Martin Luther King Day
It's a day when they like to pretend diversity. On the third Monday in January the governing bodies of the Earth get together and clap themselves on the back for all the things they've done to make everybody equal.
Travis knows that it's a lie. He knows from late-night conversations with Hoshi that she feels the same way. Because every waking both of them are painfully aware that the crew of the NX-01 is overwhelmingly male, white and straight. He's fairly sure that the people who assigned the crew weren't consciously aware of it, but he is, and Hoshi is, and that's what matters. He knows he'd get a blank look if he matter-of-factly informed Trip that he's black. Maybe a pause as the engineer waited for the next part of the sentence. He's used to that kind of thing. He's used to explaining to aliens about melanin and human skin, no longer pained by the looks of horror they give him when he explains the significance people used to assign to it. Sometimes he thinks that Hoshi has the worst of it when it comes to aliens. Mostly though, the aliens can't distinguish between black and white, male and female. All humans look alike to them. He finds that funny.
But on the third Monday in January he has to stop and think about it. About humans being a homogenous unit, only distinguished by the slope of their foreheads or the shape of their ears. It's the day when he starts to wonder about T'Pol. He's not innocent, he's made the jokes like anyone else. He's not the worst, but he's still among the guilty. He remembers the time Hoshi told him to shut up when he made a joke about T'Pol's ears. He remembers making the snowman on the comet. For some reason, he had found it funny at the time.
He assumes that one day the jokes will stop. Or at least, that the jokes will be about someone else.
Of course, Dr King didn't have interstellar travel in mind when made his speeches. Which is why the humans can feel good about themselves as they stand in snowy (or sunny) parks and play the old recordings over and over. It's why the crew of NX-01 can have a celebratory drink in the mess hall, invite the most recent aliens around to show off to.
A crew of 84 . 28 of them are female. 4 are black.
Of course he knows that no one cares about these things anymore, that it's a just blip on the statistics. It's the third Monday in January and he should be thinking happy thoughts.
But he finds that it upsets him, that he cares about statistics. He worries that they're giving alien races the wrong impression. "There's more to us than this," he wants to say, "There are so many of us, so many types and forms..."
But it's Martin Luther King Day, and he should be thinking happy thoughts.