Tonight my heart is breaking and my cheeks are stained with
tears not only for the atrocities we have weathered in the last 48 hours and those
we have lost and continue to lose throughout the world but for the polarizing of
our breathren, each seeking to raise his or her own agenda in the wake; which
tragedy is the worst, whose nation is most under siege, how quickly can we
close our borders and stockpile our weapons?
I was meant to write a comedy tonight, a comedy about
healing and laughter in a world quite literally gone mad; my world. But I don’t
feel like laughing tonight. No, tonight I am angry. Angry not only that violence
begets violence, but at the swift nature our fear so completely clouds our
judgement.
Tonight is the democratic debate and already the candidates
are scrambling to address the need for tighter borders and more guns, more
weapons, more, more, more, knowing that isn’t the solution but terrified that
these newest attacks will result in a turn of the tide by a petrified,
shell-shocked constituency fearful for their safety and the lives of their
loved ones, desperately clinging to any agenda which promises to keep them far
from tragedy and willing to provide them a common enemy to blame.
The blood is still wet, the wounds still fresh and already
the rumblings have become a cacophany to close the borders and turn away the
thousands of refugees fleeing certain genocide in their homeland. How often
have we heard the beat of this same drum? “Of course it’s terrible, but it’s
not our problem and we have to protect ourselves.” Tibet, Laos, Iraq, Guatemala,
Croatia, Rwanda, Northern Ireland, Somalia, East Uganda, the list goes on and
on and these are not even in our history books. Even after Katrina, when our
nation came together under the worst national disaster in our modern time,
after the dust settled, it was easier to ask that the displaced (poor) American
refugees be housed somewhere else, somewhere more appropriate than our
backyards, somewhere we didn’t have to feel so uncomfortable.
I have been blessed in my lifetime to never have had to flee
for my life and I cannot even fathom the terror Syrian families are facing now
at the hour of need when they are looking at being turned away at the border
and returned to a country in chaos and an existence of suffering and possible
death. But in a very small way I can relate to the choice which we face as a nation
and as members of the human community.
When I worked for a cruise line whom I shall not name here
for the sake of deniability, one day at sea, we encountered a small boat in
distress waving a white flag. Aboard this humble, home-made inflatable tub were
five men wearing wet suits. Their motor had stalled and they were too far out
to swim to shore. Pity for them, they were also Cuban. We circled them for
several hours keeping watch as our managers met behind closed doors trying
desperately to find a way to discretely bring them aboard as we all silently
prayed they would swim for shore. They were so close but too many people had
seen, guests had spotted the little boat, photos were taken, statuses posted,
bloody great internet that day so close to shore, and our managers were left
with no other option than to call the Coast Guard who reluctantly obliged with
a rescue. We all knew what lay ahead because the rules were very clear. If they
could set foot on American soil, of their own volition, they could seek
political asylum. But once the Coast Guard intervened the law was clear, they
had to be returned to Cuba.
Our managers called us into a meeting that day to explain
why they would not be following up, why there would be no meetings, no inquiry
into their status or welfare, why we would never in fact speak of it again. We
had condemned these men to certain death. Well, not certain, that window of doubt
was our one vessel of hope and we clambered aboard. But that night, alone in my
cabin I cried for hours. I wasn’t in management, I wasn’t making the decisions,
I didn’t have the power. But I felt in collusion, even in my silence. I cried
every night for several days, every night trying to convince myself there was
nothing I could have done, each night feeling the gentle whisper kiss of doubt
upon my cheek as I drifted off to a troubled sleep. I don’t know what I could
have done, but I know that if a simple act of courage, if opening my door had
been an option, I would have taken it. Closing the borders will only give us a
false sense of security but at what price? Our humanity cannot be bartered for
the sake of convenience. We must keep our hearts and our borders open for
ourselves, our souls, our children and our humanity.
Porte ouverte, Je suis Paris. Je suis coeur ouvert.
