Pubdate: Wed, 08 Jul 2015
Source: Seattle Weekly (WA)
Column: Higher Ground
Copyright: 2015 Village Voice Media
Contact: 
http://www.seattleweekly.com/feedback/EmailAnEmployee?department=letters
Website: http://www.seattleweekly.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/410
Author: Michael A. Stusser

THE CUSP

"It's either understanding one another, or destruction!"

Ricardo, it turns out, is Honduran, but he looks black to me. We've 
known each other for several years in passing; he plays percussion in 
Faith Beattie's jazz trio at the Queen City Grill, where I frequently 
drink heavily. We've exchanged smiles and nods, and I've thrown a few 
quid into the tip jar on nights I feel flush.

Last week we sat outside at adjacent tables to beat the heat and 
smoke, Ricardo sucking on a cigar and me with my Firefly vaporizer 
(both illegal, as we were too close to the entrance). I noted 
Ricardo's swank Panama hat, and we started in on small talk. 
Eventually we got around to the issues of the day in a week that had 
some doozies: The Confederate battle flag had come down and same-sex 
marriage had been approved by a venomously divided Supreme Court, 
along with key rulings supporting national health care and fair 
housing. Marijuana, too, had had a major victory thanks to the White 
House, which lifted a longstanding restriction on research on medical 
marijuana by eliminating the Public Health Service review imposed in 
1999 and allowing scientists to legally investigate the health 
benefits of cannabis.

"It's funny, man," Ricardo told me while chewing on his Cuban, "I 
feel a real change coming on. We're at the cusp of something. It can 
go either way, you know?" I did. "It's either understanding one 
another, or destruction! I'm just holdin' on, hoping things tip 
toward the positive."

Despite the victories, Ricardo and I had something heavy on our 
minds: the recent murders of nine members of a bible-study group, 
gunned down at the historic Emanuel A.M.E. (African Methodist 
Episcopal) Church in Charleston. We had both been inspired by the 
President's eulogy (featuring a chilling rendition of "Amazing 
Grace"), but more so by the families of those who had been massacred.

"I don't think I could have shown that much grace, man," I said, 
referring to the relatives who showed up at the killer's bond 
hearing, each of whom forgave the shooter. "Hell, I could barely 
forgive my ex-wife-and she didn't kill anyone." (That I know of.)

"Oh, I hear you. But hate is a lie," Ricardo said, with his own 
preacher's cadence. "You may not be able to change those who hate, 
but through forgiveness you can lose the cynicism and anger in your 
own heart. For lost souls like that murderer, it's possible to bring 
light to the darkness. Through love, we can truly create heaven on 
earth. With my thoughts and actions, I can change myself. It's truly profound."

Gay-pride revelers, tourists, and drunken partiers passed by, making 
the Belltown street scene even more festive than usual. Maybe it was 
the buzz from our vices of choice, but Ricardo and I realized our 
discussion--from men truly worlds apart-was invigorating and 
important. Though we clearly shared liberal values (starving artists 
and all), in a way it felt as if we were practicing-emphasizing our 
similarities rather than our divisions and differences. "Lately, I've 
been having great discussions with people who may not have even 
talked to me a decade ago," he said. "How can we advance love and not 
fall into complacency? I think it?s by engaging with one another. Listening."

While the Trio played an enchanted set of samba-inspired grooves 
(he's Honduran, man!), I thought about something our President had 
said during his eloquent eulogy for Rev. Clementa C. Pinckney: "To 
settle for symbolic gestures without following up with the hard work 
of more lasting change-that's how we lose our way again."

The victories for equality, cannabis, and individual liberties 
haven't arrived out of the clear blue sky. They're the culmination of 
grassroots efforts, honing the message, and civic (and hopefully 
civil) discourse over complex, meaningful, and often hot-button 
issues. State by state these issues have been fought over, voted on, 
thrown out, and often, in the end, adjudicated. The key is not only 
dialogue, but vigilance in the democratic process. It's never a full 
Kumbaya moment, because the second there's a victory, there's a 
setback and a need to reorganize and carry on. Yes, the tragic 
shootings in Charleston were followed by a rallying cry to lower the 
Confederate battle flag, but that cry was followed by more violence, 
as seven African-American churches in the South have since been set ablaze.

For some reason they make you stop drinking at 2 a.m. in this 
godforsaken town, so I gathered my things to head inside and settle 
my tab. I'd grabbed my keys and phone and vaporizer (and cocktail), 
but was missing my wallet. Any number of folks could have nabbed it 
from my coat on the patio: a thousand passersby, other diners, one of 
the dozen or so street people who'd asked for change-or maybe I'd 
dropped the damn thing on my way to the john. A waiter helped me 
half-heartedly search under tables with a flashlight. I was drunk and 
it was time to Uber home; as a regular they'd let me pay later, and 
I'd make some calls in the morning to cancel my credit cards.

As I took a last look under the table I'd been sitting at, Ricardo 
approached with a wide smile and wallet in hand; he'd found it under 
a booth earlier and was looking for me.

We stared at one another, and in our minds 500 years of oppression 
and lies, pain and misconceptions, stereotypes and generalizations 
flashed between our eyes.

"You stole it from me, man," I said, brow arched.

We laughed and embraced simultaneously. It may be a slow roller, but 
this momentous wave shall not be stopped.
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MAP posted-by: Jay Bergstrom