No Politics Around the Campfire
In late September 2002, on a campground in Southwestern New Hampshire, United States I sat around a small fire in the woods with some of my best friends. We all met for the first time 5 years prior. We bonded over live music, and pro-wrestling. Our host’s brother in-law, a self-avowed nazi, was joining for the weekend.
Dennis, the self-avowed nazi, sometimes tagged along on our parties. He didn’t have any friends of his own then, so he would piggybacks off Matt’s friends. These hateful fucks, they are a disease I tell you. You gotta handle them like a disease, you can’t ignore them. Take notice like you take a medicine, you know? If you ignore it, the disease will grow out of control and kill everything around it.
This particular weekend in early fall 2002 was setup to be a winner. The weather was great, and we were all working so we had money for fun. Food, drink, firewood, and anything else we’d need for two days of decadence in the woods was carted out camp.
We were having a great time. Eating too much, drinking too much. Using implements of destruction without OSHA oversight. Building fires that exceeded the regulatory guidelines set forth by the camp rangers. We did all the things you wanna do!
Saturday after sun fall, things turned dark. Sitting around the fire Dennis takes aim at my appearance with a series of jokes that exposed the Islamophobia of him and the others. Looking back, I imagine he was saddened that the excitement of the weekend was over, and he did not have the tools to work out those emotions. Whatever the case, what happens next I think is all too common a story for people in the United States.
“Hey, Jeff Bin Laden!” Dennis yelled at me.
Everyone around the fire looked at eachother, seeking permission for their nervousl laughter. Sneaking glances in my direction, careful not to linger long enough for meaningful eye contact.
Dennis, realizing that the crowd was on his side fired another shot, “Jeff Bin Laden, you planning another attack, are you?”
And the crowd, now knowing they have the permission to laugh freely let’s out the restrained bellows with a chorus of laughter, chatter, and chuckles.
I must have had a look of disgust on my face because the host approaches, and puts his hand on my shoulder to share, “you DO look like Osama Bin Laden, Jeff. It IS funny.” This man who to this day may still refer to himself as, “my best friend”, told me this as he laughed in my face at the hateful joker’s cruel humor.
Dennis realized that he now owned the moment. His giddiness getting the better of him, he couldn’t contain the stream of anti-islam sentiment.
For this forum I will limit it to, “They aren’t gonna let you on a plane, are they Jeff Bin Laden.”
All my closest friends laughed at each jab of hate from the man who grew up reading Mein Kampf. Jokes from a man who regularly laughs at the idea of killing the disabled daughter of his neighbor.
I told them the jokes were not ok, that I felt attacked. But my protests were perceived by my closest friends as no more than an, “over-reaction to a harmless joke.”
I told them they are simplifying the complexity of the issues, and being cruel with the jokes.
Their response, “whoa whoa whoa, no politics around the campfire.”
Why would these men who called me a friend treat me this way?
I believe because it is enormously painful to accept that you have been part of a system of hate. Worse yet, you yourself may have been used as an agent of hate. I know I have been, and it is a painful confrontation with myself every time.
The fact is that each of my friends from that day are just as hateful as Dennis. For whatever reason, Dennis is compelled to say it out loud while most parade around with signals of virtue shielding the site of their ghoulish hate from the rest of the world.