Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [143]
What newcomers most valued was good information and acceptance. When these were present, most people could figure out a way to help themselves. People, not material possessions, were the most valuable resources. Over and over, I saw people help each other. Community relationships, not bank accounts, kept people's spirits high.
My interpersonal skills were given a workout with traditional people. I'm an informal person, very egalitarian, and not terribly respectful of gender and age differences. I had to learn to behave more formally. I wore dresses and nylons. I addressed people as Mr. and Mrs.
My experiences have given me a sense for the complexity and richness of life, for what, to quote Greg Brown again, he describes as, "a world filled with terror and grace." I have learned that truth is not the property of any one culture. Every culture has its strengths and weaknesses, its beauty and ugliness. It's especially important to listen to the quiet voices in a culture and to acknowledge that cultures change and that right now they are changing very rapidly. There is no one right way to think about anything. Carol Bly writes that civilization is "partly about noticing and appreciating what other people are doing." It's about appreciating the richness of a world with multiple points of view.
I learned the importance of simple good manners. For instance, I learned to remove my shoes before entering the homes of people from many parts of the world. I have worked to learn who, where, and when I can touch. I learned that to touch a Vietnamese child on the head is an insult. I learned not to blow my nose in front of Asians. I stopped being so time conscious. Sometimes I slowed down to the speed of wisdom.
I went to the home of a Muslim family after the grandfather died. Thank goodness I had a guide who told me not to take flowers to the family. Flowers would have signified I was happy about the death. I was also told to wear black and not to smile. Smiling would also imply I was happy. I was told to take money or food—tea, rice, or oil. With all this coaching, I may have made it through my fifteen-minute visit without deeply offending people I liked and wanted to help.
Communication difficulties can be overcome. Most immigrants are eager to have American friends. They have been kind and generous with me. A kind heart and an eagerness to learn allow much to be forgiven.
When I meet newcomers, I have learned to ask, "How do you like to be greeted in your country? How do you like to be addressed?" If the content is right, the form can be awkward. The message must be, "I respect you, I want to understand your situation and be of use." Wherever I went, I learned to say, "Welcome. I am glad you are here."
Some lessons were funny. I learned that gender trumps body mass. Once my husband and I delivered a couch to a refugee relief center. A Laotian man weighing about seventy-five pounds insisted on helping Jim carry in this couch while we hefty Nebraska women stood by. I felt ridiculous, but I understood it was a matter of pride.
Other lessons made me ashamed. Watching The African Queen with African friends, I was acutely aware that the heroes were all white. The non-whites were props—nameless, servile, and mostly stupid beasts of burden. Their culture was primitive and their personalities were childlike. I was embarrassed for us and for them.
Writing this book, I have learned more about my own city. Before my work with refugees, I didn't know what people experienced in our human service system, our community action program, and Catholic Social Services. I didn't know what it was like to be on food stamps or Medicaid. For years I had driven by factories and never noticed them. I knew nothing about our many large food-processing plants. I'd never called OSHA or the INS, or sat in the health department waiting to apply for the WIC program.
I'd never tried to rent an apartment for a large family with no wage earner. I hadn't noticed my city's pawnshops