basic reflections

Thinking About The Unspeakable

Lately some depressing books have been coming my way. Books about individuals being uprooted overnight from their homes, about lives being turned upside down by fate, about entire societies and countries being destroyed. The first of these was a book recommended by a friend, called “The Wave”. It is a first person account by a Tsunami survivor, Sonali Deraniyagala,  who lost her entire family while holidaying in Sri Lanka, including her husband, her two children and her parents, at one stroke. Just imagining the possibility of losing all that you have in life, at one go, gives me goose bumps and reading the author’s description of the event and of what followed, tore something apart in me. Watching one’s children being literally swept away, and in moments losing contact with one’s loved ones more than defies the strongest imagination and yet this is what happened and one doesn’t wonder at the ensuing madness and suicidal thoughts which followed this experience. Over the years a slow recovery of sorts took place whereby Ms. Deraniyagala was able to put together the pieces of her life and to go beyond the traumatic upheaval of the ill-fated vacation in Sri Lanka in 2004.

The second book which came my way - this one purely by accident - is “What is the what” – also a survivor’s tale. This time the survivor on whose behalf the book was written by Dave Eggers, is Valentine Achak Deng – a refugee from the Sudan. The escapades of these thousands of people, and their experiences of being flushed out of their own territories like animals, if anything, makes even more horrific reading than “The Wave”. In the first instance we are  dealing with a natural catastrophe, one of those which belong in the category of “the Unavoidable,” whereas in the book on Valentine Deng’s life, we are looking at unmentionable crimes being committed on each other today, by human beings, in the name of political freedom.

Every day the press reinforces the brutality human beings experience at each others’ hands, in the form of rapes, violent physical torture which is hardly imaginable, and heartless dispossession of the poor, by people in power.  For years, in fact till recent times, I fear I have been a part of the tribe of individuals who never really allowed themselves to be affected too deeply by these criminal goings on. Of course it was possible to express the horror of it all but it was all done without allowing oneself to be overly affected by the depth of the crime and the brutality. It often is like that, because to really feel into a situation which defiles all human sensibility, is to be totally shaken, to be affected to the core. It is something that persists somehow in your feelings and thoughts over days and months, a feeling that develops into  deep sadness at the human situation and our disinclination to resolve our difficulties with each other in a heartfelt and fair manner. It is the kind of feeling which most of us would rather not experience because finally, no matter how far removed you are from the scene of a particular crime, it makes you super conscious of your own pettiness, your own flaws, or injustices you may have inflicted on others, even if occasionally. The moments of impatience,  of hurtful things said, of minor instances of misusing our power over those more disadavantaged than us in life.

We are all influenced to a smaller or greater extent by the society we live in, which is by its nature, exploitative and discriminating. But perhaps to allow ourselves to be deeply touched by what happens not only in our own lives but the lives of others, is what initiates change, simply by creating in us a willingness to listen to something outside of our own personal needs, or more accurately said, the needs of our egos.

The story of Valentine Achak Deng, of the young woman in Delhi who was raped and mauled by five men who threw her off the bus, of the farmers today who are driven to taking their own lives because of the screwed up system we live in, all these are stories if we honestly face them, with the capacity to pull us out of our daydreams of security and the good life which a few individuals have the luck to experience, but who knows for how long. Anger and indignation, while being a natural outcome of what we are experiencing today, and which are the most frequent reactions, are not enough to turn the world inside out and to bring about the peace we are looking for. To allow ourselves to feel the horror and shame of belonging to the kind of society we do, of having in however minor a way contributed to its existence and growth, even if only through ignorance, is only the first step in going beyond it and effecting a genuine transformation. But it is a necessary step.

 Uma

The End Of The World

And so, 21^st December 2012 came and went, as peacefully (or not) as any other day. Asha, our cook and my special confidante for years now, and I trotted off to Worli sea face to watch the sunset and to drink tea from a thermos which Asha had brought along from home. She had also packed in a jar of boiled channa to munch on which we did, looking at the mix of people walking, stumbling or striding along the sea front. Short people, tall people, fat and thin people. Almost all huffing and puffing along in sneakers and jogging pants.

 Asha says, “This is the day the world is supposed to go under,” and chuckles. I check my watch. “It could still happen, it’s only 6 in the evening,” I say.

 Well, now it’s “tomorrow” morning and I’m still around and typing this stuff here on my computer. I enjoyed my coffee and porridge and boiled egg while reading the papers. The papers are still full of news about a young girl who, though accompanied by a male friend, was gang raped by six men on a Delhi bus. The story reminded me of others I’d read recently, in a similar vein. More than one girl had had acid thrown on her face by some disgruntled lover, a couple of businessmen had been killed by thugs, several old ladies and a few younger ones had been murdered or raped by either watchmen or by burglars and thugs who had crept into the premises on account of slack surveillance. In the villages people are being daily exploited by those in power and farmers, unable to pay off their debts are committing suicide by the hoard.

For many people it must seem as if the world has already ended or is about to end. Why wait for 21^st December or any day in particular? Maybe what the Mayan prophesy indicates is not that some big meteor will crash into our earth or we will be destroyed by one massive earthquake or flood. The disaster myth is more like a metaphor for what is happening on a daily basis in our lives and awful as it sounds maybe a mass scale destruction could be seen more in terms of a necessary part of a cleansing process since human beings seem unable to undertake any transformative action on their own without pressure.

