 I was 9 years old. I don’t understand quite why it is but they give me an optimist sense of hope and they instil in me a belief in the possibility of change – reinforcing this idealistic notion that the world can be a better place. The fact that, in over the last 10 years since I have been able to vote, I have rarely seen the individual, issue, or party I’ve backed see success has never damped this sense of optimism. Every time it comes to putting my X in that box I once again believe that goodness and hope will prevail.
However, rather than looking forward to the forthcoming EU Referendum, I find myself feeling extremely worried and sad. It is no secret that this was an issue I never wanted to vote on but when the referendum was announced I had hoped it would allow a space for an open, respectful debate. Yet this is something that seems to have been missing by members of both the Leave and Remain campaign. That is not to say there are not moderate, respectful voices on both sides, however these appear to have been drowned out by the barrage of propaganda and fearmongering that has gathered steam in recent weeks. I have become disheartened to see issues such as immigration, the refugee crisis and the economy, manipulated and used by people on both sides for their own political gain. These are issues dealing with real people – real lives – they should not be used so callously and so thoughtlessly by those privileged enough to be in a position of power.
I am also sad to say that, although I was horrified by the appalling murder of Jo Cox last week, part of me was also not surprised. There is only so long such fear and division can be talked about at the very top level of society until it trickles down. And while I believe whole heartedly that neither side would ever have wanted such a horrific act to happen, we cannot and should not forget that it has - and the reason why. We need to re-evaluate our political system; it is time we started challenging politicians to drop the fear and hate and instead develop a system of open honest debate about the much bigger issues faced by both our society and the wider world.
That is one of the reasons why I am going to vote to Remain in the EU Referendum. I know it is not perfect, but at the same time I cling to the message of peace and social justice that the EU represents. I want to live in a world of unity, where we don’t just look at what is best for ourselves but what is best for the world overall. Don’t get me wrong, there are some selfish reasons I will also be voting in. I have friends in the UK who have emigrated here from the EU, while I have friends from the UK currently living in other EU countries – and I worry about how a leaving would affect them all personally.
I will go into this referendum with my eyes open. I know there are issues with the EU, as is the case with any political institution, but I also know what kind of world I want to live in. One in which we are connected to our neighbours across the world, one that sees us working together – at an international level - to solve issues when they arise, where we rely on compromise and understanding rather than responding with violence. I know it is idealistic and almost impossible but I believe in a better world - one where we recognise the humanity in all of us – and I honestly believe if we are have any possibility of getting there then we need to be part of the European Union. Working together, solving problems together, and having open and honest political debate together.
The tall, very dark-skinned man didn’t say a word, as Katherine Foster led him and the woman from the refugee agency through the flat. Moderately tall herself and willowy, with short cropped and spiky hair dyed red, Katherine stepped into each room off the long, narrow hall, and waited.
“This one would be mine,” she said, gesturing with her right arm to take in the large, sunny front room.
“And this one too,” she added, turning and walking past the open, sliding double doors, into a smaller dark room lined with bookshelves.
When they got to the kitchen at the very back of the flat, Katherine noticed that the man, who she’d learned on his arrival to the flat was named Joseph Maboso, didn’t seem the least bit interested. Without waiting for Katherine to lead him, Joseph hurried through the kitchen to the tiny enclosed porch Katherine referred to as the den. A TV sat in one corner, opposite a rolled piece of foam on the floor, covered with a mostly orange Indian cotton bedspread.
Joseph finally spoke.
“Where does this door go,” he asked.
Katherine had placed an ad for a roommate on Craigslist. The ad didn’t specify whether she was looking for a male or a female. She couldn’t afford the entire rent herself, as the cost of living in San Francisco, where the flat was located, had skyrocketed.
An actress, Katherine took temporary typing jobs, in between appearing in commercials and plays. With large, pale blue eyes and a small delicate mouth in an oval face, Katherine had been aware ever since childhood that she was considered quite pretty. She sometimes wondered if she owed her success in acting to talent or if she got parts because of her looks.
The day after she placed the ad, Katherine received a call from the Methodist Refugee Resettlement Committee. The woman on the phone told Katherine about Joseph.
As Katherine led Joseph to the roof up the narrow wooden stairs, she thought he might be perfect – quiet, it seemed. Someone who would mostly keep to himself.
Katherine reached the top of the stairs, stepped out onto the black tarpaper and walked forward far enough to allow Joseph to join her. In the four years she’d lived in the building, she had hardly ever climbed those steps. Standing under a clear cobalt sky, she wondered why. She watched Joseph tiptoe across the tarpaper, noticing once again that he was very tall. And also very black. Suddenly, he turned toward her and smiled.
“This could be a garden,” he said.
He spoke English with the loveliest accent. Even though his body was way too slender for her taste, which gravitated toward the muscular type, Katherine thought he had a beautiful face. The cheekbones were high below large dark eyes. His smile dazzled her.
In the first few months after Joseph moved into the flat, Katherine barely saw him. Whenever she was home, he seemed to be out. Early on, Katherine had spelled out the rules to Joseph, about alternating weekly cleaning and taking out the garbage. Of all the roommates she’d had over the years, Joseph turned out to be the only one who cleaned as much as she did.
Every so often when Katherine was sipping her morning coffee at the scratched oak kitchen table, Joseph passed through the room, his hands carefully balancing a cut-down cardboard box filled with plants. Not looking in Katherine’s direction, he would say, “Good morning. How are you today?” She imagined those were the first phrases he’d learned in his English class.
A year passed, following Joseph’s move into the flat. In that time, Katherine had gone through a half-dozen lovers. When one of her lovers spent the night and they made love in the front room, Katherine sometimes wondered if Joseph could hear them. He never brought anyone home, neither male friends nor women. In some ways, it was an odd arrangement, sharing the flat with a man she barely spoke to or knew. In other ways, the situation suited Katherine just fine.
In her forties now, Katherine had mostly resigned herself to being single. Earlier, in her twenties and thirties, this was what she had wanted. Over the years, she had watched her mother grow more and more depressed, married to a minister who spent more time counseling the divorced and widowed women in his congregation than he did with her.
Katherine spent time with different men to assuage her loneliness but didn’t expect most of the relationships to last. Even so, she still held onto the tiniest hope that one day she would meet and fall in love with a good man who would love her back.
Oddly, there was a surprising similarity between the men with whom Katherine got involved and Joseph. Like him, the men all had dark skin. A few were foreign. Two had even emigrated from Africa to the United States.
This was no coincidence. When Katherine was young, her missionary father moved the family to Uganda, where he started a Christian church. The African continent – its people, music, the smell of food and damp earth – seeped into Katherine’s soul, she liked to tell people years later. In her junior year of college she returned to Africa, falling in love with a man as black as Joseph, who she considered marrying. That is, until she learned he already had a wife.
Katherine’s skin was so pale, she never stayed out in the sun for long. She loved laying her arm next to that of her latest lover. Chocolate and vanilla, she would think, and sometimes said the words out loud. Katherine failed to realize that she didn’t fall in love with the men she brought into her life. Rather, she loved the idea of them, exotic, happy and warm, the way she recalled the people, music and culture of Africa.
During that year, Joseph tried to keep busy. When he wasn’t working or in class or sitting in a straight-backed chair across from his counselor, he climbed the narrow wooden stairs to the roof. Often, he simply sat on one of the white plastic chairs he