It was in the early 80’s, a group of my colleagues at the JCC were sitting around in our Teen Lounge, it was lunch time and our constituents were still in school awaiting the dismissal bell, and soon would join us at the JCC. Most of my collective staff considered ourselves liberal minded people and most of us were registered democrats. I mean, come on, many would say, we work in communal service profession, we make every effort to make sure any individual can fit into a group (never force them into a group), and we strive for a positive identity as a Jew within the general community…of course we are liberals (somehow the word Progressive hadn’t reached the tip of lips or for that matter nor with the society in which we lived), but I recall clearly the six of us were struggling with a new term, a very certain two word term now being used as an identity…African American.
Trying our best to be liberal, we huffed and we puffed, pontificated about how that identification MAY be necessary, but not quite sure if it was the perfect two word phrase to identify the Black Community. (Oh the privilege of one group to assume what is better for another group). We all agreed that if Blacks wanted to call themselves African Americans then who better then they to say so…BUT, did that also mean from now on there were Irish Americans, Italian Americans, Polish Americans. And even though Jewish is not a nationality should we be called Jewish Americans…or as I mentioned back then, my family is from Ukraine and Romania…should I first identify myself as a Ukrainian American or a Romanian American. We ALL so much wanted to be liberal in our approach, yet ALL of us were not quite convinced that we approved of the term African Americans. (As liberals we were quite ashamed to even make this a question).
Upon the beach in the central area of Provincetown, tucked away in one of the very tiny alley ways, dripping with barnacles, cracked sea shells and a green carpet of seaweed, welcoming you to wade deeper and deeper, Joe and I spied a shell of a ship with a flag waving proudly in the wind. It looked as if the captain might be setting sail toward the Bay, ready for a journey where names no longer mattered, titles useless, and the only identity, human. I am, among the many things in my life, a Gay man.It took almost 40 some years for me to realize that piece of my identity and along the way I had to struggle with too many other unkind words stopping me from appreciating my reality. I recalled hemming and hawing at the term African American back in my day, and as I saw the rainbow flag boasting brightly its colors, I sighed and thought how stupid to worry what I might call someone else. All along my path to discovery all I wanted was to remove the differences and only seek the sameness, between whatever kind of American I was or am. In Provincetown there is no question, you are who you ae and that is the end of the discussion…it all just flows so smoothly! Day Three
