“Democracy is a device that ensures we shall be governed no better than we deserve.” ~ George Bernard Shaw.

I am told that when I was quite young, before we relocated from the UK to Jamaica, I would stand in front of the (black and white) TV (or the ‘telly’ as we called it then) and shout ‘Stop talking about Mr. MacMillan’ at the newscaster.  He was the Prime Minister at the time, and I have no idea why I was opposed to him.  It is an interesting question, since my parents did not openly discuss politics.  But I must have picked up on something.

My father came from a strong working-class background, and a knowledge that education was the only way out of poverty.  His own father had left school at the age of twelve.  He was first hired by a ‘greengrocer’, a man who ran a fruit and vegetable shop, to stand in front of the shop and try to prevent pilfering of the goods on display outside.  If you have ever been to the UK you may have seen these shops on the streets, these precursors to supermarkets.  My grandfather eventually became an employee of a food distributor, traveling first on a horse and cart to deliver goods to various shops, then advancing to driving a truck. 

Despite their simple start in life, my father and his two brothers went to university, all three becoming church ministers.  My father noted, in one of his essays, that his father was very supportive of their career choice, even though it meant that it would not be a very lucrative one, and therefore they would not be able to help out with the family expenses.  The saying ‘poor as a church mouse’ comes to mind.

In 1963, when my father accepted a job in Jamaica, he moved the family from the city to the country, to a rural town in the center of the island.  He communicated with several of the ministers who worked on the island in the months before he made the big move, and they tried to prepare him, to make the transition smooth.  One minister, whose churches were in Kingston, advised him to prepare for a congregation of subsistence farmers, manual laborers, uneducated folk.  This would be quite different from a Kingston church, whose members were professionals.  The tone of the letter was quite demeaning, as if those poor country folk were far inferior, and my father was to be pitied.

Fortunately. my father was not put off, and in the 23 years he spent in Chapelton, he found much to admire in those ‘simple’ country folk.  In fact, in one of his most memorable sermons, his theme was ‘who among these is great’.  He compared the so-called ‘great’ people of history, leaders who had ‘Great’ in their title, with people he had met in Jamaica.  People who, though poorly educated and with few assets, demonstrated greatness in their care and compassion for others.  He valued their stories, and used them to illustrate his sermons and messages throughout his life.  On Saturday mornings he set out a bookstall in the market, surrounded by the colorful and aromatic fruit and vegetables and market women.  While he sold Bibles and religious books, he also ministered to and chatted with people from all walks of life, collecting more stories for his ministry.  A talented storyteller, he would often end his tales with ‘and is true, you know!’ even while the twinkle in his eye made you wonder how much poetic license was employed.

It is said that it is impossible to hate someone once you know their story.  Often, we are quick to condemn a person based on our first impression.  We judge their appearance, their level of education, their manner of speech, and make assumptions.  If we take time to get to know them we may find a way to empathize, to understand, to feel compassion.  But first we have to listen.

It is a very interesting (yet disturbing) time to be alive, to have front row seats as we watch a nation slide towards autocracy.  Every day it seems there are new examples of how the US constitution is being challenged.  First amendment rights to free speech are under attack.  The rights of habeas corpus are being ignored as people are being detained and deported without a hearing, without access to a lawyer, often without families even knowing their whereabouts.  There are so many norms challenged, so many irregularities that it is hard to keep track of them all.  Lawyers and the courts are busier than ever trying to restore rights, to ensure that history is not being rewritten, that justice is served. 

I recently listened to a woman who suggested that rather than seeing those who are fighting for democracy as the resistance, we should see those who are challenging democracy as the resistance, for they are trying to stop progress, trying to turn the society back to one which is dominated by white wealthy males.  We the People are the river, ever moving forward, leaving no one behind.  When you think of the potential of this country, of the power of blending history, knowledge and culture into one rich stew, it is criminal to watch what is happening.  And as always, it is the working-class who are being left behind, struggling to pay bills while the wealthy greedily grab for more.

I recently shared one of Paul Simon’s songs (American Tune) which he wrote in the early 70s, at another time of upheaval and protest.  It is a haunting song, its melody loosely based on one of Johan Sebastian Bach’s works (the hymn ‘O Sacred head sore wounded’).  A recent version of Paul Simon’s song has been covered by the talented African American musician Rhiannon Giddens, and he changed a line or two at her request.  His lines ‘We come on the ship they call the Mayflower/We come on the ship that sailed the moon’ were changed to ‘We didn’t come here on the Mayflower / We came on a ship in a blood red moon’ thus making the song more inclusive for all ‘Americans’. 

On this Friday morning, I hope you have the opportunity to listen to someone’s story, and then share it.  I hope you remember that all people are deserving of respect, no matter their origin, their educational level, their income.  I hope we all can feel that we belong in the river together, moving ever forward.  And if you find yourself ‘yelling at the telly’, you’re not alone!

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.