By Nancy Colasurdo
I had occasion to be on a train this Fourth of July weekend. I’ve always been pretty observant when I’m out and about, but since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, I’m more like on alert.
Most times when I’m on mass transit, I scan the car for vulnerable people – children, the handicapped, pregnant women. In case something goes down, I want to know who might need protection. God only knows if I’d be courageous enough to act on it if need be.
As some of America celebrated its birthday and people made their way to barbecue, beach, parade, and fireworks destinations, I studied them in Secaucus train station and then on the train itself.
It seemed I was captivated with every brown person I saw, hoping beyond hope for them that their day would be normal. The sweet young couple sitting across from me, were they United States citizens? Could they prove it? Would they get detained because of how they looked?
I felt racist just for having these thoughts, yet I knew that was the lens the masked ICE bullies had on the brown people they encountered; I’d seen enough videos of ICE plucking people out of cars and asking for ID because they might resemble someone they’re hunting down. And then:
“You’re not who we’re looking for. You can go.”
Really? You just made a scene. You were all puffed up. No apology?
I’ve been sharing a steady stream of shocking, heartbreaking videos on Facebook, almost daring anyone to call me out for being obsessive in my sadness. I prayed not to see a version of the live show on this journey.
As the train ambled through New Jersey, I felt so white. So incredibly white. As it turns out, that comes with a good kind of invisibility when authoritarianism is creeping into your country.
I went about my business, on my way to see my mother, scrolling social media posts on my phone, marveling at the alternating sentiments about the holiday – from “no reason to celebrate independence we don’t have” to “our country needs us to buck up now more than ever.” I couldn’t disagree with either stance.
Mostly, though, the posts were tinged with sadness, matching my own mood exemplified by the crying Statue of Liberty I made my profile picture. I love Lady Liberty and it crushes me to see her in anything but a proud stance, lighting the way. One enduring memory of 9/11 for me is seeing her, unruffled, while my co-workers and I sat on a boat on the Hudson River as the smoke billowed from two collapsed towers at the base of Manhattan.
I remain flabbergasted that we’re here.
What really stings lately is when I read comments about the U.S. from people in other countries. Those outsider viewpoints are hard to take. It’s like when you think your family problems are a secret and you realize the neighbors know what’s going on. They see all.
The cruel raids. The concentration camps being constructed with glee. The Supreme Court letting our grifting felon leader blow through every stop sign. The people around him nodding like good little soldiers. The guns, everywhere. The watering down of expertise and education. The reckless handling of our national and global health by a man not remotely qualified for the job he holds. The derision of the press. The expressed hate for Democrats by our president in a speech on what should be a patriotic weekend.
They also see us trying to lead these parallel lives where we are strident and informed and ambitious, but also nourishing ourselves with entertainment and community so as to not collapse in utter despair and exhaustion. I don’t own a car, but I had the opportunity to drive one on a road that goes through corn fields and horse farms over the weekend and I let it transport me for a while.
I thought about the white woman in Los Angeles who noted that on her latest walk through her local park, she didn’t see all the Latino families normally celebrating birthdays on the picnic tables as the grills were fired up nearby. Her footage captured the emptiness.
It made me ache for all the people this heavy-handed administration has sent into hiding. In most cases, they came here wanting vital, productive lives.
In a just world, Donald Trump would be the one skulking around, trying to avoid capture for his many alleged crimes. He’d be the one in fear, vulnerable to the whims of hungry reptiles.
I confess, typing that makes me wonder if I’ve become as cruel as them. I’ve concluded that my deplorable fantasies are very specific, much deserved by those on the receiving end.
A nation in tatters on its independence day.
All we can do sometimes -- besides vote and march -- is look out for one another with a keen eye. And hopefully step up with a good dose of courage where needed.