Empathic sojourner

They were called “the Separatist”, because they wouldn’t take it any longer (the persecution and harassment of the Church of England). 1/3 children, 1/3 Pilgrims and the rest, vagabonds (today’s homeless) boarding a 30-foot boat, and set sail for Jamestown, VA… All planned to work off the debts accrued from their passage to the New World. Long story short, if not for the constant and continuing help of Squanto (who showed them how to plant and harvest Indian corn), we wouldn’t have the United States today.

You may zoom out from 1621 to 2021, a 4-centuries arc, to see how this land gets populated and replenished, by all kinds of new arrivals: from European folks to Hungarian, Cuban, Vietnamese, Afghan…from Boat to Bus People (C-17’s). Sojourners of an impossible dream. Launching and embarking on a poorly planned trip, as indentured, to work off the debt in their first few years, with extra money to send home (to ungrateful families, mind them they couldn’t imagine themselves going through seasickness, starvation and again, harassment) as “anchor kids”.

The stories of America. Newer interpretations of the same old script: the Dream: living free of corrupted churchmen and entrenched status-quo, with newly cast members e.g. Pocahontas and Moana etc… to update and attract a growing me-too audience with the same storyline: boy meets girl, boy loses girl and finally boy gets girl back ( or as in Klara and the Sun, whereby Klara our sidekick – a machine).

Back to being an empathic sojourner before Klara replaces our Walmart greeters and custom-enforcement greeters. “Let me show you where the bathroom is, and while at it, how to flush, contactless”.

New Americans are to adapt to new centuries:

130,000 Vietnamese refugees, 124,000 Afghan refugees, now in Ft Dix, Ft Lee, Ft Bliss, Ft McCoy (plus 4 more) … then at the Thrift stores near you.

It is so familiar that comes every September, I feel that same chill as if for the first time. Afghan new neighbors will feel the cold, we, naturalised American, now call refreshing cool air. All in the eyes of beholders. We are in the know: where to flip to the pages of the hymn being sung, where to find chapters and verses, where to find the ingredients like sauerkraut or salsa. We are in the know. We have arrived early, saved our spots. You latecomers to the game, put on your second-hand outfits, join us, but stay socially distant (“What’s that sound, that smell? Everybody look what’s going down “)

The status-quo and inheritors of wealth always make sure they play the upscale and last-word games of castes and castles, while poor men? outside their gates. They can afford “Breakfasts at Tiffany” (Champagne, any one?) and a Roman Holiday (Funny face). Once in a while, they may play symbolic tax-deductibles charity with UNICEF, always for the children and pets…

Looming threats like the Taliban are the worst, of course. Well, we finally can pin down a target group, the Others, over there….for twenty years, away from NYC and New Yorkers and Central Park (five)…away from our countdown in Times Squares ( Never again, at Boston Marathon, our Pilgrims’ institution with heart-break hill). We staked out our “turf”, yet 19 terrorists invaded “our space” (air space). Shoot them down, take them down…Let’s roll! You would think with Rifkin’s Empathic Civilizaiton, and broad exposure to diversity on social media, we would overcome compassion fatigue.

Back 400 years ago, all we wanted was to land on this new continent, coast and Cape (Cod). To vote for a leader – who incidentally did not survive his first winter – to become coal-miner’s daughters, to come home (Country Road Take me Home). California was a dream and the music? What music? it’s for the upstairs’ college-educated kids. All we have are “the remains of the day”, of working off the balance of a trans-Atlantic/trans-Pacific journey. We were all broken…with holes where the light can come in (to paraphrase Hemingway).

The empathic American I met years ago had covered up their “holes” quite well: I thought they were all perfect people, completely insulated in a little homogenious college town. Now I know why, in an unconscious moment, I along with others start carrying that schmuck look on our faces as if we owned Fifth Avenue and could get away with murder.

Forgive me, my Afghan neighbours for my blind spot. After more than 40 years working off my ignorance, I should blame myself for forgetting, and should with understanding, forgive neighbours for reinventing Cape Cod. After 400 years, at least 13 per cent, still carry those “Separatist” genes, the rebel label, but means the opposite of its original intent ( now = White Segregationist). If logic dictates, it’s Squanto ( who loved his new neighbours) and descendants who should stake rightful claims of this land ….from California to the New-York Island …” this land is made for you and me”.