January 19, 2015--Headscarves

At his joint news conference Friday with British Prime Minister David Cameron, with unusual public candor, Barack Obama said--

Our Muslim populations, they feel themselves to be Americans. There is, you know, this incredible process of immigration and assimilation that is part of our tradition that is probably our greatest strength. There are parts of Europe in which that's not the case, and that's probably the greatest danger that Europe faces.

He could have added, getting himself into more trouble for truth-telling, that if we think about just France, which includes Europe's largest Muslim population, French ideology also contributes to the danger.

They live with the assertion and the fiction that theirs is a non-racial society. That Muslims, for example, who migrate to France from one of their former colonies are French citizens (no need to live in the shadows) with a full set of rights that derive from a belief system that claims that these rights are universal and are a natural benefit of the very fact of being human.

Thus, in an act of avoidance and social absurdity, France does not even gather statistics about how its various ethic minorities are faring--income numbers, educational-attainment levels, family size, religious affiliations, and so forth. All citizens are equally French and there is no need to make any divisive distinctions.

They do not even point out that though Muslims make up a full 10 percent of France's population, in the 577-seat French Assembly only about 10 are Muslims. And this, hypocritically (since France is supposed to be a fully secular society and data about religious affiliation is not actively gathered), is only because by recent action these seats were specifically craved out to assure at least some "minority" representation since until a few years only one member was Islamic.

And most Muslims in France, though they have documented, legal status, do in fact live in a Gallic version of shadows--in banlieues, isolated and segregated Muslim suburbs that surround all French cities where lack of education, jobs, and hope are endemic.

To make matters worse, the French authorities, by clinging to these illusions, take aggressive action to forbid any public display of ethnic or especially religious affiliation. For years controversy has raged around the issue of women wearing full veils and girls wearing headscarves (hajibs) in schools and other state institutions--l'affaire du voile. They are banned and this contributes to the tension between the Muslim and more secular French communities.

Meanwhile in Florida where immigrants legal and undocumented are not always welcome (I am trying to be kind) headscarves are common.

The other day, we needed to do some banking for my mother and at Wells Fargo, about a mile from where she lives, many of the women on line or waiting to see bank officers were wearing headscarves and seemed comfortable in the mix of Anglos and others from various Caribbean islands.

Later the same day, at Foodtown in multiethnic Davie, many of the customers and half the cashiers were wearing hajibs and, as at the bank, seemed totally assimilated in the polyglot mix.

So I think Obama had it right--many in Europe could do much better and isn't it good that we are as welcoming a society as we are. Far from perfect, but on the world stage, impressive.

January 23, 2014--Snowbirding: In the Ghetto (Concluded)

Back at the Foodtown checkout counter, I made sure we had the package of nans, thinking that heated up they'd go perfectly with the Jamaican-style pork chops.

"Those look interest to me," the woman behind us on line said. "They are please?"

"Nans," I said. "They're Indian. They're made in a tandoori oven."

"What kind oven that?" I couldn't place her accent.

"A clay one. They use them in India."

"Indians?"

"Yes, the ones in Asia. From India. Not American Indians. Though these nans do remind me of Navaho tacos."

"Now I am all confuse."

"Sorry. I'm so excited by this market and by the nicest thing another shopper, Anna, did for us that I'm not making myself understood. She told us all about this wonderful Jamaican pork chop recipe. We bought . . ."

"I no eat pork myself," she said, making a face. "Beef is good and chickens and fishes. Any kind of fishes."

"We like everything. And this store sure has that. Everything." I was still feeling euphoric about our experience with Anna.

"I think I maybe get some of those brets," she said, placing a package of nans in her basket.

"You'll like them," I said confidently.

"Toast maybe?"

"I think so. They should be delicious toasted. With a little butter or dipping oil."

"That kind of oil, dipping, I do not know."

"It's just a little olive oil in a dish that you . . ."

Then, as if no longer thinking about the nans, she moved closer to me and whispered, "Can I say something?"

"Sure. Anything," I said softly, fully facing her.

"Not many of your kind come here."

With those words I was instantly on guard, not happy to hear about my kind.

Sensing that, touching my arm, she said, "No offended. I mean to say people from your backgrounds." I felt reassured.

