I’m not afraid of Syrian refugees. Or any other refugees for that matter. My wife and friends would chuckle and say, “You’re a Texan and a Marine; you’re not afraid of anything.” There’s a bit of truth in that. But the truth is, I am definitely afraid of lots of things; I’m afraid of sharks, venomous snakes, getting run over by somebody who isn’t paying attention to me in the crosswalk, getting shot by a hunter mistaking me for a deer (hell, getting shot by any non-Marine who is a gun-nut and just wants to fire one of his 96 firearms at something), and going to hell. But I’m just not afraid of Syrian refugees. There are a lot of frightening things out there, but for me, Syrian refugees just aren’t one of them.

I guess it begins with life experiences. I see a lot of posts about needing to stop the flow of refugees into our country. I have to be honest and not hypocritical. I grew up in Houston, Texas, and in 1975, Houston began receiving thousands upon thousands of “Boat people,” Vietnamese refugees fleeing the communist takeover of South Vietnam. They literally packed on board merchant ships, traveled across the Pacific, through the Panama Canal, and up to Houston. All of a sudden we had new classmates in 2nd grade from Vietnam who didn’t speak a word of English. But we helped them with their classwork and helped them learn English. We were all just a bunch of 8 and 9 year-olds, but sometimes kids get it much better than adults do. They quickly assimilated into our schools, neighborhoods, communities and little league sports teams. Nobody looked at them as a threat. They became our friends and their parents became contributing members of society. They all became American citizens. Nobody once considered not welcoming them to a better, safer life. These kids went through high school with me and they honestly ran circles around us “native-born” kids in the classroom, learning everything in a second language. They’re likely working as scientists, surgeons, and engineers right now.

In Houston, my classmates were black, Hispanic/Latino, Asian, and from the Middle East (Can I even use these terms anymore? If not I am sorry; I have a hard time keeping up with the appropriate descriptive terms for nationality and heritage; please forgive me because it never mattered to me anyway). It was a very cool and diverse environment to grow up in. It put me ahead of people I would meet later in life who grew up in the hinterlands somewhere where they never got to meet or spend any time with people of other races or nationalities.

For instance, when I was in the 9th grade, my family moved from Texas to a southern state that — like Voldemort in Harry Potter — shall not be named. We lived in a lily-white town that at that time had next to no blacks. Our football team got into the high school state playoffs that year and the team we drew in the first round was from a town where the majority of citizens were black; the entire team was made up mostly of black players. My teammates were scared. Since they knew I had moved from urban Houston, they started coming up to me and asking questions like, “What are they like?” “What are who like?” I asked back. “You know. Those black guys.” I laughed. “Are you serious?” The looks on their faces made it dawn on me that they had never even been around a black person, much less played against them in a sporting contest. My teammates in the lily white town were apprehensive about playing the opponent simply because the opponent was a predominantly black team.

That was the first time I realized that most people’s position on these issues is a direct result of their life experiences. I tell people that in the context of race relations, for instance, there is no better vehicle for exploding myth and bias than an athletic locker room or a military barracks, and I have been in both: The intolerant person is forced to confront their bias, and once they they do, they realize that branding and pre-judging someone not like them is ultimately self-limiting and self-defeating.

Now when it comes to the issue of Syrian refugees, some people who voice support for accepting them into our country and some who voice criticism both clearly have positions that are attributable to life experiences; but the vast majority of people talking about this have no idea what they are complaining about. That goes for opponents of allowing refugees into our country as well as supporters. The real truth serum is to ask yourself — regardless of your position — one question: Would you accept a Syrian refugee family moving in next door to you? If the answer is no, then the supporters are no better than the critics. Think about that for a minute.

On the other hand, being a Marine and a military lawyer has provided me with an unbelievable opportunity to experience other cultures and nationalities. Whether it was working with Iraqi military or police forces or civilians, training Tajik military lawyers on how to set up and run a criminal justice system based on the American tradition of Due Process, or my work as a prosecutor with the Military Commissions, I found that some of my preconceived notions were often misplaced. Why is any of this relevant? I guess it’s because my life experiences inform my opinions. And a lack of experience informs opinions as well.

I am not saying we should not be vigilant when we screen people who come into our country, whether they be refugees, immigrants, or anyone else. We would be stupid not to do that. For instance, I for the life of me don’t understand why people object to requiring immigrants from Mexico to satisfy all the requirements that immigrants from other parts of the world have to satisfy to become citizens of this country. I think it’s a very reasonable and fair requirement. After all, we make everyone else do it, and other nations require the same process; try being an American citizen and going to any other country in the world and becoming a citizen there. It’s next to impossible. The United States makes it possible.

But when it comes to the issue of people wanting to come to our country, either to be immigrants, or because they’re refugees who have no choice and are being forced out of their homeland and are seeking safety within our borders, I just can’t get away from the fact that all of us are descendants of immigrants; at some point in our distant past, one of our ancestors came to this country for the very same reasons the Syrian refugees are coming today. Some of our ancestors came willingly, and some of them came unwillingly. But we are all descendants of immigrants.

And I for one cannot think of a valid reason right now for us to suddenly abandon our tradition of welcoming those who need our help: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”