American Stew

Rosalynd Harris

While perusing the news online this morning, I read a heartwarming story.  It seems that some white guys from Texas went to Washington, DC to witness President Trump's inauguration. 

During their stay, they ate at Busboys and Poets where they were served by Rosalynd Harris.  Ms. Harris had recently been a part of the Woman's March and was proud to have participated.

Ms. Harris happens to be black and she admits that she was a bit prejudiced when she found out that these guys were in town in support of Mr. Trump.

One of the men complimented her on her smile and they all chatted a bit. It was a friendly exchange between people of different worlds, races, and ideas.

It was America.

Imagine her surprise when she picked up the ticket after the men had left.  For a meal costing $76, they'd left her a $450 tip and a message.

 

“We may come from different cultures and may disagree on certain issues, but if everyone would share their smile and kindness like your beautiful smile, our country will come together as one people. Not race. Not gender. Just American. God Bless!"

On the face of it, it's just another feel good story, but there's something here that piques my curiosity.

This story helps us to highlight the dangers of labels and it helps us to cut through them.  In political speak, label means "identity politics."  Which roughly translates to "My cause (my lifestyle, my race, my gender, my economic status, my education, my vocation) is who I am."

But we are not those things for the simple reason that they are things.  And we are, firstly and only, people.  People with flesh and blood, with hearts and minds, with families and friends, with hopes and dreams. 

We are people who have a race, have a gender, have a job, have an education.  The labels are simply things that we have, they are not who we are.

While identity politics may help a politician get elected, they have a terrible side-effect: they isolate us from one another.

Identity politics hopes that we huddle together with our "own" and fear the attacking masses.

As Martin Luther King, Jr., said:

Martin Luther King, Jr.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

 

In the original spirit of his intent, perhaps we can add gender, vocation, education, etc. to the list.

The truth is that we do isolate ourselves culturally.  It's more comfortable that way.  We don't have to face our flaws and our own prejudices.  We don't have to hear an opinion which varies from our own.  We snuggle up in the safe cocoon of our peers and intellectually hibernate.

Odds are that the two parties in our story had rarely, if ever, truly engaged with a member of the opposite demographic. 

It's a sad, but often too true, commentary on our melting pot.  We don't seem to melt as easily as we once did.  We don't seem to seek a common culture.

To be sure, each immigrant community has left its flavor as it melted into a common culture.  As a melting pot, we have never sought to erase the flavor of an immigrant culture, we have always sought to add the spice of a new culture to our own peculiar stew.

Today, however, we seem to want to leave the new ingredients isolated and alone.  And, perhaps even worse, we are seeking and finding new ways to divide.  Sexual orientation, gender, politics, etc.

We are dismantling our stew into its raw ingredients.  Very unappetizing.

The characters in today's story are real people.  People with hopes and dreams.  They are people who remind us of the rich stew that America's melting pot can produce.  I thank them for their gift to us.

God Bless

TheCurmudgeon