Lessons From Historical Fiction
I like to read. The daily news online. Magazines. Books. I am a regular patron of our glorious library system, which will bring books from the farthest reaches of Carroll and Madison counties to my local library upon request. And I frequent free libraries—those little cupboards in public places that serve as book exchanges: Anyone can take or leave a book.
I often read historical fiction. I’ve long been drawn to stories that depict what daily life must have been like in some long-ago era. Perhaps this is my subconscious way of compensating for my inattention in history classes as a teen. I do understand the importance of learning history—lest we repeat our ancestors’ mistakes.
I’ve been reading a young adult novel about a family of Jews living in Amsterdam, having fled their home in Germany to escape Nazi terror. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the family is not secure in Amsterdam, either. Their safe haven will become a death sentence as Nazi rule spreads beyond Germany’s borders.
The book is fiction, but the situation depicted is not. Consequently, it provides some small inkling of how to recognize the evolution of government sanctioned persecution in the real world. But I can’t take more than a small dose at a time—too upsetting. So I close the book and return to reading online.
Up pops a headline from USA Today: “Supreme Court lets Trump revoke safe-haven program for Cubans, Haitians, Venezuelans and Nicaraguans.” Here’s a current-day story about people having fled life-threatening crises in their countries of origin. Their entrance into the US required proof of a US sponsor guaranteeing financial support, and their asylum was limited to two years.
Now, suddenly, a half-million people are subject to deportation, despite having sponsors and jobs. And there’s no apparent concern for their welfare if they’re returned to the troubled countries from which they fled.
The news depresses me. I check email. There’s one from my representative that mentions the “illegal immigration crisis.” This phrase activates my overwrought thinking process: Is our government worried about illegal immigrants? Or just determined to rid the nation of anyone who was born south of the border? Whose skin is darker than the people in charge? Whose native language is other than English? While I don’t condone the knee-jerk deportation of illegal immigrants—certainly not without due process— I can almost understand folks feeling a need to exercise control over how the nation’s population expands. Disallowing illegal immigrants serves their cause.
But when we start whacking away at the rights of people who’ve entered the country legally, that small inkling provided by the aforementioned YA novel comes into focus. I see government sanctioned persecution.
Seeking to forget my country’s sanctioned intolerance for a short while, I attend a public gathering wherein one voice rings out a welcome for people to join in— “white, green, black or yellow, we don’t care.” But another voice responds, “That’s where we’re different,” indicating a preference for companions of one specific skin tone.
Maybe in the clatter of the gathering I misheard. Oh, I certainly hope so.
But what I thought I heard left me wondering: Where will I run when the government decides it’s old blue-eyed ladies of Lithuanian descent that are causing all the problems? Or libtards who write columns for indie newspapers? When it comes to the ousting of a group for being “other,” nobody is safe. Anyone can be targeted. Regardless of color, sex, or nationality. That’s historical. But not fiction.