This is (Our) America

I’ve arrived in Chicago, a city I consider, whether right or wrong, to be a pretty representative view of America. An economy supported by immigrants, wealthy business men, diverse, white, black, solid, beautiful, grimey, rich, poor, violent, peaceful.  Chicago has all the good and bad of America rolled into one very cool package. 

I get on the metro to leave the airport and head to my fancy schmanzy conference hotel. It’s 6 days after Irma. I’m tired. Packed and dressed in the dark. I hope I packed matching shoes and I’m wondering if I have mascara on both eyes.  Important stuff.. you know. 

The metro churns roughly down the tracks. Real rough. Some linebacker size guy catches me as I lurch back. At the next stop, on walks a guy who loudly belts out ” good morning ” and “god bless you all”. I know the type. I ride the metro in Miami and most everywhere I go.. I know it’s a pitch. No one looks up. A car full of people glassily staring at their phones. Headphones in. Tuned out. Turned off.  The guy is smooth. He locks eyes with me like he knows I’ll hear him out. Why not. Everyone has something to say. He speaks with the voice of a preacher. Silky. Educated. He knows it. He tells of his 7th grade education. His momma telling him to “fake it til he makes it”. He speaks of the horrid condition of the shelters. Of bed bugs. Of suicide. Of having few choices but to beg on the train or to sell drugs. He knows what the tax payer pays for him to stay in jail. He speaks of attempts to right his life and failures. He is engaging. He has human eyes. Despite the ratcheting of the train down the tracks, despite the flashing strobe light effect of the sun peeking through the buildings and windows of the train, he continues.. collecting food, money, even pants. 

From the corner a young guy watches him collect handfuls of money. He seems agitated and then he speaks. He quizzes the man of the details he has given us. The names of the shelters, the dates he was there. He accuses him of a perfect script. He tells of a different story of clean , yet in many ways still horrible, shelters. In fact he slept in one last night. He is not smooth. He is rough. His retort is punctuated by swear words and hand gestures. Despite his somewhat disheveled appearance he is wearing immaculately spotless Lebron 14 grey and white shoes.  He is outraged by this mans decision to “ask another man for a dollar”. He asks him how he lost his morality. He is heading to the nearest mosque. He wants another chance to get a job. He wants to do right. He says he just wants to be close to God. 

Listen. This discussion got heated. Neither man wants to be on the street. Both men have kids. Both are in and out of court and jail as they try to get by. Neither man can get an ID or social security card because they don’t have an address to mail it to. Who knew? Likely not many of us privileged enough to be reading or writing this. They talk of street violence. The young man’s brother just killed someone and is in jail. He shouts that he doesn’t want his life to ever come to that.  Options to sell drugs. Lack of options.  They yell out their similarities, their differences. The young man knows that the older man has many fewer options for shelters. It turns out young adults get more help.. have more choices.  Wow. Who knew? 

All the while the train is tearing, almost violently down the track, whizzing through neighborhoods rich and poor. Dirty streets with barred windows. Beautiful neatly organized blocks with perfectly blue above-ground pools surrounded by neatly arranged bushes of flowers and freshly painted fences.

This is America. These are Americans. Tune in. 

This is Our America.