Is it Still Possible to Love your Enemies or Must we Live in Fear?

(This is a composite of how I'm going to start my next painting "Stir Fry." Stay Tuned!)

In the 70s, I was working as a freelance writer. After completing several packages of four scripts each, I was contracted for another project. This time it was about families, featuring cultural diversity which was a hot topic in those days.

Mid-way between, I discovered that the real purpose of “diversity" was not “inclusiveness” of those who were different from us, but a means of cramming everyone into the same old box for governmental control. The uniqueness of each culture and the beautiful characteristics of each race was intended to be camouflaged, distorted, and white-washed. The intent of the producer was “to make everyone the same and thus equal.

Except for outward appearances, the differences between races and cultures was blurred rather than appreciated and celebrated. The control police love this. If they had their “druthers,” they’d want everyone to think, act and look alike; and, of course, all vote for the same party.

Needless to say, my treatment and approach for the script was far different from the one they had in mind. You could say we had a falling out.

Today, division and hatred is even greater than before. I guess this diversity thing didn’t quite work out the way they had expected. Our leaders want to lump others into racial and cultural groups to incite us into class warfare. Too bad they didn’t celebrate our uniqueness as I had originally suggested.

Now people tend to generalize and polarize using language and behavior: “All blacks are alike. All whites are supremacists. Italian’s are dishonest. All Hispanics are in gangs,” etc. Well, you get the picture. The blame game players and the hateful are trying to divide and conquer us. If we’d appreciated and explored our differences, even delighted in them, this wouldn’t be happening.

And to compound the fears that have already been instilled in us, another national crisis. Terrorism has struck again. The perpetrators seemed normal. They dressed like you and me. They had jobs, a baby, they blended in. They fit in with the politically correct speak.

The problem is Islamic Terrorists don’t think like us. Their religious texts encourage violence and murder against “the infidel” and those who don’t conform to their beliefs. These particular Jihadists were building pipe-bombs in their garage and stocking up on ammunition and assault rifles.

While they worked and played, and lived their normal lives, they were planning to terrorize and murder unarmed men, women, and innocent children. Many of whom were disabled. And all this mayhem was planned and executed in the name of their God, Allah.

That this could happen in America, a Bastion of freedom where people of all races, cultures and religions have lived together and played together for hundreds of years is unconscionable! Diversity is a good thing if people welcome the chance to get to know others in their schools and neighborhoods in order to celebrate their roots. But if we simply divide up and go into battle our differences encourage hatred and that becomes a dangerous thing.

Peace on earth sounds wonderful at this time of year, but only people working together for the common good can experience it. As the Christmas Season approaches, let us “love our neighbors and pray for our enemies.” Let us reach out in peace and fellowship, but also know in whom we can trust.

For those whose hearts are filled with hatred, “pray for those who despitefully use you.” We must recognize both the enemy within and without.

Fear is so widespread in our world today that we need a greater effort by everyone to “watch and pray” and to “Love your neighbor as yourself.” For those who mock prayer and condemn all people of faith, it is your right to do so.

As a Christian I’ve stood by and watched Muslim children in schools and universities given private rooms to pray while Christians have been denied meeting rooms or other accommodations.

I’ve seen cities close off streets so that Muslims might pray according to their beliefs, but at the same time watched my Christian brothers and sisters denied private areas in school because of their own beliefs and holiday celebrations.

Recently the Attorney General came out and declared that any hate speech against Muslims because of the latest Terrorist attacks would not be tolerated and there would be repercussions. 

Well, Miss Lynch, Christians have stood by and watched newspapers make fun of their beliefs and their prayers, and note that the actions of a few have been made the brunt of jokes and condemnation. May I remind you that our precious Constitution protects the rights of Christians, too?

We are constantly reminded not to blame law-abiding Muslims for the actions of Islamic Terrorists. Christian’s ask the same consideration: that the majority not be blamed for the actions of a few bad apples.

Innocence Lost -- a Long Ago Glimpse into the Past

"Day Dreams" 11 x 14 oil on canvas, Prints available

I came from a small town where doors were left unlocked, people waved and chatted over fences, and children were allowed to roam the streets at will. In winter, I walked a few miles across town to ice skate, returning in the dark of night, never worrying about the shadows or the fruits of my overzealous imagination.

My innocence was shattered one evening at the movie theater. The woman who sat next to me called my attention to a stranger’s arm that dangled over the back of his seat.

“You’d better watch him,” she said in a hateful tone. “You never know what they’ll do.” She pulled her purse close to her, keeping it a safe distance from the stranger’s limp hand.

