religious bigotry
Oct. 16th, 2007 01:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chelidonmine, that is.
I'm sitting in Dulles airport, waiting for my next flight, kind of tucked behind one of the gate booths because it's a relatively sheltered quiet place, and that's where the outlet is for my laptop. And a woman wearing a head scarf somewhat furtively ducks behind here, puts down her prayer rug and does her prayers, then gets up, looks around nervously to see who saw her, and scurries over to another gate area.
I have two responses, one I am okay with, and the other not. The second reaction I had was to feel bad and embarassed that she obviously had such a fearful response to doing her chosen spiritual practice in this horribly fear-permeated climate in which we now live -- she had to wonder who might see her, who might be angry or report her, or try to get her thrown off her flight. She probably felt fear, and perhaps shame, and that's not right.
But my first reaction, before I could even think about it, was to wonder, "I sure hope she's not on my flight -- what if she's a terrorist?"
God(all of them)-dammit. I will not live in constant fucking fear of people who think or act or believe differently than I do, even if a small percentage of them believe that the ends justify the means, and are willing to use wretched violence to promote their hateful intolerant beliefs. And by that I mean both terrorists, and our current government. I will not succumb to the poisonous atmosphere of fear and distrust and xenophobic bigotry. I've been literally surrounded by it since I drove into the airport -- constant subtle and not-so-subtle reminders of freedoms curtailed, the need to be vigilant and careful and watch my bags and don't pack the wrong thing or park in the wrong place for too long or hesitate to show my papers and smile and hope not to get singled out for special attention. That atmosphere is absorbed, willing or no, unconsciously, and the next thing that happens is that I look at a woman doing her spiritual devotions and think, not "what a wonder faith is, and how precious mankind's ability to belive in something larger than their own individual ego and needs," but instead, "I wonder if she's a terrorist?"
Yes, my day to day life is blissfully of metal detectors and identification papers and security checks and pole-mounted cameras and radiation detectors and facial recognition software, so perhaps my guard is down, here in this place, to the subtle poisons, built into the environment built all around, "for my own protection."
But there really is no excuse, because I can choose. I can notice, and I can hold intent, and I can choose. And I choose respect. And I choose wonder. And I choose love, not hate, not fear, not paranoia, not the insanity of closing myself off from the world around me.
I choose love. Here and now, behind an anonymous gate in a huge impersonal airport, with its Starbucks and its security warnings and its subtle poisons of paranoia on every hand, I remember who I am, and I choose love.
Love to you.
I'm sitting in Dulles airport, waiting for my next flight, kind of tucked behind one of the gate booths because it's a relatively sheltered quiet place, and that's where the outlet is for my laptop. And a woman wearing a head scarf somewhat furtively ducks behind here, puts down her prayer rug and does her prayers, then gets up, looks around nervously to see who saw her, and scurries over to another gate area.
I have two responses, one I am okay with, and the other not. The second reaction I had was to feel bad and embarassed that she obviously had such a fearful response to doing her chosen spiritual practice in this horribly fear-permeated climate in which we now live -- she had to wonder who might see her, who might be angry or report her, or try to get her thrown off her flight. She probably felt fear, and perhaps shame, and that's not right.
But my first reaction, before I could even think about it, was to wonder, "I sure hope she's not on my flight -- what if she's a terrorist?"
God(all of them)-dammit. I will not live in constant fucking fear of people who think or act or believe differently than I do, even if a small percentage of them believe that the ends justify the means, and are willing to use wretched violence to promote their hateful intolerant beliefs. And by that I mean both terrorists, and our current government. I will not succumb to the poisonous atmosphere of fear and distrust and xenophobic bigotry. I've been literally surrounded by it since I drove into the airport -- constant subtle and not-so-subtle reminders of freedoms curtailed, the need to be vigilant and careful and watch my bags and don't pack the wrong thing or park in the wrong place for too long or hesitate to show my papers and smile and hope not to get singled out for special attention. That atmosphere is absorbed, willing or no, unconsciously, and the next thing that happens is that I look at a woman doing her spiritual devotions and think, not "what a wonder faith is, and how precious mankind's ability to belive in something larger than their own individual ego and needs," but instead, "I wonder if she's a terrorist?"
Yes, my day to day life is blissfully of metal detectors and identification papers and security checks and pole-mounted cameras and radiation detectors and facial recognition software, so perhaps my guard is down, here in this place, to the subtle poisons, built into the environment built all around, "for my own protection."
But there really is no excuse, because I can choose. I can notice, and I can hold intent, and I can choose. And I choose respect. And I choose wonder. And I choose love, not hate, not fear, not paranoia, not the insanity of closing myself off from the world around me.
I choose love. Here and now, behind an anonymous gate in a huge impersonal airport, with its Starbucks and its security warnings and its subtle poisons of paranoia on every hand, I remember who I am, and I choose love.
Love to you.
