Blind Trust

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What a lovely metaphor.

An Arab-American stranger stands on a busy city street wearing a red blindfold. He holds a sign professing his fear, his vulnerability, and his hope and trust in his fellow Americans' acceptance. And then he waits. What follows is, well, just watch.

Who could resist shedding a tear at the diverse parade of humanity stepping forward, hesitantly at first, to embrace and reassure Karim Sulayman on New York City's Central Park West? (Sulayman, a classically trained tenor, sings the video's achingly beautiful soundtrack.) Just a wonderful snapshot of the good in each of us.

His sign:

Hello. My Name is Karim and I am an Arab-American. Like many people who are black, brown, women, LGBTQIA, Latinx, Muslim, Jewish, immigrants and other, I am very scared. We are anxious and uneasy in our own country and it is difficult to see what lies ahead for us. But I have hope that I am safe with you. Together we can build a community of caring rather than one of fear. You can trust me to care for you no matter who you are, what you look like, or where you are from. Will you embrace me as willingly as I embrace you? Will you shake my hand and/or hug me and/or take a photo with me and post it as a sign that I am safe here with you? ... I trust you.

Of course, Sulayman might as well be writing, singing, and hoping on behalf of patients who on any given day come from any given nation, race, creed, or sexual orientation and put their blind trust in nurses. And it is we who, every day, reach out to embrace and care for these people, to reassure them, to offer them respect and dignity.

For 15 straight years, nursing has been embraced as America's most trusted profession. We are moved by the recognition, and we refuse to ever give it up.

You are safe here with us.