Opinion: A step off in the right direction

A dark room inhabited by 50 people, barely lit with an amalgamation of dimmed overhead lights, fluorescent signs and lit smartphones. The atmosphere is stuffy and thick, a direct result of too many occupants in a confined space. Sticky floors and a hint of stale beer serve as a reminder of where you are, yet this atmosphere provides comfort through familiarity.

“I just came back from Iraq shooting people like you!”

A small town of 12,000 people whose backbone is stabilized through its blue-collar industry.

Made up of a strong Scandinavian population, principally conservative from Second Amendment rights all the way down to socially conservative family values, yet an easy checkmark for Democratic candidates — from any walk of life — as long as they are “labor endorsed.”

“You were over there shooting Jews?” I respond.

An expression of surprise, though held back with apathetic suspicion from the instigator, leveling his look to try and reaffirm his disposition. A collective of friends moved him away from my general vicinity and tried, with success, to express their apologies for the confrontation.

Crime and violence in this small community is mostly limited to a concentration of DUIs, drugs and simple theft. Education standards and performance are among the highest in the nation and religious participation is evident by the number of churches, besting the large number of distributed liquor licenses. It is a community where every resident is not more than one mile from a park and you can find children freely moving about the town without concern for safety (aside from the occasional hurt feelings or a scraped knee).

I am not Jewish, but a part of my heritage is, and it seemed appropriate to point this out in an effort to make light of and/or diffuse the unwarranted confrontation. I am an unusual-looking fellow, and hard for anyone to put a finger on exactly what race or lineage I descend from.

Guesses have ranged from Arabic to Native American to Asian Indian, but I have hardly ever felt it important to point out “what I am” because, to me, as soon as I do, I walk into the wall that separates us as Americans.

Affirming that a part of my past distinguishes me as something other than the person asking — whether that be a greater or lesser man — only helps to fracture our similarities. (Let me point out that celebrating that heritage should always be encouraged as our history, and understanding our past directly results in the shape of our future. But let us not forget that we are Americans first!)

Examining my encounter a little further … intoxication on the part of the instigator, identifying someone who doesn’t look like him but who shares a resemblance to what he has been trained to suspect as the enemy. Standing, not sitting, with his back facing the wall — faced by an intrusion with someone he was not familiar with.

I would later learn that he lost a friend while serving overseas.

Do I blame him? No.

Should I blame him? Maybe.

Did I just posture myself in that examination of circumstances to provide a pass to someone who clearly was stereotyping, if not being blatantly racist?

How did we get here?

Does it not seem that this world, our country, right down to the political institutions themselves, are tearing apart at the seams?

In my next few articles I am going to examine some of the key triggers as I see them and issues facing the American populace that have led to this strain.

Writer Uriah Wilkinson is a local political contributor and a history buff.