Just about every weeknight
my wife and I watch the evening news on PBS television while we eat our dinner
off trays brought from the kitchen to the living room. You might say that we fill our stomachs with
the meal while we fill our heads with the details of current events. One is a treat, the other a process of
keeping educated about history in the making, not all of which is gratifying to
say the least. Normally this practice
poses no great problem, but occasionally we come across things on the broadcast
that leave a somewhat bitter taste in the mouth to go with the taste of supper,
and they do not make for a very good mix.
Recently we were indulging
in our nightly banquet when a segment was run pertaining to widespread
hunger. As is PBS’s policy we were told
ahead of time that some of the images we were about to see may be upsetting for
some viewers. I do not recall the exact
country in which the shocking scenes were taking place; I think it was one of
the African nations – Somalia perhaps or South Sudan. But that word of caution by the station could
not have been more fitting than it was on that occasion. I remember seeing children with skeletal
bodies, with flies buzzing around their heads – heads that could seemingly not
move, even though the openness of their eyes indicated that there was still
some life in what was left of them, but for how long? Children, no less! Some of these inhabitants had swollen
stomachs. We saw some victims lying in roadways or curled on dusty ground and
even some who were being treated in makeshift hospitals wrapped up in
somebody’s embrace. I would not be
surprised to view such conditions if I had been watching scenes from liberated
concentration camps after World War II, but this was 2017, a year in which
industrialized barbarity was not supposed to happen, when the lessons of the
past had taught us that genocide is a scourge that no one wants to repeat.
I saw all this as I
surveyed the dinner tray in front of me, all the nourishing items that my wife
had so wonderfully prepared. There they
were on the screen gasping for life, and here we were living high on the hog,
delighting in the plentiful bounty that was available to us in our suburban
environment, in our secure and well heated and well preserved habitat.
Can we even begin to
imagine what it is like to literally not know where the next meal is coming
from? When we affluent westerners run
out of a commodity of fruit or vegetable or meat, we always take for granted
that it can be replaced. What do we
do? We just hop down to our favorite
super market and buy more, knowing before we set foot in the place that it will
be there. And if we do not have the
cash, we swipe the little card and charge it to credit. We go through these motions without thinking
about them. Maybe we will grouse a bit,
if the store is unusually crowded and we have to stand longer than we like in
the checkout line. We may complain, if
one of the apples is a bit sour; we may even feel as if we have been
cheated. We do not worry that any one of
our favorite foods is going to run out and become worrisomely scarce. We all know of the hungry thousands, but we
do not dwell on the subject as we spread the next serving of butter across our
fresh bread or chew into our next fragment of fresh meat or silently swoon over
our next mouthful of tasty peas and carrots.
It should come as no
surprise that my initial sensory reaction to those images intruding upon our
dinner was the feeling that my appetite was about to desert me. I watched the wretched bodies and suddenly I
could hardly taste what I was eating.
And needless to say I was also flooded with mixed emotions. Anyone who could watch that display of
suffering and not feel at least momentarily shaken is someone for whom I feel
gravely sorry.
I have met people who
sincerely believe that the resources of the earth are limited, that there is
not enough to go around to everybody, hence there is supposed to be truth in
the old bromide that there are “the haves and the have-nots”, that that is a
fact of life, unchangeable and unalterable and that the haves must accept it. If I believed that, I would have had no
adverse reaction to those TV images, perhaps a little pity but for the most
part I would have drawn a deep breath of relief that I am on the prosperous
side of that implacable barrier. And
when we create this world view, we move many feet and inches and perhaps miles
closer to feeling superior to those have-nots.
And beyond that we start assigning status to them, based on race,
religion, skin color or station.
All kinds of emotions swept
down upon me. First of all came
shock. None of what I was seeing matched
anything I had quite witnessed before anywhere.
I felt a bit numb when those images assaulted me. This was no science fiction, no horror movie
deriving from some imaginative writer/director’s pool of daring and
curiosity. This was certified realism
captured by a roving camera’s eye.
