These Eyes

I seem to have Mexico-adopted a dog while I am down here. This guy:

Or maybe rather---he adopted me.

I was sitting on a bench eating my second taco al pastor, my personal favorite down here in Mexico, when this dog approached me with these eyes. He was begging yes, but not so much begging as, I don't know...asking? He looked at me as if to say: I'm really hungry and I need you. Can you feed me? You are my last hope. Now I assure you I am not crazy. I know dogs don't talk, let alone think like that...probably. But I swear: he kindly asked me for any food I could spare.

Well, now you remember, I really like tacos al pastor and I only had two, and one was already gone ...and well, I was hungry. But this dog! So I gave him a priceless piece of pork. It was then I saw his body: emaciated, shrunken. He looked at me again. I gave him more. Then he lay/lie/laid down and not the good lay-down --- the "I might be dying" lay-down, which I don't think I have ever seen before. But in this moment, this is what I knew to be true.

I went inside and got him some water and placed it front of his limp body. Then I went and bought him his own taco. Beef this time, no tortilla. The taco place thought I was nuts. "No tortilla, por favor. Su para un perro." He scarfed it up. I got him to drink the water. He eventually drank the whole thing. He was clearly dehydrated. I bought him more food and refilled the water container. He started to perk up. I pet him, encouraged him to drink more water. He looked at me again with those eyes...and I started to cry. I can't tell you why I cried, but I did. Maybe he was fine. Maybe I exaggerated. But something in his eyes. I saw him, desperate: this soul, this life. And I cried. I sat with him a while, just being with him and after a while he eventually he got up and trotted off. I maybe saved his life. I maybe didn't. But I stepped up.

There's been so much in the news lately [thankfully] about the dire refugee crisis in the Middle East and Europe. Devastating photos and stories. Lives. People. Dev. a. stat. ing. And I hear politicians and random small people spouting on about walls and aliens and illegals and jobs and thieves and not enough and go home and we can only take 57 and not our problem. And then I look at a photo, at a person's eyes, like this brave man and I see him. I see another soul, another life. And I cry.

This photo in particular made me weep. This man. Clutching his children.

We are all the same. There really are no borders or countries or lines. They are created. False. Arbitrary. We are all people and some of us need help right now. Some of us need a damn taco. Or a hand stepping out of a boat, or a safer way of getting to safety.

I traveled to Syria 6 years ago, before everything turned so, so south. And I often wonder how and where those people are I met. Are they still alive? Did someone help them? And the other millions I didn't meet, who can't protect their children or save them from sure death? I mean, these people would rather risk likely death on a rickety, overpopulated boat in the middle of the ocean than risk certain death where they live. Think about that choice. I met with refugees in Syria. I heard their stories and their choices. Do you honestly think we should send them back? These desperate, delirious people? I wouldn't. I couldn't even send back the dog.

So every day, he comes back, looking for more food and I feed him. Four days later, he's starting to look a little better, maybe. He still looks at me with those eyes and I can't turn away. How can any of us?

It's time we stepped up.

The Other

I recently toured my play, No Place Called Home about the Iraqi refugee crisis. We performed the show in Manchester, Indiana and Rugby, North Dakota. I also taught several classes around the issues of authentic living, refugee awareness and using arts as advocacy, along the way.

One of the tour stops where I taught was a very small town in northern Minnesota -- a very conservative, "red" county, if you will. I knew this because almost every answer to any question was "guns". Also, I was told. They probably saw me coming a mile away as a leftie, elitest east-coast liberal! Sigh. Some kids tried to goad me with their gun talk, but I used it as a springboard for conversation. After all, there is no wrong answer, just opinions. :)

Mid-way through the session, several kids got up and left. I was told it was because of work study. Well, days later, after a phone call from the principal, I learned two of those students who left early, didn't do so because of work study, but walked out because they were upset. They misunderstood me to say their brothers who served in Iraq were to be blamed for the Iraqi refugee crisis.

Wooh. What? This stopped me in my tracks. How could I have been so misunderstood? The refugee issue is a different issue altogether, having nothing to do with our troops or the work they do. I never even mention the troops in my classes, really, and I of course, support our troops. But where did we go off track? What I was saying had nothing to do with what they heard.

On the phone with the principal (Spelling trick--the principal is your pal), I took a breath. She knew the truth. She sat in on the entire class and was thankfully standing by me now, but how could this have happened? Where did the communication go so wrong? How did I somehow lose these two boys by saying Iraqis are people and deserve our respect and help? How did that translate to their brothers the soldiers are bad? Why does it have to be one or the other?

It's a big question, I think -- touching on our fears and misconceptions about the "other" brought on by the media or our upbringing or community or experiences. The other is often looked at as "scary" or "bad". It is an easy trap to fall into that it has to be us or them, that if one is good, the other is bad. This simply isn't true. There are many spots on the continuum for people and countries to live. We are only human. By having me in to the school, the principal was giving them a huge mind-opening lesson: Different doesn't mean bad. People aren't their government. And conversations are good.

Maybe they were too young to understand or too unwilling to engage in a deep conversation. Maybe I was too quick or careless with big thoughts for young minds or maybe, just maybe this is the challenge we always face when bringing people of different beliefs together. Sometimes it's a struggle to learn we are all after the same end result: a happy fulfilled life for ourselves and our family.

It shouldn't have to be one or the other.

These are difficult but important conversations to have. I am grateful that the principal and ultimately those boys were willing to have it, that they were willing to open that door.

Life is education after all. May we all continue to learn.