10/19/22

By Josh Rubin

It would take a kind of generosity that humans do not seem to have in abundance to tear down the barriers we have built and continue building to protect what some small numbers of us do have in abundance. It seems no matter how much we have, it does not feel safe to us. And it is true that the way the human world is structured underlines even for those of us with homes and jobs that our position is precarious.

And so, as the storm clouds gather for the world crisis of dislocation that has already begun on the margins, we are ill equipped as societies, and as not very worldly creatures, to do other than pile barriers against the tide we see rising. The crisis, driven in part by what are known to some of us as “root causes,” the economic exploitation of weaker peoples by stronger ones, combined with changes in the weather and oceans that will drive many from their homes, would be better addressed by cooperation than by retrenchment, but that truth is hidden behind fear.

The southern border, with its bollards and razor wire and assault weapons, is the visible face of that fear. Though it more closely matches the kinds of images we associate with hatred, we should not forget that its towering bluster and threat rest on a deep foundation of fear, terror at uncertainty and insecurity. People who are afraid feel they cannot afford to be generous, to recognize the humanity in the faces of those driven to find new homes with us.

The Journey for Justice is an opportunity to look at the faces and to do with them something we often ask others to do. Look deeper.