If You Miss Me in the Mississippi River...
Yesterday the news reported a distressing incident in Switzerland. Jewish guests were astonished to find the following signs at their Swiss hotel:
Apparently there's a bit of context to each of these signs (and you can read about it by clicking the above link), but it naturally does not justify this disturbing display of antisemitism.
Reading the piece, I was reminded of Jeff Wiltse's book Contested Waters, in which he reviews the history of swimming pool segregation and desegregation in America. As a (now semi-retired) swimmer who often reflects on the accessibility of swimming, especially to underserved populations, segregation of swimming pools always struck me as especially horrible. Carver "Seku" Neblett's well-known song If You Miss Me at the Back of the Buss (sung here by Pete Seeger and here's a different beautiful version) was originally titled If You Miss Me in the Mississippi River, and was written during the struggle to desegregate the swimming pool in Cairo, Illinois. As a consequence of segregation, an African American young man drowned in the river.
I remember being struck by the fact that segregation was so closely tied with swimming pools because this is far from a uniquely American phenomenon. As a child, I read Itzhak Noy's excellent Black Irises Hill--a book about xenophobia and bigotry in 1950s Israel. The Ashkenazi elite in the moshav in the book balks at newcomers from Morocco who are being settled on a nearby hill and, of course, the newcomers' kids are banned from the moshav's swimming pool. And one need not go back to the 1950s for such examples; recently, Kibbutz Kabri closed its swimming pool to Arab visitors and Yeroham engages in similar underhanded tactics to keep Bedouians from its swimming pool.
The tragedy of swimming pool segregation, beyond being a painful form of exclusion, is in its practical implications: it denies children and adults access to something that is not only healthy, invigorating, and fun, but that can also save their lives. When I lived in Hawaii I learned that Kamehameha schools required all their graduates to be able to swim 2k in the ocean in less than an hour. That's not a very onerous task, but not every kid is a natural or enthusiastic swimmer; they insisted on it because they lived on an island and knowing one's way in the ocean was an essential part of Hawaiian heritage. I'm also very appreciative of Cullen Jones' Make-A-Splash initiative with USA swimming, USMS' Adult Learn to Swim program, and my local friend Cedric Troupe, who is making a real difference with the East Oakland Swim Club.
I suspect swimming pools have a respected place in the world of exclusion and restriction because they evoke a very visceral form of retreat from others: fear of uncleanliness. My friends who are in their 70s and 80s often tell me stories of having been afraid, as toddlers, to touch or shake hands with someone of a different race out of fear that the other person's color would somehow taint their own hand. I hear this story from people of multiple races; as a three-year-old recently moved to a foreign country, I, too, was afraid to play in the sandbox with the foreign kids because their skins were darker than mine (thankfully, my parents dispelled that notion!) I had not been exposed to people with darker skins by that age and they were new to me and, therefore, frightening. But among fair-skinned people, darkness is often associated with dirt or uncleanliness, which makes all of this so much more sinister.
I also vividly remember a cultural meme among Israeli Jews that Israeli Arabs were dirty--did not clean their houses, and was not surprised when my friend Omar told me that, among Palestinians, the meme is opposite: it's the Jews who are unclean. So much of social taboos, as you can read here and here, is about the dichotomy clean/unclean. No wonder swimming pool access, which brings us into close intimacy with the bodies of strangers, becomes a focal point of social struggle and contestation.
It's grim to discuss this as Nazism and exclusionary politics are gaining a strong foothold in our government, but I think it's important to pay attention to these mechanics. Learning how fear and ignorance are a fertile Petri dish for visceral reactions to thrive might help figuring out mechanisms on how to uproot them and dispel the superstitions and assumptions they generate.
To our Jewish Guests: Please take a shower before you go swimming and although [sic] after swimming. If you break the rules, I'm forced to cloes [sic] the swimming pool for you.
To our Jewish guests: You are allowed to approach the fridge between the hours: 10.00-11.00 in the morning and 16.30-17.30 in the evening. I hope you understand that our team does not like to be disturbed every time.
Apparently there's a bit of context to each of these signs (and you can read about it by clicking the above link), but it naturally does not justify this disturbing display of antisemitism.
Reading the piece, I was reminded of Jeff Wiltse's book Contested Waters, in which he reviews the history of swimming pool segregation and desegregation in America. As a (now semi-retired) swimmer who often reflects on the accessibility of swimming, especially to underserved populations, segregation of swimming pools always struck me as especially horrible. Carver "Seku" Neblett's well-known song If You Miss Me at the Back of the Buss (sung here by Pete Seeger and here's a different beautiful version) was originally titled If You Miss Me in the Mississippi River, and was written during the struggle to desegregate the swimming pool in Cairo, Illinois. As a consequence of segregation, an African American young man drowned in the river.
I remember being struck by the fact that segregation was so closely tied with swimming pools because this is far from a uniquely American phenomenon. As a child, I read Itzhak Noy's excellent Black Irises Hill--a book about xenophobia and bigotry in 1950s Israel. The Ashkenazi elite in the moshav in the book balks at newcomers from Morocco who are being settled on a nearby hill and, of course, the newcomers' kids are banned from the moshav's swimming pool. And one need not go back to the 1950s for such examples; recently, Kibbutz Kabri closed its swimming pool to Arab visitors and Yeroham engages in similar underhanded tactics to keep Bedouians from its swimming pool.
The tragedy of swimming pool segregation, beyond being a painful form of exclusion, is in its practical implications: it denies children and adults access to something that is not only healthy, invigorating, and fun, but that can also save their lives. When I lived in Hawaii I learned that Kamehameha schools required all their graduates to be able to swim 2k in the ocean in less than an hour. That's not a very onerous task, but not every kid is a natural or enthusiastic swimmer; they insisted on it because they lived on an island and knowing one's way in the ocean was an essential part of Hawaiian heritage. I'm also very appreciative of Cullen Jones' Make-A-Splash initiative with USA swimming, USMS' Adult Learn to Swim program, and my local friend Cedric Troupe, who is making a real difference with the East Oakland Swim Club.
I suspect swimming pools have a respected place in the world of exclusion and restriction because they evoke a very visceral form of retreat from others: fear of uncleanliness. My friends who are in their 70s and 80s often tell me stories of having been afraid, as toddlers, to touch or shake hands with someone of a different race out of fear that the other person's color would somehow taint their own hand. I hear this story from people of multiple races; as a three-year-old recently moved to a foreign country, I, too, was afraid to play in the sandbox with the foreign kids because their skins were darker than mine (thankfully, my parents dispelled that notion!) I had not been exposed to people with darker skins by that age and they were new to me and, therefore, frightening. But among fair-skinned people, darkness is often associated with dirt or uncleanliness, which makes all of this so much more sinister.
I also vividly remember a cultural meme among Israeli Jews that Israeli Arabs were dirty--did not clean their houses, and was not surprised when my friend Omar told me that, among Palestinians, the meme is opposite: it's the Jews who are unclean. So much of social taboos, as you can read here and here, is about the dichotomy clean/unclean. No wonder swimming pool access, which brings us into close intimacy with the bodies of strangers, becomes a focal point of social struggle and contestation.
It's grim to discuss this as Nazism and exclusionary politics are gaining a strong foothold in our government, but I think it's important to pay attention to these mechanics. Learning how fear and ignorance are a fertile Petri dish for visceral reactions to thrive might help figuring out mechanisms on how to uproot them and dispel the superstitions and assumptions they generate.
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