After the second world war, fathers, uncles, brothers and sons came back to our town. Women too…mothers, daughters, aunts, cousins. And there were many who didn’t come back and some who came back but not quite all the way…or missing parts. They didn’t come alone. People…strangers came…from all over Europe, Italians, Poles, Czechs, Dutch, Brits, Greeks, Hungarians and Germans. They weren’t called refugees at the time although they came from places ravaged and desperate. Some were grey and gaunt and all were subdued. They were called D.P.s…Displaced Persons…and they weren’t hated (except maybe the Germans) they were resented. They intruded on our grief and mourning…and the re-bonding of families. They were a constant reminder of misery. And they came because it was the industrial centre of America and that’s where they could find work. They often had better education and better industrial skills than local folks…and once they learned the language they got better jobs. Resentment increased.
In working class culture there are a lot of resentments and a few hatreds too. In those days, in that town…whites hated blacks, catholics hated protestants, workers hated bosses, the poor hated the rich and vice-versa in all cases. It was managed hate…didn’t flare up often…but it was just there all of the time. Hatred has anomalies. One could have black friends and still hate black “people”…or hate catholics and have catholic friends and even have catholic family members. People in our town were used to their hatreds…had grown up with them. The new D.P.s were aliens…strange creatures…with strange accents…who didn’t fit…who seemed to try to be invisible. Being invisible in a town of five thousand is impossible. Place like that…people know the names of family dogs from across town. There was “friction”. I remember my parents talking about the “friction”, when the aliens went to work on assembly lines with the locals. It was sometimes ugly…but there was also a belligerent recognition that those men were trying to feed their families…were trying to recover from horror…were working hard to do it. And so eventually came respect…less resentment and after a dozen years or so…a surly acceptance. Oddly the new comers often remained “D.P.s” while their kids didn’t.
As this current wave of refugees floods across Europe carrying their personal cargo of tragedy, loss and misery it’s accompanied by great humanitarian gestures as well as stunning political failures. While efforts are being made to help…there is also a ground swell of resentment, fear and anger in Europe and North America. The incandescent madness of ISIS and their ilk visiting atrocities upon European cities adds fuel against the muslim refugees.
The experiences of my youth and my town have no legitimate comparison to what’s happening today. The surge is too great, the problems of integration too complex, the acceleration of fear and resentment is building too fast…and the volume of people trying to escape a series of wars that have targeted mainly civilians is increasing even faster.
For the past decade here in Canada we’ve had politics that promoted divisiveness and anger. The hatred promoted by political attack advertising…the abusive policy measures taken by the government…and the constant attempts to identify, isolate and attack “enemies” has created an atmosphere of resentment and apprehension that makes any effort to assist anyone and especially refugees suspicious.
And this is what we need to resist…not just because the ordeals of these displaced people are incredibly difficult to over come…and will leave scars on them for years…and as humans we should recognize their need and help…but also because we need to resist the resentment and hatred for ourselves…so that we are not defined by it…not identified by it…not aligned with the circumstances and monsters who shoot and loot and rape and kill and drive ordinary citizens from little towns and big cities where…like us…they once had ordinary lives…and now they don’t.
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