To this day, I don’t remember the movie. I was terrified the whole time, checking the foreigner’s hand, making sure he didn’t touch me. Had he done something to the woman, I wondered?  Was she upset because he was different; an Iranian student, a foreigner to our town?

"Blond Boy" 11 x 14 oil on canvas, prints available

It was dark when I left the theater. I usually skipped home, knowing my mother would have supper waiting. Attending a movie and walking home alone at night had never bothered me before; but that evening, everything changed.

I heard footsteps clicking behind me. When I turned, it was the man in the theater. Fear overtook me, the fear born of one woman’s hatred and my own insecurity. I walked as fast as I could. When I quickened my pace, he quickened his, or so it seemed.

I reached the safety of home several yards ahead of him. He took no notice, but continued his nightly walk, likely returning to his own apartment. But if he had gained on me, what then? Prejudice breeds fear.

So does the influx of strangers and the changing dynamics of a diverse and growing population. That year a baby sitter returning home from a job was murdered on her own front porch and time stopped. Our safe structured world was shattered.  People started locking doors. Parents were more cautious about letting their children go out at night. Our town changed. The whole world changed.

(Illustration of "Cooper" from "Madison Morgan,
when dog's blog")

The culprit was a young man, a troublemaker who had recently come to live with his aunt and uncle.  Bouncing from one home to another, he finally landed in a place that offered hope and love. He hadn’t meant to kill her. 

He only wanted to talk to her, perhaps kiss her, but her frightened screams wouldn’t stop. He covered her mouth a little too long, and then it was too late. He fled in fear. The town not only mourned the girl, but the sad young man who never had a chance.

Foreigners, who first drew suspicion, breathed a sigh of relief and went back to minding their own business. Others covered up their misplaced blame with excuses, and life was never the same.

Perhaps your home town was much like mine. Society has, indeed, changed. Now our children and grandchildren are no longer safe in their front yards. Walking to school is risky. Parents prefer driving their children to school rather than sending them on the bus. The roadways are crowded. The traffic outside the school grounds is backed up for blocks. The innocence of yesteryear is gone forever.

If you are interested in having a portrait done from a photograph, contact the artist for details and an estimate. http://carol-allen-anfinsen.artistwebsites.com

"First Daffodil" 16 x 20 mixed media on canvas

Innocence lost -- Gone were the Good Old Days

"He Lives" 16 x 20 acrylic on canvas

I came from a small town where doors were left unlocked, people waved and chatted over fences, and children were allowed to roam the streets at will. In winter, I walked a few miles across town to ice skate, returning in the dark of night, never worrying about the shadows or the fruits of my overzealous imagination.

My innocence was shattered one evening at a movie theater. The woman who sat next to me called my attention to a stranger’s arm that dangled over the back of his seat.

 “You’d better watch him,” she said in a hateful tone. “You never know what they’ll do.” She pulled her purse close to her, keeping it a safe distance from the stranger’s limp hand.

To this day, I don’t remember the movie. I was terrified the whole time, checking the foreigner’s hand, making sure he didn’t touch me. Had he done something to the woman, I wondered?  Was she upset because he was different; an Iranian student, a foreigner to our town?

It was dark when I left the theater. I usually skipped home, knowing my mother would have supper waiting. Attending a movie, walking home alone at night had never bothered me before; but that evening, everything changed.

 I heard footsteps clicking behind me. When I turned, it was the man in the theater. Fear overtook me, the fear born of one woman’s hatred and my own insecurity. I walked as fast as I could. When I quickened my pace, he quickened his, or so it seemed.

I reached the safety of home several yards ahead of him. He took no notice, but continued his nightly walk, likely returning to his own apartment. But if he had gained on me, what then? Prejudice breeds fear.

So does the influx of strangers and the changing dynamics of a diverse and growing population. That year a baby sitter returning home from a job was murdered on her own front porch and time stopped. Our safe structured world was shattered.  People started locking doors. Parents were more cautious about letting their children go out at night. Our town changed. The whole world changed.

The culprit was a young man, a troublemaker who had recently come to live with his aunt and uncle.  Bouncing from one home to another, he finally landed in a place that offered hope and love. He hadn’t meant to killer her. He only wanted to talk to her, perhaps kiss her, but her frightened screams wouldn’t stop. He covered her mouth a little too long, and then it was too late. He fled in fear.

The town not only mourned the girl, but the sad young man who never had a chance. Foreigners, who first drew suspicion, breathed a sigh of relief and went back to minding their own business. Others covered up their misplaced blame with excuses, and life was never the same.