NOTE: Before I go much further, allow me a moment to say with pride, I identify with the people who are oppressed, who are pushed aside, who find themselves seeking human rights, unalienable rights endowed by their Creator. I agree without reservation that power concedes nothing without a fight, that for all lives to matter, #BlackLivesMatter. I stand, at least figuratively, in solidarity with Lesbian Bisexual Gay Trangender Queer (LGBTQ) community. To do any less would be to say, “You are worth less in God’s eyes because I find what you do offensive.” 

“Today,” Gorsuch said, “we must decide whether an employer can fire someone simply for being homosexual or transgender. The answer is clear.” (Source)

The answer is obvious, “Heck, NO!” 

The Space Between

Growing up in the Republic of Panama, I learned to rejoice in the space between light and dark. As the child of an American of Swedish descent (conceived in Sweden, born after the ship pulled into America) and a Panamanian mother, I saw the disparities with young eyes. The dark (“moreno”) poor people lived in the shacks of aluminum and cardboard in Panama City, the Republic of Panama.

As a native Spanish speaker and English speaker, a bilingual who learned both languages simultaneously, I could navigate between worlds. On the one hand, I lived in the Canal Zone. On the other, I could cross the boundaries into Panama itself, see the people firsthand.

When I traveled on the buses of my youth, they were the bright colorful buses that were filled with Panamanians, my countrymen and women. I never felt out of place, never alone in their presence. For we were made of the same mud, the same colors. 

THE FIRST STONE

For me, the first discrimination observed was against those who spoke Spanish. Time and again, I have bridged the gap. That gulf between those who would disparage Spanish speakers with their ignorance. Ignorant of how to speak Spanish, they assumed those they spoke to in English knew nothing. 

What a pleasure to disabuse the English Only crowd of their mistaken views. For I speak Spanish and English, language is not a barrier. My language skills gave me wings to bridge the gap, and it formed my experiences from the time I was five years old, helping me explain to the gringos of Panama. 

But I also learned that English was the language of command to the Panamanians who worked in hotels and landscaping. Speak in Spanish, you were regarded as a friend. Speak in English, you are the “patron, el que manda.”

When I became a bilingual educator, I learned anew the power of language. When I walked my class early in the school year to the library, a few got rambunctious as I chatted with the principal. Another teacher called them to task in English. Nothing. They understood her but ignored her. I spoke a word in Spanish, to see their immediate response, their shame at being castigated. 

Speak in Spanish, I am el maestro. I am the one who has visited their homes, sat at their table for dinner.

MORENAS DE MI ALMA

My story is different than that of Americans of color. I am grateful for the color of my skin, and I am grateful that we are a rainbow more than one single color made of the same thread.

But I knew there was something different about skin color, too. I grew up with an awareness of skin color. Mainly, that Black people in Panama were of lower status than their lighter-skinned relatives and friends. The scandal for a Panamanian person of light skin was always that of marrying a dark skinned person. In fact, one of my aunts and uncles fell into this category.

Growing up, my mom cautioned me, “I hope you don’t grow up to marry someone who is ‘morena.'” Each time this was said to me, I remember thinking, “Wow, dark skin is beautiful. Why not?”  But after watching “Look, Who’s Coming to Dinner?” with Sidney Poitier, Kathryn Hepburn, and Spencer Tracy, I started to understand. Though it has been rare, I have faced discrimination from those whose skin is lighter than mine. 

In the end, I learned to discount the color of skin as a sign of heart, intelligence. I grew up side by side with all colors of people, and appreciate the content of their character. 

Mi Cuento No Asusta a Nadie

My story is simple. It is not a scary story. My parents sheltered me, and I did my best to shelter my children. The world is scary and unfair. We make it otherwise when we can.

In comparison to that of those who have struggled, I haven’t. For those who have suffered discrimination and brutal oppression, bloodied and beaten, I have not endured. Over the years, I have slowly found myself identifying with the oppressed. I’m reminded of Edward Hays’ story in his book, Twelve and a Half Keys. 

In a poignant story, he highlights that when we stand with the oppressed, we suffer with them. We even die with them. In that regard, I have not suffered. I have opposed discrimination when I saw it, called it out, but some cling too tight to the ideas that comfort them. 

For some, threats, intimidation, and violence comfort them in their fears and hate. One evil to hold another at bay. When I watched Black people being murdered on television, I couldn’t help but think, “May those who did it face God’s justice.” After all, His justice is more ruthless and unforgiving. There is no defense of the racists and murderers, no matter what uniform or skin they wear.

I learned respect of the Blue from my father, who after serving in the Army as a paratrooper instructor and veteran of the Korean Conflict, worked as a police officer. I have no illusions about the righteousness of police, military, only that they are people dedicated to a higher cause. When they fail to achieve it, all of us suffer.

The Face of Evil

Watching White people kill Black people has me crying along with them, “Why is this necessary? Why was this ever necessary?” In many ways, I have decided that human beings have great potential for goodness but fall short so many times. But killing people because you can, because you are afraid of them, because they are to bear the total of all one’s hate and fear, that’s wrong. Wrong is an insufficient word. It is evil.

It is so easy to see evil in the faces and actions of our leaders. Every time I see some politicians, those who peddle hate and fear of others who simply want to lead a life free from oppression, I remember the words from baptism.

You remember, right? It is the question that all in the congregation must respond to. “Do you still reject the Devil and his works?”

Whether you believe in a real preternatural being, or an adversarial force seeking to destroy humanity, the question still works. Do you reject anyone who supports racists and those who support them?

My father did not suffer war and strife to support racists, oppressors. His Bronze Star with “V” for Valor reminds me every day of what Americans fought for…the unalienable rights of human beings.

I know he would not abide this evil. I know because it is repulsive to me. #BlackLivesMatter and so do LGBTQ community. If they don’t, then no one does.

Did You Know?

One of the most profound lessons I learned in high school was how white was defined as pure, black as bad. The light was good, the dark evil. It made it easy to hate the dark-skinned people, and love the light-skinned ones, no matter what they did. The dark were savages, the white civilized. But language is a tool and we should not use such terms. 

Stay silent if you will. Deny your complicity. I do not deny mine. When I look in the mirror, I know my failures. But I do not count among those failures the violent actions of the racists men and women, those have murdered Black, Latinx, trangender, LGBTQ community.

Growing up with prejudice and privilege, caught between two worlds, I wish I could say one was better than the other. 

This is only my first effort at coming to terms with the reality I live in as a person who enjoys dual citizenship and speaks two languages.

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Everything posted on Miguel Guhlin’s blogs/wikis are his personal opinion and do not necessarily represent the views of his employer(s) or its clients. Read Full Disclosure