This, I think is a big part of the whole narrative in addition to the very real issue of racism.
A little story, that happened this Saturday night.
My husband and I watched Hell or High Water a very good modern-day cowboy story with lots of gun, fear and tense nerves. For various reasons we went to a cinema in Picaddilly (middle of the craziest London night life).
We drove home (20 min drive across London, and just behind the British Museum on a dark road stood a young woman and a young man. This was in Bloomsbury, where there is no night life and also very few residents–mostly just University London buildings. They waved us down. When we stopped they said they couldn’t find their way back to the building they had been working in. They couldn’t remember the address and their phone was out of battery. Then I saw that the guy was wearing thin rubber gloves, the kind surgeons wear.
Just as he said (without prompting) they had been working in a student housing cleaning a new building to make it ready for Sunday, for the new students to move in. They had left to buy something but couldn’t find their way back.
All sounded reasonable. There is lots of student housing in the area, term really starts this week. But still coming from a film which was all about heightened fear and the possible fatal encounters with strangers I was feeling queasy and wondering if, for our kids sake, we should just drive off. On the other hand they were close to tears.
Anyways, we plugged in their phone in the car, battery perked up, found the address, a building I know and matched their description–made sense. It was on our way so we offered to drive there. In the car they said they were from Romania, and this was their first week in London.
My husband and I survived to tell the tale, but I did wonder if we were foolish–definitely not the circumstances I would have liked to leave this earth or be robbed or have the car stolen.
I did wonder whether in the Texas of Hell and High Waters I would have done the same–most likely not.
Which is a real shame, because when I lived in Utah in 1985-87 people were very friendly and helpful, not just to me as a teenage girl, but to everyone in my family. I remember how when we arrived at the airport in Salt Lake City as a dirt poor immigrant family with four kids from the Eastern Block, people’s friendliness hit us like a wave, we had to readjust, get used to it. Never, ever, for a moment was I worried in those years on the streets, of people with guns–and this was in the West, people hunted, had guns, I don’t remember a single shooting.
So it feels something happened and it is not good.