A man in a parking lot sells strawberries. I know him. We banned him from our restaurant for insisting that he talk to his friends and the (very gay) staff about his disdain for homos, though the language he used was much more hurtful than that.

On a busy street in town, he sits there and sells strawberries in the hot sun. I think about how he probably grows them on his own property, harvests them, packages them, and sells them all himself. He’s got this sign he clearly made to let people know he’s there. It’s a lovely pursuit and people buy from him often. A man making something himself and selling it to his community. He must live modestly; he lives in a quite poor part of town. Or maybe he doesn’t live here, he just sets up his stand in this part of town. Maybe he lives in a ritzy neighborhood with a huge plot of land and he just does this for fun. He doesn’t look like he’s having fun.

The parking lot he’s posted up in is a small little family-owned restaurant. Any staff members I’ve seen there are Hispanic, the menu is filled with Hispanic food both traditional and Americanized, so I assume the people who own it are Hispanic as well. It puzzles me because another reason we had to ban Strawberry Man was his flippant use of racial slurs in front of our (very Hispanic) team members. Either his racist language was actually terms of endearment for people he worked closely with, or he can tolerate certain people he normally dismisses if they’re the only parking lot that will host him.

Driving past I feel a strange mix of emotions. I think about his struggle in life, just trying to sell his strawberries. And I think about the anger he holds for people he does not understand. People that he villainizes either of his own accord or the manipulation of others. Others that want to convince him the root of his struggle is the liberation of people he used to push down with ease. Others who are the problem but redirect him elsewhere so they can continue to push him down with ease and profit off his suffering.

To me, a passerby who has never once spoken to this man other than to refill his drink or take his order, it seems he cannot cure his suffering because he does not actually realize why he suffers. It is much easier to believe your opponent is of equal or lesser size to you. It gives you the illusion that one day you might beat them, that one day the suffering might end. It is much more difficult to accept and understand that your opponent is enormous, practically undefeatable, that it is much more likely you will suffer forever than even have the chance to even take your opponent on. Which is really the more difficult option? Accepting that your problem is practically unbeatable, or fighting the wrong problem your whole life? Either way you’re suffering, one just gives you the illusion of hope. The other gives you genuine hope, as small as it may be.

It may sound as though I am suggesting the correct answer is to see the truth in pursuit of genuine hope, but that’s just what I would choose. I can’t tell anyone what the correct answer is, but I have a hard time believing making others suffer due to your inability to handle your own makes life more livable.