Those caricatures are my students

You might think you learned everything you need to know about them at the Republican and Democratic national conventions:

A veteran trying to merge back into civilian life. A young Muslim seeking to become the first woman in her family to complete a higher education. An African-American mother counseling her son on how to interact with law enforcement. A young policeman who struggles to show compassion and authority simultaneously.

__________

Voter stereotypes may not work with Clinton, Trump

Tim Scott’s suggestion to ease race relations: Share a Sunday dinner

Lots of things get said; no one’s opinion gets changed

__________

A young woman abused at age 12, then a victim of domestic violence as an adult. A former gang member. A 35-year-old with a full-time job and two children, working in her “spare” time on a degree. A young Latino man with the shadow of deportation hanging over his family after the U.S. Supreme Court immigration stalemate.

An affluent young woman deciding for the first time to see the world outside of the bubble in which she grew up. A gay man confident about his lifestyle. A soldier wrestling with post-traumatic-stress disorder.

But these aren’t mere political caricatures of the complex composition of our American citizenry. They are my students. I have taught, and been taught by, each of these people in the college English classes I teach every semester here in Columbia. They are our neighbors, our children, our employees, the people with whom we come in contact every day. They are, in short, our fellow South Carolinians.

It was interesting during the conventions to hear one-dimensional, stereotypical references to the various types of people who comprise America. Some references were cast with snide inferences to provoke a negative response, others to spotlight the hard-working diverse populace America enjoys. But neither rhetorical approach came anywhere close to capturing the spirit, the challenges, the ambitions of my students.

There is the student I will call Julia. She is an African-American woman with two children of whom she is very proud. Her son is a junior in high school, and is a responsible school leader. Julia shared in one of her essays the dilemma she faces in talking with her son about potential encounters with police officers. She has advised him to be always polite, calm and respectful. She knows her son is a fine young man, yet she has the difficult job of instructing him never to give the impression of being rude or aggressive. When I read her essay, I thought of the Springsteen lyrics in “American Skin”: “If an officer stops you promise me you will always be polite/And that you’ll never ever run away/Promise Mama you’ll keep your hands in sight.”

Then there’s a student I’ll call Jeremy. He is a young policeman, strong, sensitive and a man who cares about Columbia. He wrote a long, moving essay about the difficulty of combining compassion with authority when he is confronted by a potentially volatile situation, particularly one involving youth. His words conveyed the worry he often feels, as well as the measured patience and perspective he always tries to exhibit.

The veterans write about the challenges they face as they work mightily to leave the chaos of war behind and merge into their community; the young men and women who have immigrated to America write about their endeavors to make their place here through hard work. I marvel at a student I will call Marie, as she shuffles a full-time job and mothering two children, yet still finds time to take classes in hopes of finding a better job. I could not have done at her age what she does daily.

These are South Carolinians, my students, who fit many of the stereotypes we will hear during this presidential campaign. But I know them to be very real, multi-dimensional and unafraid to work hard to achieve their dreams. They are part of our family of man, a part of our state, and especially during this election campaign, this is an important concept to remember.