The Borders of Our Lives

Indeed, I've stolen this title from a Simon & Garfunkel song, but I suppose it's fitting. Lately, I've been thinking about the borders in the lives of my wise elders, the borders of my own 23-year-old life, and the places at which these borders overlap.

With recent changes in the social climate, Poland's Department of Gender Equality now ceases to exist and a movement to ban gays and lesbians from teaching in public schools has become increasingly vocal. LGBT protests began sprouting up in different cities but were deemed "illegal," as they would "cause violence." Ultimately, those in power have quashed all forms of expression that counter the Catholic agenda. Nearly two weeks ago, a counter-demonstration took place in Warsaw (essentially, it was a rally for the right to protest) and was attended by a diversity of individuals – fathers, mothers, children, grandmothers, Jews, Catholics, Queers, activists, archivists, writers and artists; all of whom were gathered together in solidarity. Rainbow flags with Stars of David were flown high and people held signs advocating for freedom of expression. One man held a mosaic-like picture he'd painted of two women. The caption beneath the women read: "A gay life can be beautiful."

I thought about this demonstration in relation to the April 2004 "March for Women's Lives" in Washington, D.C. There, at a march for reproductive rights, nearly everyone was White, nearly everyone was middle class, and there weren't a whole lot of people over the age of 60. Here, too, I don't believe that there were any colorful faces, but I was a bit struck by the ways in which boundaries were broken. In the States, I'd venture to say that it's rather unusual to see members of an Orthodox synagogue at an event in which gay pride flags are flown. The paranoia, the gossiping, and the fear of association is quite prevalent in the American Orthodox climate. Yet in Poland, it's not so unthinkable for a member of the Orthodox Jewish community to be in solidarity with someone who's Queer. The ideology is different, the politics are different, but the enemy is the same. It's a bit tragic that "building bridges" often happens along lines of oppression. I remember a time in college when the Black community and the Jewish community experienced some political tension. Our reconciliation effort felt a lot like an analogy one might see on an elementary school test:

Black people : racism :: Jewish people : _____________

[you can fill in the blank]

The moral of the story was: "you're oppressed and I'm oppressed, so let's just try to get along." I wonder if respect can result from something more than just solidarity in the face of a common threat. Or is this asking too much?

* * *

Less than a mile from where the counter-protest took place lives Mr. Kowalski, a 98-year-old Holocaust survivor who remarkably still lives alone. I frequently bring Mr. Kowalski his lunch and visit with him for about an hour. He's sharp-witted, intelligent, and speaks several languages. He can even still play the piano from memory. Whenever I visit, he insists that I have a cup of tea while he tells me about his family, anti-Semitism, the Germans, and asks me questions about life in the United States. He recently asked: "How many rooms are in your home in New Jersey?" I thought for a minute and then gave my answer, suddenly aware that the number of rooms in my home are triple the number of rooms in Mr. Kowalski's apartment. He asked if my mother works and was surprised to know that yes, she does. He then asked me if my family has "n*gger help." The question stunned me for a moment and then I explained that no, we do not, and that today very few Americans have servants or any kind of "help." Times have changed. I realized a moment later that his question shouldn't have surprised me so much; here I was in a room with a 98-year-old Jewish man who talks about the Nazi occupation as if it happened just last week. He, himself, is a piece of living history, physically dwelling in the emotional borders of his life. Yet he has internalized a reality that is long-gone. Ironically enough, stacked on a table with his crooked lamp, his smudged glasses, and his translucent bottles of pills, was an assortment of modern magazines, one of which is this week's copy of Newsweek Polska. Set against a rainbow-colored background, the title reads "Gej Polski" -- Gay Poland.