What I’ll Be Thinking About This 4th

I love fishing, particularly on the open ocean waters.  This past Saturday, I took my family, which included my boys, niece and nephew out for a day of fishing in the Florida Keys.  The marine advisory called for three-to-five-foot seas.  It was wrong.  As George Constanza from Seinfeld would say, “the seas were angry that day.”  By the time we made our way offshore, the seas were easily six-to-eight-foot swells—rough enough that I wouldn’t have ventured into these conditions had the forecast been accurate. 

A few hours into our trip and over 20 miles out, I spotted an unusual shape in the distance and began to steer my boat toward it.  As we drifted closer, I looked through my binoculars. Focusing on the shape, I entered a scene I was unprepared to witness. To say it was a boat would be overly generous and frankly way off the mark.  It was a homemade contraption—a mashed up amalgamation of Styrofoam stacked together, covered by a thin layer of wood paneling to form a roughly 10-foot hull. Topping it off was a tattered, blue tarp being used as a makeshift sail. And yes, there were people on it.  

We pulled in our fishing lines, fired up our engines and went closer.  There were eight individuals on board.  They looked completely fatigued. My best guess was that they had been floating for a few days and nights, which meant that they had endured some pretty tough weather that had been churning the seas for most of that week. 

Seeing their physical state, I was very concerned about their ability to survive for much longer given the roughness of the seas we were experiencing.  I radioed the Coast Guard and apprised them of the situation.  We were asked to stay on the scene until they arrived.  We continued to provide updated coordinates, which was very important as the current was moving very fast and we had drifted 10 miles since I initially called.   

The Coast Guard arrived about an hour later and began transferring the weary people onto their large ship. I was not able to hear any voices, but I could read the emotion—it was dejection. Eventually, we went our separate ways and headed back to shore.  

What we had just witnessed stuck with all of us, and it was discussed the rest of the day. We were left with unanswered questions that lingered. Where did they come from?  How long were they at sea?  What if our paths hadn’t crossed?  That look of dejection—of sadness—of dashed hopes—what context created the willingness to risk lives in search of a better life? The conversation turned to how precious life is and about the freedoms we enjoy as Americans. 

No doubt, these eight were willing to risk their lives crossing the ocean in hopes of reaching America. 

What saddens me is recognizing that we–the beneficiaries of our democracy’s freedom–are now living in a sea of turmoil. There is an undeniable rancor in this country that they were so desperately trying to reach. People (strangers, neighbors, friends and even family) with different points of view (and experiences) are divided and seem unable or unwilling to have simple, rational conversations. What was once described as two sides of an aisle where compromise meant reaching over and working together is now a seismic ridge filled with self-interest sharks and social media storms. Leaning over with an outstretched hand of cooperation to achieve public good seems next to impossible.  

I think back to last Saturday, to the rough seas and the plight of the hopefuls, and to the decisions I had to make in the crux of the moment. 

In that moment of recognizing the floating contraption for what it was—the raft of hope engulfed in a rancorous ocean—I acted out of concern for immediately protecting the lives I encountered knowing that no answer was a good answer. Nearly a week later, I continue to replay all aspects of that day. I challenge myself to imagine different circumstances and what I might have done. I have imagined every outcome.  

Among all the uncertainty that lingered as unanswered questions, what became clear was the need to communicate and to continue to process the experience out loud—the need to discuss the circumstances and to unpack the lingering questions that are inherently complex. 

And now I share this experience with you, unsure if this article will fuel a flame of political reaction or perhaps invite listening, personal reflection, and consideration. 

As I approach Independence Day – I carry a hopefulness that we will begin to listen to one another, reflect, and seek to understand where someone is coming from. I challenge us all to ask more questions than we are prepared to answer. And I challenge us to acknowledge that the conditions facing us as a country are complex and demand the sensitivity of considering more than a singular viewpoint. 

Yes–we have an imperfect union, and we don’t always get it right. But we’ve gotten much more right than wrong in this ever-evolving experiment called democracy.  

The eight people drifting at sea got it. They were willing to risk their lives for what we have and for what we sometimes take for granted.