The other night, a wildly belligerent and wildly intoxicated woman stopped in front of a friend and i and began slurring something in my direction. She was also sticking her hand in my face and getting closer and closer the longer i resisted taking it. To keep her from further invading my space, i shook her hand.
“Ishk ad obnon, nur arr terrorist!”
Oh! Terrorists. Well, as long as that’s what you’re carrying on about. In that case, please leave me alone. And, i wish i hadn’t let you touch my hand, you presumptuous, racist jerk (I don’t think my coloring or my clothing or any physical attribute led her to believe i could be a terrorist. Besides that, i doubt she was really seeing anything all that clearly).
She continued blathering. I have no clue what she was saying but at one point, some words leapt above the verbal tumult: “Gimme three kisses!”
Wow. No. I’d rather punch a kitten.
She still had her cheek turned toward me expectantly and then, “Shr-ed-a-bick!”
Excuse me?
“UHN! Shrr-ad uhn Arr-r-ick!”
Yeah, “ick.” Please maintain the Standard American Minimum Safe Social Distance of three hundred feet away from me at all times.
This came after watching her stumble and kick, rave and shout her way up and down my block for about fifteen minutes. This is not even close to being an unusual occurrence on my street. In her defense, i hadn’t seen a belligerent drunk yet that day so i was due. In addition, it was after seven p.m. which amounts to a free-for-all yelling and drinking party around here. Regardless, moving on:
“YUHN SHRR PEE AHN AGH ARR-R-ICK!?”
Oh! [insight-bulb] Ugh.
I think i might throw up.
“You sure… Do you speak Arabic?”
She was trying to find terrorists and, i imagine, do some terrible things to them. She had some concern that i might be one. She wanted to see if i would shake her hand or give her a kiss and was trying to find out if i spoke Arabic, “Arr-r-ick,” by which means, of course, she would definitively prove that i was, in fact, a terrorist. Call the FBI. We have a natural-born profiler.
For a split second i though about saying yes.
“I speak a little Arabic. Why do you ask?” I imagine that would have gone poorly. For everyone involved.
I just said, “Uh, no?” She looked relieved, held my hand a little longer, looked over at my companion and walked away. Well, was half-dragged away by her two human crutches.
This woman, she doesn’t deserve my rancor. She may or may not be a terrible sort of person but i don’t know her well enough to make that call. However, for a moment, i despised her. Not her, perhaps, but what she represented of my country. I just cannot stop thinking of her face when she was later telling a police officer, in a very loud whisper, “She’s not a terrorist,” while looking over at me with a we’re-brothers-in-arms kind of smile. The smile made me a little sick.
I thought about the violence that bloomed in every city, some worse than others, after the events of September 11, 2001. The discrimination and the shameful close-minded, willful ignorance of a (relatively) small contingent of this country. In November of that year, the U.S. Department of Justice had to release a memorandum, “Regarding Post 9/11 Violence Against Arab-Americans.” Part of it reads:
“We must not descend to the level of those who perpetrated violence by targeting individuals for threats or violence based on their race, religion, and national origin. To do so would be to grant terrorists a victory they cannot—and would not—otherwise achieve. We are a great nation; we must treat one another and others in a manner consistent with that greatness. Everything we do must reaffirm and respect the dignity, heroism and sacrifice of those who have died, lest their sacrifice be in vain.”
Out of all of this, after everything i thought about the entire experience… My automatic reaction to the woman… The way i felt after i realized what she was talking about… I felt worse and worse as i turned it over in my head, as i began to write this blog. I was all set to just write a few snarks about this idiot drunk on my street but i began checking my language, listening to myself, judging myself. I don’t know her. I don’t know anything about her. My imagination began to run afield. What ifs and maybes.
She had been saying, “This for you.” She was leaning in and holding my hand and speaking intently through a mouthful of marbles, the way drunks and toddlers have of making a point. Sincere though incomprehensible.
“Peehd ish or oo!”
What she was doing is wrong. If i thought it was possible to have a rational conversation with her about racial profiling i might have had but that wasn’t going to happen. That doesn’t mean that i had to verge on hating her, be disgusted by her without considering her at all. Was she a veteran? No. My guess is no. I could be wrong but, i’m not. Could she be a family member of someone who was lost to war? Maybe. Is she someone affected by the violence and ignorance and pain that runs unleashed in our society? Yes.
To some degree or another, we all are.
Lessons Learned: As hard as i try, i can still be close-minded. Respect is to be earned for sure but my self-respect should dictate the manner in which i treat others, otherwise, i may not be far from being a presumptuous jerk myself. Those people about whom i lament, the ones who aren’t asking questions and challenging their preset ideas… Well, pot and the kettle.
I also received a refresher on pluralizing complex title structures. There are plural “Attorneys,” not plural “Assistants.” Good to know. Thanks, Apple Dictionary.
I come from a law enforcement/military family. My uncles and aunts and cousins are all involved in one way or another. We have two overseas, a few who were restored to our ranks and one who never came home. Veteran’s Day is still often only a day for me. I like the idea but not the execution. For most people i know, it’s just a day off. A day to barbecue things and drink and possibly briefly talk about whatever war we’re in at the time. I can’t get behind that. My respect for the fighting and the fallen is carried out every day. And, since last night, i’ll be thinking about the other casualties as well, both the people and the conceptual ideals. Not because i think that our sacrifice here at home is the same as theirs so far from it, but because i agree with the Assistant Attorneys General who issued that memorandum. “Everything we do must reaffirm and respect the dignity, heroism and sacrifice of those who have died, lest their sacrifice be in vain.”