"See everyone here?" I looked around. "I do not see any who look like you and your niece."

"Rona. She's my wife."

"No offended again. You look like love people." Warmly, she smiled up at me. She was tiny. Well under five feet. "I mean they live with all those gates."

I was confused. "Gates?"

"Houses with gates."

"Oh, you mean gated communities."

"Those kind. Why they live there and never come out here?"

"You know, I sometimes wonder that myself. One of the things we like so much about spending time here is all the diversity." Puzzled she looked up at me again. "All the different kinds of people." She nodded enthusiastically. "From all over the world. From places where all these foods and spices and teas come from."

"And these gate-people. They do not like it here?"

"They like Florida, but maybe not this place."

"Why not? This is America, no?"

"Good question. Though I'm not sure you'd like my answer." I half turned away from her.

"I might surprise. I do not bite." She was grinning.

"I think they're afraid."

"Of what?"

"That's another good question."

"Of what afraid?" she repeated.

"Of you," I whispered so as not to be overheard.

"Me? I tiny and am only 90."

"Ninety?"

"Pounds. And they afraid of me?" She was genuinely perplexed.

"That's what I think. They are afraid of anything different. Anyone not like them."

"So they put themselves behind gates?"

"Yes. As I see things, unfortunately yes."

"You had that person running for president last year."

"Barack Obama?"

"The other one. Mitts.

"Mitt Romney."

"He said we should go back to where we came from."

"Yes he did. He called it self-deportation."

"Is that what I am remembering?"

"Yes."

"So here they are putting themselves again to where they came from. Behind their gates. You said because they are feared."

"Like self-deportation," I said sighing, "In their case they choose to go back to the ghetto. And I don't mean just my kind. People from other backgrounds too."

"I don't know what that means, ghetto," she looked confused, more sad than frustrated, "But if you say so."

I shrugged, smiling uncomfortably as if apologizing. "It also makes me sad," I said, "And sometimes angry. But . . ."

Rona was waiting for me with a bag full of tropical vegetables, spices, and those wonderful looking pork chops. She signaled it was almost time to go.

The woman said, imitating my shrug, "Maybe there will soon be change."

"I hope so," I said as we paid and turned to leave, "I hope so."

When we were outside, I looked back through the window and saw her still smiling and waving the package of nans.

"What a place," Rona said. "All the world is here."

January 21, 2104--Foodtown

Foodtown in West Palm Beach is not to be confused with all the Foodtown supermarkets in the northeast. The latter are traditional supermarkets selling everything from paper towels to Campbell soups; the former, in South Florida, is anything but.

Unless you are Jamaican, Haitian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Indian, Pakistani, Mexican, Honduran, Peruvian, Taiwanese, Sri Lankan, or Brazilian, this is not necessarily the place for you. That is unless you want a fascinating shopping experience or are looking for a special type and brand of Ceylonese tea.

In regard to tea, if you want to gain a picture of the New America, by far the most diverse country in the history of the world, spend a half hour, as we did on Sunday, in the 30-yard-long tea aisle in Foodtown West Palm where literally hundreds of different kinds of tea and many dozens of brands are on display.

Rona was searching for Ahmed English Afternoon tea. And found it at Foodtown after striking out in half-a-dozen other ethnic food markets.

But if you were searching for that special Ceylonese tea, you had these among other choices--

Black Vanilla
Earl Grey
English Breakfast
Green Jazzy Mint
Green Raspberry
Passion Fruit
Mango
Super Pekoe Black Tea
Oolong
Vanilla Roobius
Pomegranate White
Ginger Peach Roobius
Lemon Spice
Cranberry
Royal Elixer
Pu Erh
Chai Teas
Herbal
Ceylon Sonata
Darjeerling
Saint James
Nilgiri
Dimbula
Kenilworth
Uva
Nuwara Eliya
And, of course, Ceylon Blend

Then, from India, there was . . .

While wandering among a literal world of foods, including pork brains, I wondered what might be available from Sri Lanka.

Rona reminded me that Sri Lanka is the former Ceylon; but that, when if comes to food, Ceylon, not Sri Lanka, is still on the map.