What would it take to change things round so that human beings stop being subjected to the kind of torture and indignities they have to face today? We would very well have to stop hiding behind our pretended helplessness and face our excesses and our inadequacies wouldn’t we? Not only at the political and social level but as individuals  too. Because the process of change is not one way. It is not just that politics or society influences individuals. Individuals too have a say in the kind of society they want to live in, or the politics they would like to define their lives.  Maybe this is what the myth of 21^st December is pointing to – the need for change. That in the total absence of change on a vast enough scale the human race is apt to go out – if not with a bang then with a whimper, but go it must for another possibly more intelligent species, which is able to keep in tune  with the rest of the planet.

Uma

 

Powerlessness And Rage

 

Chandran discusses the feeling of powerlessness in all of us and how it is connected with rage:

 

How often do I feel powerless and how often am I filled with fury?  I am beginning to suspect they may be closely related if not the same thing.

I feel angry when I see or hear of injustice in the world. I identify with whoever I consider the victim and feel rage against the aggressor. It’s always nice to have bad guys to hate. Someone who deserves to be punished. And it’s enjoyable to think of the punishments they should get. The victim is always morally superior to the aggressor.

They started it. They did it first. So they deserve to get it back.

But perhaps that is where they are coming from too. Maybe they feel that their victims too deserve it. It’s their right, even their duty to do what they did. Or some other justification    that it’s necessary to preserve order or protect something they consider worth defending. Or they had to do it because they had something at stake.

When I am enraged, it is difficult to see the humanity of the ones I am enraged with. Even more difficult to see that my rage looks just like theirs and that when I slip into the sea of hatred, I am no different from anyone else swimming there. But then, it feels good to blind myself to all that.

But some people actually act out their hatred and rage. They kill, rape, torture and so on. Maybe it gives them a sense of power. Maybe all that prevents us from doing the same is fear. Fear of the consequences, of being punished, of feeling guilty. Fear of losing moral superiority and being no better than the other.

Perhaps those who hold power over others are fearful too. Fearful of being powerless. What those they control would do to them if they lost their power and the roles were reversed. Those who turn the tables and seize power are perhaps those who are willing to pay the price.

Anger I feel as a tightness in the muscles, stomach, chest, throat and sometimes the head. Powerlessness feels like a blockage, a heaviness in the heart and the stomach.

What is real power? Is any one really powerful? Who are they? Am I really powerless? Why do I feel that way?  What connects the powerful to the powerless and vice-versa?

Why do all these tapes of past helplessness keep replaying in my head and fuel fears of the future? Where did they all begin? Experiences from infancy of being surrounded by huge, powerful adults and totally dependent on them. Constant threats in childhood from teachers and schoolyard bullies..

Have I ever experienced real power? Do I accept it? Is all power evil? Is power always related to coercion and force? Is power over others real power?

When I am powerless I hope for help from someone who is more powerful. Someone who will help me, protect and look after me. But such help is often lacking when I need it. So I feel helpless and vulnerable. Worse still, if that help comes, it usually comes with a price. The one who helped me now becomes my master. Makes new demands. So there goes my freedom, again.

What about my own control issues? Though I’d like to believe otherwise, I too control others and like to do so. There are many subtle ways of manipulation and emotional blackmail. I get my way often by the threat, however hidden of withdrawing love. How close can I get to loving unconditionally?

Jealousy and resentment are other reactions arising partly from powerlessness. When others have something that I don’t, including power, even though I may tell myself I don’t want it, there is usually resentment – and with it at least a touch of jealousy.

It is the thought process that constantly throws up the oppressor figures with which I then do battle.

The rage eats away at me. Sometimes I just feel tired of it. And the sadness comes back again. The very deep sadness at what has been that I do not like and cannot or will not change, and the fact that many things will never be the way I will not want them to be. Can I stay with that feeling, however uncomfortable? When I stay with it, sometimes, I am able to drop my resistance to what is. That’s when I am able to leave behind my fear and rage, at least for a while. That’s when I experience freedom.

Injustices in society that I can do nothing about. And sometimes benefit from. I am party to those misdeeds by omission or commission, even if indirectly.

And what of hopelessness? What is hope but an expectation that things will be better or different – which in turn arises from a rejection of what is. Hopelessness is when we see that the expectation may never be fulfilled. And we resist that realization. When I accept what is, there is neither hope nor hopelessness.

Coming back to power, Perhaps it is a lack of knowledge of what power really is and seeking what we believe it is, but really is not that is the root of the problem. We all seem caught up in the delusion of what we suppose power and totally miss what it really is. We mistake the ability to hurt and harm, and the influence it has over others’ behaviour to be power. Does courage come from being powerful, or is it the other way around? Can one act in spite of one’s fears, creating courage as one goes along, fully aware of one’s vulnerability. Would that be power?

Ultimately, we are all powerless. In the face of nature and its forces and ultimately death itself, we are all equally powerless.

 

 Look at a tiger chasing a deer. If the tiger prevails, it is the end of the deer. But often, the deer gets away. If this happens too often, the tiger will starve to death. Somehow, nature balances things out so that both deer and tigers have survived for millions of years. But when humans do it to members of their own species for gain, or in the name of some stupid ideology or the other, it is not natural but perverse.