A longish post dear readers but I could have tripled the size. Count your blessings 🤣💕
Peter Paul and Mary sang it best. "We are only one river."
One
can make the most of it or the worse of any situation. Choice, I know
is a facile word. And sometimes overwhelming situations remove the luxury
of choice.
I’m
in that mode where I find I shut myself off from the old protestations of
others’ entrenched, harmful positions on race and emigration and
the othering of peoples they don’t even know and if presented with
an opportunity, would turn away in disgust.
When
such people are in your own circle it makes things challenging for an
old woman, whose voice is often discounted. Who is basically
invisible to most now apart from her own generation who often sigh,
accept the inevitability of aging and keeping their mouths shut just
get on with it
Old
hippies should simply fade away. We should stop spouting tolerance or
compassion or empathy for those “others”.
And mother of god shut up about that wokey stuff.
I
have learned most from talking to strangers. From my brave delivery
people who bring in my groceries, clean my home, deliver my medications, take my laundry and
return it pristine and folded. Some are young. Some are refugees from
appalling war-zones, starvation and threat. Eking out a living in a
new country, struggling with English, hoping for a better life,
taking menial jobs. One I have been blessed to know is from a
“shithole” country as the Fat Felon likes to call them. He is
taking classes, drives for DoorDash in his cousin’s car, shows off
with his carrying of multiple bags to my home, balancing a coffee cup
in the other hand, making me laugh. I always tip these wonderful
helpers extra. A tiny boost along the way. What did you leave behind I ask them. "lady, you don't want to know" is a common response.
You
see, I was an immigrant myself, I struggled in a new country,
learning Canadian English, very different from the Hiberno-English I
was brought up in. Learning completely different accounting systems
from library books. Trying to fit in and knowing now how lucky I was
to be white.
Immigrants,
no matter the country, are NOT a monolith. They are never the same
religion, race, sex or sexual orientation. They have the same desires
and hopes I had. And many of the same reasons I left Ireland in 1967.
To
“other” immigrants is to tell more about yourself than any self
declaration of “I’m not a racist, but...” or ”you can’t
tell a good immigrant from a bad immigrant.” Well, the same applies
to any human, buddy, white, brown or black or mixed. It applies to
you when you spout hatred and intolerance as if it’s normal
discourse.
Choices.
We
must always choose kindness.
We
are only one river.
