Something Great in America, again

This week many have gathered to the cheers of making America great again.  I wasn't part of that, but I did experience in America something that was pretty near to great.  All summer long from Memorial Day to Labor Day, the city of Minneapolis hosts movies and music in a public park each evening.  These events are an excellent example of an initiative to build community and citizenship by bringing people together to places of shared experiences.  It's one of the activities that I most look forward to during my time back home in Minnesota. 

This week Ruth and arrived at dusk at Father Hennepin Bluff Park along the mighty Mississippi River with our lawn chairs, mosquito spray and snacks.  With the lovely Minneapolis skyline as our backdrop we joined others in watching the documentary "He Called Me Malala."  This powerful film follows the story of Malala Yousafzai, a teenager girl who was shot in the head in Pakistan by the Taliban for advocating the education of girls.  She and her family are an inspiring example of confronting injustice and willingly to sacrificing of themselves to fight for the rights of others.  Malala's life and actions earned her a Nobel Peace prize in 2014.   The film is a story of family, courage, and an individual who is inspiring this world to care for the marginalized and oppressed. 

The setting and the story were enough to make for an edifying evening, but greater was the knowledge that I am part of a organization that puts into action the message of Malala: every child has the right to the opportunity and empowerment of education.  As I reflected on the film I recalled the children at Kids Alive Lebanon in our New Horizons Center, Oasis Refugee Center and other programs that are able to go to school because a few individuals and a network of sponsors are committed to providing education.  In the midst of all the cacophony of rhetoric happening around us today, it is a relief to join others from the community for a quiet, reflective evening about a worthwhile cause.  That's close enough to great for me.

A cop once pulled me over, I made a mistake, and nothing happened

We have traveled from Lebanon to the U.S.A. and, unfortunately, from one land stained by violence to another.  The news stings harder as my little home community was brought into a heated national (and international) debate last week when a routine police pullover for a broken taillight resulted in bullets fired and a life lost. It immediately became the most recent story in a complex American narrative of race, law enforcement and death; a narrative that within a day included a horrendous mass murder of police force members during a Dallas rally.  My heart sinks. I've seen violence poison the Middle East (violence committed by those serving the state and those unattached), and I see my home country suffer through its own painful problem of violence.  The results are the same, lives lost and nothing gained.

The ongoing stories make me think about things. About the caution we need to take when responding to law enforcement. About my brother who serves as a state patrolman and daily takes on a professional task where so much can hinge on a split-second decision.  About the undeniable racial problems that have and do plague my country. But mostly, I think about one moment when I myself was pulled over; I did something and nothing happened to me.

It was during my senior year of high school. I was driving my family's station wagon home from school with my cousin alongside.  Around a mile from school a cop car flashed its lights behind me and I immediately pulled into an empty parking area. The policeman approached my car and I rolled down my window. He asked my if I knew how fast I was going.  I honestly didn't, but I offered an answer nonetheless. "The speed limit?"  He wasn't amused and informed me that I was over- only by 8 mph if I recall correctly, but a winter storm had dumped a load snow and I should have been 8 under rather than 8 over- and asked to see my drivers license. I took out my wallet and showed the license in it's plastic flap. The officer then said to me, "take out the card." But he was mumbling and I was naturally nervous from being pulled over by a policeman, and I thought he said, "get out of the car." Wanting to be cooperative to the supposed instruction, I began to open the car door in order to step out. Immediately the officer sprung, slammed the door shut with his leg and shouted at me. "What are you doing? Don't move! Don't move!"  "Sir, I thought you said 'get out of the car,'" my voice quivered. "I said, 'TAKE OUT THE CARD!'" he forcefully reiterated. My shaking fingers fumbled the card out of the wallet and handed it to the officer.  He took it to his patrol vehicle and returned it a few minutes later with my first and only speeding ticket.

Years have past since that little event, but as I have read in recent years the steady stream of stories involving cops and shootings, my mind goes back to that moment of innocent miscommunication; the moment I made a honest mistake that could have left me with more than a ticket. I wonder what could have happened if that same situation had occurred under different conditions. What if my skin color or  appearance had  been different? What if the officer had had a bad day or been a little edgier than necessary? What if I had been stopped in the inner city at night rather than a suburb in the afternoon?  Could a routine traffic stop had ended up differently, perhaps tragically?  Or would the scenario have played out ten times out of a ten just as it did; the good training and the good judgment of our law enforcement personnel would see that another routine traffic stop be just that: a routine traffic stop.  I do not know.

I know how my situation unfolded and no harm was done.  Yet I wonder how other situations have unfolded, how miscommunication, misunderstanding, and misjudgment have contributed to tragic ends.  I wonder what has lead a split-second decision to take a life in one situation and preserve a life in another. I don't know, but  I'm thankful that I am here to wonder.  I only wish that others just as innocent as I could be here too.