Fear

It seems like every time I go online another tragedy has struck – a mass shooting, a terrorist attack, a black teen killed at the hands of a white cop, or some ludicrous Donald Trump antics. I see people, and consequently their words and their actions, being driven by fear. Fear of guns. Fear of mentally ill people with guns. Fear of police. Fear of black people. Fear of terrorists. Fear of those who are different than “us,” whoever “us” may be. Most of these fears are rooted in real, true danger. Black people fear cops because they are far more likely to be treated unfairly and met with violence than their white counterparts. We fear terrorists because they are killing people around the globe all the time. We fear those toting guns because schools and malls and movie theaters are being shot up and it seems to have become a commonplace experience. Yet, we allow far left and far right political agendas to divide us, instead of working together, amidst differences, for a better future.

I see my Facebook newsfeed full of xenophobic and Islamphobic comments, as I simultaneously hear my students saying, “Miss, I dream of going to your country someday,” or “Miss, I want to join you when you go home next year.” I smile and nod, tell them they can ride in my suitcase or my pocket, and when they come they can all stay at my house. But in the back of my head, I have to wonder what kind of experience they would have if they came to my small town. If my girls showed up wearing their hijabs, how would people react? Although I live in an entirely Muslim village here, I am often asked if I need help finding a church. I have a difficult time thinking that my kiddos would be asked if they needed help to find the nearest mosque. I want so badly to think that they would be respected and treated the same way that I am, but I can’t say for certain that would be the case.

When I moved to Indonesia, I didn’t know what to expect. I feared many things – spiders, squatty potties, and parasites. All of these things, now, seem inconsequential. Before I left, I was warned to be safe and to be careful. A fellow PCV and dear friend was warned “not to fall in love with a Muslim man.” This seems so silly, as I find myself among some of the most helpful and hospitable people I have ever known. This same friend stated it perfectly when she said, “I have fallen in love with hundreds of Muslims.” As I follow the U.S. and world news from my village, I find that I am no longer afraid of spiders, squatty potties, or parasites. I now fear that friends back home will see my dear friends and students in my village, whom I love, for their hijabs rather than for their beautiful hearts. I fear living in a world where we are so afraid that we do not surround ourselves with those different from us.

When I moved to my village, and for months thereafter, I wondered if I would always only be the “bule,” or “foreigner.” I worried that people would know who I was because I was different, rather than actually knowing me. If there is anything I have learned throughout my time here, it is that I am capable of understanding and knowing those who are different from me, and I am capable of being known and understood. In her book Daring Greatly, Brene Brown writes, “Much of the beauty of the light owes its existence to the dark. The most powerful moments of our lives happen when we string together small flickers of light created by courage, compassion, and connection and see them shine in the darkness of our struggles.” I have seen so much light from the compassion, patience, and understanding shown to me by those in my village, and the light from those moments and people shines bright. It fills me with hope, because even amidst life’s struggles and our legitimate fears, we are all more alike than we know.

It is my hope and prayer that we can learn to listen to the stories of our brothers and sisters who are different from us, truly hear them, and learn from them. Show compassion and be shown it in return. Let us be driven by hope, compassion, patience, and understanding, rather than allowing our lives to be dictated by fear.