A time for heroes

             Monday morning, I will board an airplane for a three-plus hour ride to another large city, so that Tuesday and Wednesday I can work with a nonprofit that trains and employs people living with disabilities. Wednesday afternoon, I will board another plane for the trip home.

               As I board planes these days the same few thoughts occupy my mind. Ticket, check. All my stuff, check. What goes in the up bag and what in the throw bag, check.  Will seatmate be a troll, a heavy perfumer, a hulk?

               My status as frequent flier means I get to board near the front of the line and my routine is so long settled that I have plenty of time to scan the crowd as they file on. I find amusement in the people who clearly don’t understand the concept of checked baggage. Watching a person trying to stuff a ten gallon backpack into a five gallon space can be high entertainment, assuming you’re not the person in line behind them. Occasionally one of these people becomes truly nasty in their self-absorption and you get to watch the scene develop until they’re actually kicked off the plane. High opera!

               The cabin staff go through their programmed shtick of facilitating, guiding and yes, arguing in the attempt to meet that holy grail of the airline industry – the full-cabin, on-time pushback.

               All of this plays out in the twenty minutes or so required to stuff a couple hundred humans into a flyable metal tube. And at some point in the process, a small but insistent voice will whisper in my ear, causing me to wonder whether this will be the time.

               Our world has become a place in which carrying out your normal activities carries the weight of volunteering for martyrdom. Not dramatically, not even really likely. But possibly. Could happen. Has happened, and to people who thought it as unlikely as will I as I board those planes.

               Still, we board the planes. We go to work. We attend the big games, ride the subway, assemble for events, eat at restaurants, write what we believe, say what we feel.

               Because not to do so would be surrender. Because this is a time for heroes.

               I do not refer to the folks who throw themselves on grenades to save their comrades, although certainly I honor them beyond measure. I do not refer to professional athletes, because I do not honor them.

               The heroism called for by these times is of a quieter, more personal nature.

               It is the heroism of London in the Blitz, of the miners who go back down, of the Syrian father in the photograph who faces drowning and starvation and hatred upon arrival to try to bring his family to safety, of the mother who will not lay down her burden although arms are leaden and back is strained because that burden is a life that deserves a chance.     It is the heroism of just carrying on.

               We face the terrorism heralded in the media. We get on planes that might be brought down and up elevators to heights not reachable by fire equipment. We assemble in places with too few exits if the shooting starts. We send the children that we love more than life off to school in the morning.

               Yes, I do believe all these and more are examples of the heroic actions we need to take every day.

               But we also need to display another kind of courage. The courage to not allow our distaste, distrust, outrage and fear to become broadly brushed across convenient canvases.

               Many of our politicians are willing to harness the power of collective fear in rallying support for hateful and counterproductive platforms. But the people I fear most are not ISIS and not Trump. The people I fear deepest in my soul are the people cheering for Trump. These are the people who are willing to trade who we are for the illusion of action.

               The people I fear most are those who are content to blame the massacre on mental derangement (or Autism? Really, you cowardly idiots?) rather than on the fact that in this country just about anyone has access to overwhelming firepower.

               The people I fear most are those described by Elie Wiesel as bystanders.

               I like to believe of myself that I would take the bullet for the child, run into the burning building to save the invalid, ram the car before it gets to the crosswalk. But those are opportunities I hope I never have to face, and probably won’t.

               The opportunity for heroism today, the opportunity presented to us, each and all is that of rising to the promise of the American social experiment. Of rising above the hate mongering of political opportunists and haters of every stripe. It is the opportunity to carry on, yes, but also to resist.

               I have the opportunity to challenge the hateful comments when I hear them, to defend the right as I know it. And of course, to simply carry on.

               I hope and intend to rise to the challenge. I will board the plane. And the next one, and the next. Because if ever it were true, this is a time for heroes.

 

Please Google “You will not have my hatred.” Listen to what Antoine Leiris has to say. Please.