24 November 03
The Hazard of Being Other
There’s a partially albino American crow around. Its coloring is very odd and quite beautiful: the tips of its wings are pure white, then darken to buff, then brown, and only its head is a pure black. When I saw it out on the field over the weekend I thought it might be some kind of goose, and rushed for the binoculars.
The other crows go after it murderously. They chase it, dive-bomb it, never let it rest. I’m amazed it’s still alive. Why is the odd one such a threat to the others? Why is its mere presence enough to set them off?
I have no idea why the sight of this persecution makes me so sad. It reminds me, perhaps, that cruelty and intolerance are innate. That no matter what we know, an ugly streak can take over and render us merciless; that it takes very little to set this off: the voice of a demagogue, perhaps, or the fear of the unknown. Mostly, I fear the metaphor of this conflict will be-and is now being-used by the powerful to justify their injustices.
I hope this strange crow somehow manages to pull through. The odds of that do not seem high.
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which go by the board when a Hitler comes along. (Or, for that matter, Osama bin Laden-you wouldn’t believe some of the things I heard coming out of people’s mouths after September 11.)I think the story of the mother with the disabled daughter is horrifying yet not, I think, unusual. Sadly.