Caffeinated Politics

There is a story I would like to retell as we start the New Year. The story resonates given what our nation witnessed in 2025. The growing revulsion with the overly broad, callous, and demeaning manner in which the Trump Administration has harmed untold numbers of Brown people and severely disrupted communities nationwide needs a humane response. The following story from our home might be a part of that national effort at reconciliation.

Somewhere near Kirkuk, Iraq, a Muslim mother is praying for my better half, James.  That may sound like an odd statement in which to begin another year of blogging, but it was that news that lifted my spirits several years ago.

At the time, James was a college professor and came to know more about one of his students. a 30-year-old man who, for the very first time in his life, sat down to learn in an actual classroom. Here, in Madison, Wisconsin.   Growing up in Iraq and becoming sad and stressed over the idea that even children would be encouraged to be martyrs, he made his way to Turkey. Sleeping under overpasses and scrounging to exist, he was elated when a slot opened in the ‘lottery’ for a chance to come to the United States. It was then that his future changed in ways that mere words probably can never convey.

It probably comes as no surprise that this man had a very able and keen mind.  On his own, when landing in our country, he started to learn English, and in time was able to speak so he could fit into most dinner conversations. Apart from issues with a few idioms, he had a better grasp of the language than some folks who were raised in this nation.

James proved to be a teacher in the full sense of the word.  When he discovered the man was very tired of eating bland chicken and rice, it was not long before a plan was set in motion to create changes in the kitchen.  First up was the purchase of a Middle Eastern cookbook, along with a trip to a local grocery store where the struggling cook was loaded up with needed spices, measuring spoons, and a few basics to make meals tasty and healthy.

When some more foundational work was needed with math skills, some workbooks were found, and in his free time, when waiting for passengers as an Uber driver, he worked to become more proficient with numbers.

With the money he made, he sent a portion back to his family in Iraq.  Which brings us back to this young man’s mother.

The funny story is told that when cash was arriving, his mom called and was quite concerned that he was involved in something unseemly.  “No, Mother, I am a taxi driver.”  She responded. “Well, I have seen movies and worry about you.”

He told her about James and his help and guidance with lessons and cooking skills.  She was so happy to hear the news and told her son, “I will pray for him.”

And therein lies a lesson that I hope many can follow as we navigate our way through 2026.

All over the world, the same threads of life connect us.  There are men and women across the globe in search of a better life and, more importantly, safety.  There are untold numbers of young people like this man we have come to know who work hard in a new land and then send some of their earnings back to help support loved ones.   There are eager minds who learn new languages, adapt to different climates and cultures, all in the pursuit of happiness and a new beginning.

And there are moms in every country and in every tongue who worry about their children and are touched when a stranger reaches out to lend a hand.  The threads that unite us are just so clear to see.

Therefore, it deeply anguishes me when whole faiths are maligned for political purposes, or brown-skinned people with different-sounding names get treated with less respect or outright bigotry.   Our nation is being severely tested as to what our values and ideals are, both as Americans and human beings.

During a holiday period years ago, the man sat at our table drinking tea and eating angel cookies that were made from my mom’s recipe.  He was soon off to his job, math book in hand, while James stuck a candy bar in his coat pocket as he left our home.   I watched him walk to his vehicle and drive away.   I had a genuine smile on my face that evening.

Today, that man lives in the Washington, D.C. area and works for the federal government as a linguist, being proficient in Arabic.

In the midst of the political storms that will needlessly burst wide open in the months to come regarding those from other lands, I offer the lesson from my days of childhood in a small church in rural Hancock.

“I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.”

Let our nation find that as our path forward in 2026.