‘Bad blood?’ Trump’s ignorant, hateful rhetoric makes him recall a joyous Christmas service with African immigrants
When I heard former President Donald Trump sneer at people from other countries who are “poisoning the blood” of the United States, I was once again appalled and disgusted by his hateful rhetoric.
It’s hard to say Trump (seen above during his presidency standing in front of his largely ineffective border wall in a public domain photo posted on wikimedia commons) has hit a new low, since he has resided in the gutter of American politics for more than a decade, but by invoking Nazi rhetoric, he has caused revulsion in all decent, sane people.
The fact that millions of Republicans are cheering him on as he quotes terms that Adolf Hitler used is extremely troubling. When he talks about wanting to exercise the powers of a dictator, many of his followers are in full agreement. Is this how low the GOP has fallen? (seen above during his presidency standing in front of his largely ineffective border wall in a public domain photo posted on wikimedia commons)
We are a nation of immigrants. My family is descended from immigrants from Norway, Ireland and Denmark. We came here in the late 19th century seeking opportunities denied us in our homelands, and we were welcomed and included.
I have spent a fair amount of time with people who have come to the United States from Mexico, Central America, Asia, Europe and Africa. The people I have met, worked with and befriended over the years have been almost without exception smart, decent, hard-working human beings who only asked for a chance to improve their lives.
Trump’s fascist imagery made me think about a Christmas church service I attended in Mankato, Minn., almost two decades ago.
It was festive, celebratory and noisy. The music, produced by drums, guitars and other instruments I didn’t normally associate with a church setting, was boisterous, and the clothes — bursts of red, yellow, purple and other colors — were loud, and the people were as well.
Dec. 25, 2004, was a cold Saturday morning in Mankato. I was the regional editor for The Mankato Free Press and, since I was divorced, had no kids and my family lived in other states, I was assigned a holiday story. Other staff members, with homes warmed by family and friends, had asked for the day off and I didn’t blame them.
It happened to me many, many times over the years.
I had to write a feature for the next day’s paper and had chosen to attend a Christmas service presided over by my friend Peter Ngor. He was the leader of
the Sudanese community in Mankato and North Mankato and we had gotten to know each other fairly well in the previous 20 months since I started at the paper.
Peter is from Darfur, a region in southern Sudan. He is tall and lean with three distinct scars on his forehead. It’s a custom in the Dinka tribe, although it is fading in popularity now. The scarification is done when boys and girls are quite young, and they are taught not to show pain as a white-hot knife carves three grooves on their face.
Peter always wore a bright smile and was kind and friendly. He stopped by the newspaper office fairly often, and since I was the new guy there, he was passed along to me by staff members who, despite loudly professing their liberal beliefs on a regular basis, were uncomfortable around Peter.
I found him to be a delight. He had a soft voice and a gentle manner, although he was insistent about the need for coverage for his people. There were dozens of Sudanese refugees in the area, brought to America by Lutheran Social Services to escape the deadly civil war in their country.
Many were single women who worked or attended school while raising their kids. Peter often asked me to write a brief story seeking a vehicle donation to help someone who was trying to move ahead in life and adjust to America without dependable transportation. It only took a few minutes to write and it may have helped someone a lot, so I was happy to comply, and to ensure it made the paper, too.
I did other feature stories on the Sudanese as well. I recall talking with some adults once on a bright summer afternoon while their kids ran, jumped and played in a park. The parents spoke clear English with a distinct, and charming, accent. Their children, however, sounded just like other kids in the park as they raced about, laughing and asking a flood of questions.
None bore the facial markings. Their parents said these were American kids and would live under the culture of this land, although they still wanted them to celebrate Christmas in their own fashion.
Covering their service was a bright spot for me on an otherwise gray holiday. It provided me with a story I needed for Page 1 and a reminder of what the Christmas spirit was all about.
I was unable to reach Peter for this column, but thinking of him, and remembering the warmth so evident that cold Minnesota morning, brought memories of him and that day surging back to me.
That’s a welcome gift this holiday season, and one that makes my blood run warm. There’s nothing bad about that.
Tom Lawrence has written for several newspapers and websites in South Dakota and other states and contributed to The New York Times, NPR, The Telegraph, The Daily Beast and other media outlets.
