I walked towards the harbor, and turned past a blazing headline on CNN (or was it Fox News ?). Iran strikes Israel. I immediately turned my head as I did not want to be drawn into media manipulation. A respite from the cares of the world was what I needed. The feel of harbor breezes on my face, not breathless commentary about the end of the world. (For those who claim I am guilty as charged, well…you got me/smile)
As I approached Harbor Drive, I saw a group of young men in soccer garb. They all looked muscular, and in the prime of life. There were tens of them. At first, I thought they might be a soccer team from Mexico. A fair assumption since I am ten miles from the border.
Several of the soccer men turned front on to me. And I was surprised. They were not a soccer team from Mexico. Their white polo shirts proudly proclaimed “Saudi Arabia.” Didn’t see that in my imagination. As I have often said before, we are primed for error when we make assumptions about groups of people. I concluded they were Mexican given their swarthy appearance and dark hair and our closeness to Mexico. How wrong I was!
In fact, I looked closer and closer at each team member. I turned on my color consciousness switch. Believe it or not, they could all pass for light-skinned black Americans, save for their hair. I was intrigued given the uncomfortable history between Saudi Arabia and African people. AI Overview summarizes the fraught history between Saudis and Africans well: “Yes, Saudi Arabia engaged in the slave trade, particularly during the 20th century, and was a central hub for the modern chattel slavery trade in the Arabian Peninsula, according to Wikipedia. This trade involved importing enslaved people from West Africa, East Africa, and other regions.”
And all of these players could pass for black on a southern street in 1950. Life is nuanced and complex.
Anyway, a long line of limousines was positioned outside their hotel. The limos were all pitch black, all long in length, all Mercedes Benz. I guess when one plays soccer for a Saudi soccer team, one travels in style. I thought to myself were these young soccer players thinking about the Israeli strike on Iran, the Iranian retaliatory strike on Israel? I mean, they must all know given the wall-to-wall media coverage. I strained to see any hint of global war consciousness.
I saw none. I saw young men jacked and ready to best their next opponent on the soccer field. I saw no one obsessed with their cell phone or news coverage about their neck of the woods. I saw athletes living large in their long, black limos. It occurred to me that they paid me no mind. I was just some random American on the street lost in the clouds. I would like to think they did not see my race. Despite their national history with the slave trade, I felt I was simply part of the larger downtown San Diego landscape. And somehow, I felt more human with that realization.
It occurred to me that, if they encountered my dear friend, Izabella, wearing a Star of David on the street, would they treat Izabella with the same indifference? I hope so.
As I sign off this evening, I am going to reach out to Izabella in Tel Aviv and make sure she’s ok.
Good evening!
Saudi Arabian Footballers
Forgive the profanity of the old expression: assume = making an ass out of you and me.