within the rightness of the efforts that were being made there to make a difference in the lives of these people. Within twenty-four hours of our visit there were five shootings in that hotbed of political pressure. We heard about it in the comfort of our hotel, and I was weighted down by the familiar sense of overconfident American security. On this particular trip we travelled first class for the first time. While the comfort and ease of travel it afforded us were welcome to me on my first journey as an amputee, it was just as uncomfortably glaring how differently one is viewed when travelling with crutches and financially privileged enough to pay first class. Very few questions.... baggage at the head of the line.... everyone quick to assist and make things easier. Was it my imagination, or were personnel actually more polite and eager to meet my every need? I dont recall this much helpfulness and consideration since when I was very obviously pregnant, some 26 years before. I have no question about the kindness of the Jamaican people. I have found Jamaicans to be very friendly and eager to share the beauty of their country. What I DO wonder about is how the people feel who are being paid meagre wages to make sure that tourists enjoy themselves thoroughly in places that are off limits (often behind guarded barbed wire) to the average Jamaican. While the presence of tourists such as myself serve to boost a severely troubled economy, it is also true that the best of what Jamaica offers is now largely preserved and diverted to the tourist industry. And in the shadows live the victims of a poverty that would not have existed in far simpler times. As I was leaving Jamaica in early July of 2001, the politically fuelled unrest was about to ignite into a fury of killings, blockades, curfews and destruction. A country devastated by poverty and illiteracy, Jamaica struggles to survive in a world that has long been abusing and manipulating its people and natural resources. As an American tourist, I am continually and acutely aware of being seen as wealthy. By Jamaican standards I may be. By American standards, that is far from reality. I am obviously comfortable enough to be able to scrounge together enough money to take a very comfortable Jamaican vacation. At home in America my life is, by choice, quite simple and what might be viewed by a great many Americans as low class. My priories, I suppose, are not the norm, but rather are somewhat eclectic. While I admit to indulging in only the best in some things, I can just as easily do totally without things seen by most Americans as necessities. By the standards of a large part of the world, however, my standard of living is more than comfortable, even privileged. We who live in America are indeed privileged. Americans say what they want.... go where they want whenever they choose.... dress as they like and go to bed at night with nourished bodies. While I cannot avoid the reality that there are Americans who are hungry, ill-clothed and homeless, it must also be admitted that America offers assistance programs and does try to meet the basic needs of all of its citizens. The system is not perfect. Scores of people in other parts of the world would gladly accept the poorest conditions in America. Personal safety. Legal rights. Education. Opportunity. We complain about imperfect produce in the supermarket and mass transit delays. Others dig in fields for roots and walk miles for fresh water.... if it is even available. We in America have come to expect that it is our right to have a choice of fifteen varieties of the freshest bread to choose from at any given time. We have repeatedly gone to sleep at night confident that our government will keep our skies, roads and waterways safe from outside invasion. We are America. We grew up knowing we were safe on our own soil. The threat of a nuclear strike has been a part of our lives, but always there has been the reassurance of multi-level safety mechanisms preventing accidents, and the promise of diplomacy and military intelligence to preserve the safety of our world. And in an instant that understanding and reassurance was wrenched from our grasp. We learned, in that instant, the fear known by so many others in parts of the world which we watch on the news and give thanks that we live in America and not there. Now we are the pictures seen on televisions in shop windows and neighbourhood pubs around the world while people look on in astonished horror and weep openly for the lives that have been become statistics. I am sorely called to consider the arrogance of our previously accepted American invincibility. As I listen to the unfolding history of terrorist aggression toward America on foreign soil and even the previous attack in New York, a tremendous heaviness develops in my stomach as I realize how easily I looked on in horror to each of the previous taunts. How easily I felt helpless to do much of anything except offer prayers and gather small tokens of aid to be sent to those actually tending to the needs of the victims. For almost thirty years now I have been acutely aware of the discrepancy in the quality of life throughout the world. I went from being proud of the American effort to improve the situation in Vietnam to feeling totally embarrassed and horrified by what came to be understood as the reality of what we were doing and what we were losing in that part of the world. Vietnam and the life of Mahatma Gandhi gave birth to my limited understanding of the difference between here and there. I developed a desperate sense of discomfort for American comfort. If I were to drive an enormous gas guzzling vehicle loaded with all possible amenities, it would not directly subtract from the life of a starving mother and her children somewhere in central Africa. But the images filled my brain and refused to allow me to give in to luxury without doing something to make a difference in effecting a balance between these two worlds. I was aware of the concept of political unrest and splinter terrorist groups that played havoc with the lives of others. Somewhere in the comfort of my secure American upbringing I was able to maintain confidence that good eventually prevails, and that we as Americans would offer whatever was needed to eventually smooth out the rough parts of the worlds journey. The world would not become American, but it could evolve into a composite of cultures living in at least tolerance of one another. I was young. I was an optimist. I was a dreamer. I still want to be a believer. It is becoming ever more difficult. Through a lifetime of watching, listening and doing, I have slowly and sometimes painfully accumulated a vast satchel of reality that now colours my ability to be comfortable. As I strive to feel at ease in my own life, I am acutely aware of the injustice surrounding everything around me. I was given the gift of birth as an American. I was given the gift of intelligence and a curious mind. I was given the gift of compassion and thus the potential for understanding. It is my responsibility as an inhabitant of the earth to use these gifts to the best of my ability to leave my own gift to the world, whatever form that might take. Each of us changes the landscape where we trod on our personal journeys through life. Not everyone needs to move mountains. Some of us need to water the violets and feed the hummingbirds. Sometimes there are no mountains, and the beauty of the violets and hummingbirds is what is most needed. My American privilege is to grab onto the countless gifts which I have been given and to run with them as far as I can and to share whatever I can with whomever I meet along the way. I am a rich American. I cannot afford exotic vacations and luxurious surroundings. I can afford love and my best attempt to understand the hearts and reality of my brothers and sisters of the world. I do not have answers. I have no crystal ball. I have only the conviction of my belief in what is right to carry me through whatever is to come. I cannot judge anyone else as they struggle with their own hearts to discern how and where they are led to act. I am not looking for the American Dream. I yearn for a world peace.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 01:54:22 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015