Smartystan

At the Mercier restaurant, Vestin Go looked at the menu. He always wondered why he looked at it as he knew what he would order every time: Ember bed roasted veal wrapped in mushrooms with celeriac and apple,

roasted celeriac jus and potato pithiviers. Chanda usually ordered something different each time they frequented the posh spot. This time, she chose the Quail from Södermanland in black garlic and leek ash with Jerusalem artichoke, preserved wild mushrooms and jus of roasted chicken skin and mustard seed.

“Same old thing, huh?” she asked, not looking up from the menu.

“Indeed,” Go said. “What are you–”

“Hey! Aren’t you a Founder?” A voice came from just adjacent to their table.

“You’re Vestin Go. I loved your sentence structure in parts of The Declaration 2.0.” The woman stretched out her hand. She shook his hand and Chanda’s.

“Yes. I appreciate that, thank you.”

“I just wanted to say that your people are so underrepresented in media and culture in this new country. I think that’s starting to shift, though. I mean it must be hard to be a billionaire and still maintain your soul.”

“Actually, it’s quite easy. I just keep my integrity.”

“Of course. Of course. Well, I don’t want to keep you too long. Enjoy your meals!” The woman left quickly.

“What the hell was that about?” Chanda asked.

“Just another bleeding heart that has no heart.”

“Why do we have to still put up with this? I mean what is it about us that makes us so damn different?”

“Let’s see…for me, my epicanthic folds on my eyes, my yellow skin, my black hair and dark brown eyes…I could go on about me. For you, your red skin, black hair and dark brown eyes. People engage with the nonessentials. You talk all day about the ideas of the founding, the political and social ramifications, and all of that but they don’t want to deal with that.”

“Who’s they?”

“Anyone not willing to discuss actual topics like freedom and rights. No, they’d rather talk about disparities rather than the opportunities as our recent visitor opined about so succinctly.”

Chanda laughed. “Yes, I agree that there is a standard of speech that is aimed at trying to console or agree with you but at the same time go against what you really stand for. For example, that lady seemed so concerned about how yellow and red people are shown in the culture but offered no solutions.”

Go asked, “What are the solutions to you?”

“Let do. Let us alone. Hands off,” Chanda said with her hands in the air.

“I would have to agree. Everyone who feels that we’re ‘AZN’ has us totally misconstrued. An AZN is someone who doesn’t embrace their individualism and wants to cling to the tribe.”

“I think that’s true,” Chanda admitted. “I mean, there’s so many people that look like us that are in Smartystan. We’re part of the set of a kind of backhanded compliment to say we’re so good at math and science. That we’re among the best doctors in the world. It’s these stereotypes that truly damage and disrupt everything.”

“Absolutely. But I’m among two black doctors of philosophy and I went to a community college. That right there just flies in the face of any prejudiced person.”

Chanda shook her head from side to side but agreed with Go nonetheless.

“The entire nation, hell the entire world looks at us and sees what once was the highest paid, most educated, best informed people. When the United States had been at its apogee, it boasted people that looked like us. In places like India and Korea, entertainment capitals arose and the schism started. They started to look at us more like themselves since they were not, in large numbers, practicing medicine or running convenience stores,” Go said.

“These are facts. That’s why it’s incumbent upon us to be so selfish and rational in our deportment. We have to strive to just be ourselves and never worry about the way people view us. That gaze has to exit,” Chanda asserted.

There came a silence and then they gave their orders. But in that silence they savored each other’s words. It was like drinking pristine water from a spring, they could enjoy each others’ views. The topic seemed to rile up both of them. Their breathing increased slightly and tiny beads of perspiration gathered at their foreheads and temples.

“I didn’t mean to make you sweat,” he admitted.

“It’s okay. These are some topics that can be touchy. But we have to discuss them. Maybe that lady meant no harm, but she had in her mind some kind of preconceived notion that spoke to her soul and came out her mouth,” Chanda observed.

“Yes. We have to talk about it. Here we are in this beautiful place and we’re just getting ready to enjoy our meals and then here comes a woman with probably good intentions but not sensitive enough to treat us as individuals.”

Chanda sighed. “It’s like whenever something goes away something just as evil or more evil replaces it in some respects. Think about the Jim Crow South. Slaves were set free only to experience the brutal and harsh reality of the areas below the Mason-Dixon line. I think Smartystan is a beautiful refutation of that particular model.”

“That’s right. Belinda, Keija, and Covey and myself, we all wanted an improved America. One where it could live up to its own code and present a better vision of living as a human being.”

“Is that why they picked Dr. Strong to draft the 2.0 document?”

“I ensured that they had to pick him. They had to choose Covey because he had written so many books and would be the perfect architect for the framework of the document.”

“And of course you had a hand in making sure that the country would be one of liberty and maximizing opportunity in the business realm….” Chanda added.

“It was only right,” he said.