Open
Souls
“Perhaps
the noblest private act is the unheralded effort to...open our hearts
once they've been closed, to open our souls once they've shied away.”
Mark Nepo
In the early 2000's, I
spent several years traveling back and forth to my mother's house in
North Carolina. I took family medical leave and went there for three
months at a time, then came back to Birmingham, taught for two terms,
and went back. My mother lived in a neighborhood where Sen. Sam Ervin
had once lived, and members of his family still do. It is a “nice”
neighborhood with landscaped lawns and lots of space.
The town has always been
industrial—textiles and furniture, and one large chicken-processing
plant belonging to Case Farms. The owners of that plant recruited
workers from Central America to come to this little mountain town
because they could pay them less than the locals and they were willing to put up with dreadful conditions. During the time
that I was traveling back and forth, a Mexican family moved into a
house down the street. Over the next few years, their numbers
swelled—brothers and sisters and their spouses, grandmothers,
children—until it became a small village. Out behind the house,
they raised chickens, and had a huge garden. I would pass on my daily
walk and see women out back, picking vegetables and throwing out
scratch to the chickens. I'll admit to thinking this was unseemly in
this “nice” neighborhood. I'd go into the Harris Teeter
supermarket, and stand in the check-out line behind an old granny who
spoke no English, while the girl at the cash register tried to
explain that she did not have sufficient money for her food. It
was a frustrating experience for one and all.
During this time, my
cousin, Anne, worked as a teaching assistant in the county schools.
Her particular specialty was English as a 2nd language,
and there were many children of the poultry workers in her classes.
I complained to Anne about the number of Spanish speakers who had
“invaded” our little town. She brought me up straight, believe
me. She told me how hard the parents of the children in her class
worked to help their kids learn English, how they never missed an
evening class, even after having worked all day at the plant. How
they themselves were eager to conquer our very confusing language.
She spoke of the children with great affection, told me some of their
stories, and finally, she said, “Jane, they just want a better life
for their children, and they're willing to do whatever it takes to
make that happen.”
It was a turning point
for me. I began to look at that family down the street differently.
How hard they worked. How resourceful they were and how unaffected by
our snobbery. Their lives centered around family, they raised most of
their food, they shared their space and transportation. They swelled
the tiny Catholic church in town to the point that it expanded its
space, and instituted more worship services. In other words, they
were devout Christians.
Being able to see others
as wanting the same things we all want, and doing what any of us
would do for our children, helped me to better understand another
culture. My heart was as closed as anyone else's before Anne helped me
to see the light. In it's illumination, I had to look at my own
selfishness and white privilege, my own racial prejudice. I also had
to entertain how wasteful we are as a society—we take for granted
our “right” to personal space, and our “right” for each
person to own a car—even a gas-guzzling vehicle. I won't pretend
it's comfortable to look at the harsh truths the light reveals. I
would very much like to shy away from this reality, but once opened,
the eyes of the soul cannot be closed. We can grow in the direction
of our soul's sight, or stay blind forever. The choice is entirely
ours.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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