Hurricanes and humanity

Let's just take a moment shall we?

Hurricanes, with all their veritable rage and destruction, are a way of life here on Saint Croix—the Caribbean island I escaped to for the foreseeable future. 

The effects of storms past are noticeable on every street. Decrepit buildings, botched roads, and ruinous properties play the arena for the locals, who, despite all this are happy and welcoming to everyone they pass on the street. 

The last few years have been especially bad. According to the few locals I’ve met and clinked glasses with, the ferocity of the hurricanes and storms is only getting worse. You know, climate change. 

I heard the local member for government on the radio yesterday speak to the locals as resilient, determined people. There’s no doubt you have to be both when faced with the prospect of rebuilding every few years. 

But there’s more to the Cruzan people than mere resilience in the sense of rebuilding buildings and stacking bricks on bricks. There’s resilience in humanity, too. A culture of treating people as  they are, acknowledging and accepting differences and building community despite them. 

Maybe it’s because the hurricanes work as their universal villain, an enemy they can all rally against. When every summer threatens a new season of hardship and chaos, you tend to put politics and personal grievances aside and instead work toward a common goal. Even if that goal is as simple as living happy and free.

What I noticed immediately when I arrived here six weeks ago was that everyone greets each other in the street, at the cafes, on the beach, and everywhere else. Good morning until midday, good afternoon until about 6pm or 7pm and then good night thereafter. You should know that the timing matters. 

It’s strange at first, putting yourself out there like that, especially after five and half years of living in New York where you’re surrounded by millions of people but tucked away in your own bubble for most of it. However, after a few days of making eye contact and sharing your greetings, you realize how at home it makes you feel. The sense of community thickens with every person you pass and there’s the feeling that we’re all part of the same shared experience. 

Maybe it’s just an island thing, and can’t be scaled beyond that. But there’s something to be said remembering our sameness. Our humanity. Especially as the metaphorical hurricane of divisive politics and hatred are spewed out in front of us. It’s hard to see the humans through the people in all of this. 

But they’re there. We’re there. And always have been. 

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Allan