And I felt intense
anger. I was mad as hell at the powers
that be in that country. How could they by any logic whatsoever have let
conditions come to this? These people
were suffering from not only neglect but from political repression. Somebody’s sense of governmental priority had
been corrupted. The barons of the land had laid claim to territory for the most
outrageous of reasons, ones that subordinated innocent native civilians to the
ash heaps. It was outright cruelty,
insensitive, blind power used to either enslave or to crush, whichever suited
the purpose of those who wrote the rules for needless warfare. Somebody somewhere had decided not to know
about things going on in their very backyard.
Of course, we are all tempted to live on that level. We can so easily choose not to know – choose
not to know – about people next door. After
all, who has the time to be bothered!
And I felt frustration –
the realization of how helpless I was; I wanted to act, but I was frozen in
place. And there lurked in my mind a resentment at being forced to watch. How dare they impose upon my supper
hour! How dare the news people interfere
with my comfort! I begin to understand
those who avoid the news altogether or certain aspects of it for the simple
reason that it is depressing. Why torture myself? Why give myself nightmares, when I’m not in a
position to remedy what I see? And along with this emotion comes the confounding
question of how our remoteness from the centers of power can be overcome. We want to say, “I’ve been there already;
I’ve sweated through that. Don’t make me
do that again.” But of course we know we have to do it again and again. And alongside this feeling of being invaded
was the feeling of embarrassment. Though
I knew that those people on the screen could not see me, I was hesitant to look
them in the eye just the same, those eyes that bulged from their faces and bore
into mine.
Guilt was lurking
around. I started reviewing in my mind
what I have done to answer the cry of the hungry millions. Seeing what we saw brings you up short. You feel as if you have been caught in the
act of committing a crime.
But you know, when you get
past the shock, that no such crime has been perpetrated. Guilt in and of itself is the bluntest of
devices for treating the problem of human neglect. It is only human to be made to feel
guilty when there is no basis for the charge of real guilt. We are all vulnerable that way. But we have to remember that we are all
individually responsible for the oversight of our own consciences. Our feeling of guilt is no real gift to the
needy. They do not benefit from it. The only thing they benefit from are our
actions, our well planned investments of material resources, our informed
donations, a well cultivated spirit of generosity.
One reason I value so much
the news accounts on PBS is the time they take sifting through the subject
matter, presenting all sides of a political issue, completing the picture. There is no heavy hand of rhetoric trying to
massage our brains. No one is stumping
or attempting to rabble rouse us into some kind of drastic subservience to a
cause. I can watch a program that
exposes hunger and starvation in its rawest form without honestly considering
myself under siege. Disturbed
maybe! Heartbroken! Unsettled!
But not manipulated into impotent guilt.
So where does all this
leave us? After we have moved beyond the
shock and the anger and the momentary guilt, where do we find ourselves? Nursing our hatred for the perpetrators of
such inhumanity will serve no good purpose.
It would be tantamount to gagging on our own bitterness and bile. We cannot afford to wrap ourselves up in that
cloak of abject sorrow until we smother ourselves to death. I can only speak for myself, but for me what
soothes the mind and heart is to tune my ear to hear and my eye to see the
abundance of humanitarian activity presently taking place in our world
answering the summons of vast need in the Gulf States and in the Caribbean
where hurricanes and devastating storms have ravished the homes and the
livelihoods of millions of people who themselves face the possible terror of
hunger and dehumanization. Arms and
hands are being extended throughout our nation and stretching every nerve to
come to the assistance of those who are under threat. However much the increase in rains and floods
may be due to the warming of the earth, however small the world may be getting
it becomes clear to all who observe that people across the globe are becoming
more of a family than ever before perhaps due to that smallness. The Global Village is still in play. Its inhabitants are looking more and more
upon the suffering millions and recognizing that they are indeed our sisters
and brothers. Thousands are
internalizing that realization. In that
direction the hope of humanity lies.
To read other entries in my
blog, please consult its website:
enspiritus.blogspot.com. To know
about me, consult the autobiographical entry on the website for Dec. 5, 2016.
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