Charlottesville,
Houston, the Border Wall, Human Rights, Women’s Clinics, Poverty, Wealth,
Education, Illiteracy, Homelessness, Emergency Responders, Transgender, Gay,
White, Black, Native American, Farm Workers, Steel Workers, Stoop Labor, Unemployed,
Military Service, Government Service, Disabled, Olympians, Representative
Government, Hate, Happiness, Fear, Hope, Caring, Hubris, Depression, Optimism, Miracle
Drugs, Killing Drugs, Neighborhoods of Joy, Communities of Lost Spirits,
Safety, Isolation, Tragedy, and Heroes.
All
of these and a myriad of other descriptors define who we are and what we
experience in isolation within ourselves and as citizens bound by one
Constitution and the rule of law. We
feel what we are, and we try to feel what others
are feeling, what others are going
through. We are grateful for not experiencing that has been unjustly or at
least unfairly placed on the shoulders of our fellow Americans to bear as best
they can.
We
are such a strange, diverse, and wonderful nation, powered by an engine of
dreams created 250 years ago, fueled by the blood, toil, sweat, and deaths of
patriots and foes alike, and headed toward a destination still uncertain, but awaiting
us nonetheless…on the distant horizon…forever, tantalizingly, out of our
present reach. One has only to look at the images flowing out of Houston and
Southeast Texas and Southwest Louisiana to begin to understand the deep well of
human kindness from which Americans draw the strength to help others in dire
straits even when they, themselves, have lost everything. The churning waters
of destruction—devastating as they have been—are already yielding to the indomitable
will of an army of friends, neighbors, strangers and leaders who refuse, in the
American tradition, to accept defeat.
It
is, I am convinced, our empathy, or highly sensitive natures--hard-wired into
all but the most sociopathic, psychopathic, or otherwise damaged human beings--that
makes first responders rush toward danger, that spurs hundreds of men and women
with boats to rescue total strangers, that motivates helicopter crews to press
the very limits of man and machine to pluck children out of danger, that causes
a random collection of men and women—of all colors—to form a human chain to
bridge floodwaters and guide a hapless stranger to safety.
We
are good people. We are. Goodness is not about professing a faith or belonging to
a charitable organization or serving in uniform or building houses for others.
Those things are artifacts of goodness. They are pretty facades hung on a sound
framework of goodness. Goodness is what you are when no one is looking. It is
who you are behind the scenes.
So
where is the dichotomy?
A
dark mirror reflecting all of what just was described shows another America—a tiny
subset of people to be sure—who for some reason still unfathomable to me,
refuse to engage in the bigger story of our best hopes and aspirations. The
neo-Nazis, the skin heads, the hate mongers, those who celebrate ignorance and
demean knowledge, the intolerant and the black-hearted, the bullies and their silent
enablers, those on the far left and the far right who simply will not accept
the idea that compromise is what life itself—not just politics—is all about.
I
saw too much ugliness as a kid in the deep South in the early 60s; “White Only”
this and “White Only” that. Lynchings not far from home; fear in the faces of
the few black people I saw; revulsion in the eyes of whites when they passed a
black person on the street. I wasn’t just looking at the world as it was; I was
seeing the world as it had been for generations, and I couldn’t help but wonder
“For how much longer can we do this to ourselves?”
Now,
Donald Trump and are I about the same age—he’s got three years on me, but that’s
not so much. The America I saw as a boy was the same America he was living in—but
we did not see it through the same lenses. The America I saw was in dire need
of change, was in conflict with itself, was eating itself alive and needed leaders
who would arrest the downward spiral. The America Mr. Trump saw was sanitized
and all ugliness and truth of the human condition was removed from his sight.
Concrete and steel and boardrooms and deals formed his mindset and skillset.
Leadership to Trump meant winning bare-knuckle fights. Inequality, poverty,
injustice, racism, human frustration and broken spirits formed my mindset, and
led me to writing and reporting and raising my children to see through the
clear glass of possibilities for every man, woman and child.
Mr.
Trump can write all the million-dollar checks he wants (presuming he actually
sends them) to help veterans or the hurricane victims in Houston, but my
suspicion is that he is assuming a gift of gold equates to a gift from the
heart and will be seen as a noble deed. It is not and will not. Gilt cannot
cover guilt. His is a selfish act because he does not understand the America
the rest of us have come to love and are willing to fight for with more than
money. I would love to know, for example, how many transgender first responders
in uniform were wading in Houston’s waters, or hoisting infants to helicopters
or making sure food and water were being delivered to those in need? And how
many gays, Hispanic-Americans (even Mexicans), Dreamers, Muslims, and people
with disabilities were volunteering when they themselves were in danger of
losing everything?
The
dichotomy between the America of greatness and inclusiveness, and the America Mr.
Trump sees, must not dissuade us from our daily fight to beat back the ugly
waters of hatred and seek new leaders who get who we are, who believe in us, and
will help us achieve the high ground of righteousness for all.
