On the A train yesterday, I was relieved to have secured a seat in an otherwise crowded car. After a stop, a man and his son- maybe 5 years old- shuffled on into the masses. Despite my body’s desire to ignore and stay in my place, my head always tells me the right thing to do is offer the seat to the kid- which I do.
The boy raises and sort of waves his hand, as if to tell me he’s okay standing. Then he said, “Solo tres paradas” (only three stops), and holds up three fingers. I settle back into my seat, as the father looks down at his son and beams. I do too, but for a different reason.
We are all subject to moments of our own intolerance, and/or prejudice on some level. If you don’t think you are, well congrats on achieving that highest level of oneness with humanity (but more than likely you’re not being honest with yourself). I’ve lived in New York City now for longer than I’ve lived anywhere else. Different languages and accents and dialects are the soundtrack to our everyday existence. I grew up in Southern California and went to school in Arizona, the Spanish language and influence as prevalent as any other. But I’ll be honest: earlier in my life, I found myself harboring irritability when hearing another language spoken in an environment where I felt English was best called for. But never to the point of being indignant. And certainly never to point of the widespread outrage that we are seeing now.
It feels like everyday a new video surfaces on the internet in which a person (usually white) is so incensed at another person speaking another language or merely displaying pride for a country of their heritage, that they take it upon themselves to verbally and/or physically confront these individuals (even right here in NYC). The “This is America- speak English!” argument is often used, but it also often delves into even uglier rhetoric making judgments about the type of person they are based solely on having spoken another language. It’s disgusting and it’s not what America is or has ever really been about. We are a nation of immigrants. We have no official language. I don’t mean to discount the part that racism has played and continues to play in this country, but ideallistically I’d like to think that’s not who we are.
In my life I’ve come to realize that people are doing the best they can. If they are speaking Spanish or another language, it’s because that is how they feel most comfortable communicating and want to put their best foot forward. No, I haven’t achieved that highest level of humanity, rather a level of comfort in my place within in that humanity. My reaction had never been to feel threatened like the aggressors in the videos- these people that are so moved with rage that lashing out is seemingly their only course of action. More than anything, I know it’s not my business to be the language police in someone else’s conversation. And I’ve learned that if you find yourself in a momentary lingual minority perhaps it’s just a tiny glimpse of what it’s like for these folks all the time. Empathy is usually a better instructor than antipathy.
The father beamed at his son taking control of the situation, having a very adult-like interaction with a stranger. That the boy, very un-kid-like, turned down a chance to sit on a crowded train. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up because in that moment it warmed my soul that this kid spoke to me how he felt most comfortable communicating- unafraid of my possible reaction and paying no heed to the color of my face. Whether out of youthful ignorance or learned confidence, he spoke to me without fear of reprisal and without hesitation. I'd be proud of my child too. There’s very little hope and warmth circulating right now, so it’s necessary to grab onto it when it comes your way. Even if it comes in a different package than you were expecting.