It was the briefest of observations, an exchange that lasted no more than two seconds, and yet it has stayed with me ever since. CB and I were on Boston’s Silver Line, on our way to the airport, and eventually to New York City. It was, apparently, a popular day for travel and the seats had already filled up by the time a mother carrying a young toddler, and trailed by an aging grandfather, climbed aboard and navigated between the labyrinth of suitcases and backpacks. If I had seen her earlier I promise I would have offered my seat, but she was already several yards down the bus when a black college-aged girl with tightly plaited braids smiled up at the struggling mom and offered her seat.
In what I have come to regard as standard Boston crabbiness the woman muttered, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ Then she glanced back at her father – who looked just a few months shy of needing a walker – and added with a softer tone, ‘But maybe for my dad, if you don’t mind.’ I’m not the best at gauging age, but I would say that grandpa had to be at least 75, if not 80. He looked, and spoke, just like Walter Matthau right before his death.
The college student stood up, ready to give up her seat, but grandpa waved her back down. “No, no, you stay seated. I’ll be just fine.” And he continued trudging his way to the back of the bus where he joined his daughter and granddaughter, holding on the the poles to steady his balance.
“I go to a gym where there are a number of black people,” Mr. Schmidt said. “We don’t often communicate. They tend to have their own circle of friends. But now, there’s been more communication. Now you have an opener. After the election, I started saying hello. I said, ‘Hey, what do you think of Obama, about our new president?’ ”
Hence Jelani Cobb‘s rephrasing of the headline: “Obama Wins, White People Speak to Black Ones.” As quaint as the New York Times article may be, the poll that led to its publication is indicative of just how little exposure most white Americans had to black Americans. Familiarity may breed contempt, as the saying goes, but ignorance breeds bigotry.
Despite that history has tended to be the story of the oppressors, we know much more about Rosa Parks’ life than we will ever know about James F. Blake. I guess that says something about who, in the end, were victors of that particular battle.
According to the Guardian’s Blake obituary:
Looking back on his unintended eruption into history years later, Blake said defensively: “I wasn’t trying to do anything to that Parks woman except do my job. She was in violation of the city codes, so what was I supposed to do? That damn bus was full and she wouldn’t move back. I had my orders.”
I am fairly certain that fifty years from now the vast majority of our grandchildren will look back at those who protested against gay marriage as wrong, if not bigoted. Fortunately, I’m safe there. (HP, not so much.) They will also probably judge the carbon footprint that we left behind. There, with all my jet-setting, I don’t fare so well.
What I have been wrestling with over the past few days, however, is whether or not humanity is on a moral journey from the raping and pillaging of our past to an eventual vegetarian society of the future. One of many lenses through which to see the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries is as an ever-widening circle affording the same rights to groups that had previously been excluded: slaves, lower castes, certain races, nationalities, poor, women, handicapped, gays. By law, if not in practice, nearly all of these groups are now afforded the same basic rights as the others. Our moral trajectory seems to be one of empathy, and already the animal rights groups want to widen the circle further to other species of the animal kingdom. “Animal Law” is now taught at 110 out of 180 law schools in the United States.
After the Gay Rights movement eventually (and finally) achieves its objectives, will the animal rights movement become the next (and last) to extend fundamental rights to a formerly excluded group? Will they judge the meat-eaters of today like the James Blakes of our recent past?
I have no idea. I can’t predict what my children or their children will believe in and fight for. But if they judge me as cruel for that gigantic steak I just ate with Pablo I ask them to read Michael Pollan’s essay in the New York Times, “An Animal’s Place,” and to (hopefully) realize that the ethics behind humans eating meat are both complicated and confusing.
Wonderful, wonderful post, David. You are truly an observer of the mundane!
You may have just inspired a blog post from me…stay tuned.
Jillian,
Thanks, and I’m looking forward to that post. 🙂
Miquel,
You seem fairly confident that Miquel III will escape the mobile phone radiation. Is there a Tenderloin district bunker those of us on the East Bay don’t know about?
I’ve been reading a couple of entries until now that is about to “amanecer” and this entry made me comment. I think it is the perfect example of the sense of perception and reflection that you have. I enjoyed your blog.