Other Hearts in Other Lands....and Mine

 There was a new boy who moved down the street from us back when I was about ten. My big sister met him first and was impressed with his gentle humor and international flair. When we met, I knew he was different from the other folks in town. He spoke several languages. He dressed formally. He knew how to dance.

Joe became a soul friend of mine. At times, he was my sole friend, and probably there were times I was his. We played volleyball over a clothesline in his backyard. We did swim team together. Later we went to the Spring Fling and Winter Wonderland and prom together. We crammed for French tests and debated current events with one another. Chemistry labs were fun together, except when they were explosive. In college, we met for hours and hours at diners, philosophizing about everything and anything.

I am fluent in French because of Joe, and I am confident in Spanish thanks to his confidence in me. I also know my geography thanks to him. You see, before I met him, he had lived in Lebanon, Switzerland and a few other countries. (Iran? Côte d’Ivoire or Mali? Colombia? My mind is swimming…) It’s also partly in his honor that I understand the need for a green card and that I fight for refugee rights.

We come from very different worlds. He left a country torn by war. In our lifetimes, we have watched Lebanon built up and bombed down again and again. We have seen Ukraine rise out of the former USSR, cede its nuclear materials to NATO in exchange for protection, and then become victim to Putin’s violence machine. We have witnessed genocides in Rwanda, Serbia, Burma, Guatemala, Sudan… we have seen human resilience just as we have seen human frailty. We have seen both strength of spirit and weakness of spirit.

My taxes have gone to support the protectors in wars… but they have also gone to support the aggressors. I am ashamed of the second half of that sentence. I am devoted to doing whatever I can to help those in need. Peace activism matters to me. I am heartbroken that some of my country’s funding has supported destruction in my friend’s birth country.

I am angry that some wars take civilians as collateral damage and we have to choose who to support. Usually, there is a process of checks and balances that offers some protection against personal grudges. It is an imperfect system but better than where we are headed. I am terrified that my country’s funding is switching to support those who would destroy children’s homes today.

I would like my taxes to be spent on the following: basic infrastructure, protection of nature, scientific research, education, justice/safety, medicine, social safety nets, humanitarian supports supporting democracy, defense, salaries of those working for the government.

I am honored by my friendships with so many people, not just Joe, who have moved to the United States and done their bit to make the country and the world better. They are bakers, teachers, accountants, artists, nurses, farmers, translators, writers. They are parents of the next generations of Americans; they believe in the American Dream.

However, this Dream was borne of days when we built our reputation for supporting those in needs. This golden land was known for opportunity and for democracy. This has been the land of protests that always aimed to expand civil rights. We the People grew and grew.

Joe and I are now in our fifties. We have weathered storms together, living on opposite sides of the country but looking with similar eyes to how important good leadership is. When I met him, I think I saw a bit of my grandfather in him: someone thrown into a new country, trying his best. Now, I see him in the young people I help. May they have their dreams filled and may we all be safe as we keep the dream alive.