In elementary school, we all learned the rock cycle: That igneous rocks form from molten mineral matter that cools and solidifies, that those rocks can be broken into particles of varying sizes that wind, water, and ice can move and eventually deposit as sediments, that those sediments can be naturally cemented and lithified as new rocks, and that all rocks, both new and old, can be subject to baking or re-melting as part of the cycle. Mixing, remixing, breaking, reforming, baking: The process goes on today as the 2018 eruption of Kilauea demonstrates.
Among the stages of the cycle lie the sands. Recall that “sand” is a size class that encompasses “coarse,” “medium,” and “fine.” The composition is irrelevant to the classification. So, you can find a coral sand, a quartz sand, a feldspar sand, and a garnet sand. Beach sands come from whatever kind of material is available, typically material taken from highlands to the ocean by rivers, sometimes blown in by strong winds, and always mixed and sorted by waves in the littoral zone where beachgoers frolic.
Sands of pink coral (Bermuda), of black basalt (Hawaii), and purple garnet (New England) motivate first-time beachgoers unfamiliar with the origin of sands to comment and snap pictures. In some places, mining companies sort sands for specific minerals, such as garnet, which is a relatively hard substance used for grinding and polishing (think dark-red sandpaper).
Sands of a specific composition aren’t analogous to “birds-of-a-feather” in that they aren’t driven by some instinct to gather in one place. What the highlands have to offer, the rivers take to the sea. What the wave energy sorts, it does so by density; lighter materials settle out of quieter water. You can see the effect of energy domains on beaches by looking at the swash zones (where the water rolls up the beach face after the most inshore waves have broken) and the dunes (where winds deposit finer and lighter sands). Here's the point: Sands don’t do anything on their own. They are “done to.” Their sorting and distribution is a passive process for the sands.
As part of the rock cycle over periods of hundreds of thousands of years or longer, beaches can become sandstones of particular composition and hue. What was once part of a rock, that then was broken and eroded by wind, water, and ice, and then was transported to a lake or ocean, can undergo its own lithification—a return to rock. Again, the materials are irrelevant here. Broken and naturally cemented sea shell fragments, for example, make up the coquina rock walls of the Fort of San Marcos in St. Augustine, Florida.
The parallel human social cycle is in some ways similar to the rock cycle and in other ways different. Look at our so-called races. They’re often self-sorted. Only in times of forced displacement are we passively gathered as birds-of-a-feather, as sorted by seeming similarity. Forced displacement is undeniably a part of our species’ history, but willing migrations often lead to initial, often temporary, “beaches” of a shared color.
Fortunately for our species, we can choose to mix sands, gathering in a single place a variety of compositions and colors as in the ethnically diverse neighborhoods of Brooklyn, N.Y. That community demonstrates not only how humans might initially be sand-like in their settlement, but also how they eventually can choose to become a conglomerate, a mix of sizes and colors. And because we can see the process of mixing today, we should be able to understand why anthropologist Clyde Kluckhohn said that there is no “pure race” on the planet.
We’ve been human rocks, sands, beaches, and re-lithified materials for all our existence. Check your DNA. You’ll find that you have incorporated “sands” of various materials and colors from distant sources. It doesn’t matter how isolated and uniform your particular beach is at this time; all such sands have been subject to transport willingly chosen, passively accepted, or actively forced.
Want to end racism of any kind? Teach children that they are part of an ongoing cycle and that they are the product of past cycles. They might see a commonality in their human nature. Wishful thinking? Probably. Like you, I have my doubts about the effectiveness of such an education. History teaches us that in each phase of the cycle, most humans believe their current status is destined and final, so no required “human geology class” guarantees any change in attitude or understanding. In any cycle, many in every generation—in each part of the cycle—will fail to comprehend the most fundamental tenets of such a class: That we have common origins, histories, and DNA, and that all stages of the cycle are temporary.
Among the stages of the cycle lie the sands. Recall that “sand” is a size class that encompasses “coarse,” “medium,” and “fine.” The composition is irrelevant to the classification. So, you can find a coral sand, a quartz sand, a feldspar sand, and a garnet sand. Beach sands come from whatever kind of material is available, typically material taken from highlands to the ocean by rivers, sometimes blown in by strong winds, and always mixed and sorted by waves in the littoral zone where beachgoers frolic.
Sands of pink coral (Bermuda), of black basalt (Hawaii), and purple garnet (New England) motivate first-time beachgoers unfamiliar with the origin of sands to comment and snap pictures. In some places, mining companies sort sands for specific minerals, such as garnet, which is a relatively hard substance used for grinding and polishing (think dark-red sandpaper).
Sands of a specific composition aren’t analogous to “birds-of-a-feather” in that they aren’t driven by some instinct to gather in one place. What the highlands have to offer, the rivers take to the sea. What the wave energy sorts, it does so by density; lighter materials settle out of quieter water. You can see the effect of energy domains on beaches by looking at the swash zones (where the water rolls up the beach face after the most inshore waves have broken) and the dunes (where winds deposit finer and lighter sands). Here's the point: Sands don’t do anything on their own. They are “done to.” Their sorting and distribution is a passive process for the sands.
As part of the rock cycle over periods of hundreds of thousands of years or longer, beaches can become sandstones of particular composition and hue. What was once part of a rock, that then was broken and eroded by wind, water, and ice, and then was transported to a lake or ocean, can undergo its own lithification—a return to rock. Again, the materials are irrelevant here. Broken and naturally cemented sea shell fragments, for example, make up the coquina rock walls of the Fort of San Marcos in St. Augustine, Florida.
The parallel human social cycle is in some ways similar to the rock cycle and in other ways different. Look at our so-called races. They’re often self-sorted. Only in times of forced displacement are we passively gathered as birds-of-a-feather, as sorted by seeming similarity. Forced displacement is undeniably a part of our species’ history, but willing migrations often lead to initial, often temporary, “beaches” of a shared color.
Fortunately for our species, we can choose to mix sands, gathering in a single place a variety of compositions and colors as in the ethnically diverse neighborhoods of Brooklyn, N.Y. That community demonstrates not only how humans might initially be sand-like in their settlement, but also how they eventually can choose to become a conglomerate, a mix of sizes and colors. And because we can see the process of mixing today, we should be able to understand why anthropologist Clyde Kluckhohn said that there is no “pure race” on the planet.
We’ve been human rocks, sands, beaches, and re-lithified materials for all our existence. Check your DNA. You’ll find that you have incorporated “sands” of various materials and colors from distant sources. It doesn’t matter how isolated and uniform your particular beach is at this time; all such sands have been subject to transport willingly chosen, passively accepted, or actively forced.
Want to end racism of any kind? Teach children that they are part of an ongoing cycle and that they are the product of past cycles. They might see a commonality in their human nature. Wishful thinking? Probably. Like you, I have my doubts about the effectiveness of such an education. History teaches us that in each phase of the cycle, most humans believe their current status is destined and final, so no required “human geology class” guarantees any change in attitude or understanding. In any cycle, many in every generation—in each part of the cycle—will fail to comprehend the most fundamental tenets of such a class: That we have common origins, histories, and DNA, and that all stages of the cycle are temporary.
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